


Transcendent Suffering

by itsbeautiful



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, Biting, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Bottom Hannibal, Bottom Will, Cannibalism, Chiyoh - Freeform, Choose Your Own Ending, Consensual Kink, Control, Crying Hannibal, Curtain Fic, Dark, Dark Romance, Dark Will Graham, Domestic, Dominance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Humour, Hurt Hannibal, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jealous Hannibal, Jealous Will, Knifeplay, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Manipulative Will Graham, Marking, Masochism, Murder, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Phantom Abigail, Phantom Beverly, Phantom Hannibal, Phantom Mischa, Phantom Will, Possessive Hannibal, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Post-Finale, Protective Hannibal, Protective Will, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sassy Will Graham, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Top Hannibal, Top Will, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 153
Words: 485,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsbeautiful/pseuds/itsbeautiful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blue eyes closed suddenly against Hannibal’s searching gaze, sucking in a breath, body going rigid. “You can’t say things like that to me, Hannibal. You cannot glorify the dark impulses inside of me and call them… beautiful.” Will stared up at the ceiling, head thrown back as if struggling to breathe, fragile and bending against the sound of his voice. “You can’t. You just can’t say them.”</p><p>“Only the celestial moon and I have truly seen you bathed in blood, savoring the darkness, embracing your becoming, and I can assure you it was truly breathtaking.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelylaceandlilac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylaceandlilac/gifts).



Will leaned back into sinking leather of a chair, limbs stretching out awkwardly, staring absently at a faint grease stain on his jeans. The sound of Hannibal’s voice swam around him, even, smooth, filling the darkest corners of his mind with a light heat.

It wasn’t the words stirring him. Will wasn’t even sure when he had stopped listening during their session, allowing himself to drown in the rhythm of Hannibal’s accent, carried by its lulling timber. He was even less certain when he stopped responding, if he had responded at all with short nods and half noises of recognition.

He glanced up, eyes flickering to rest on the corner of Hannibal’s mouth as it moved. Will’s eyes followed the angular line with interest as if he could memorize its very texture. As if by doing so he could feel them on his own. Warm, even, and steady. A tip of a red tongue flicked out. Would they feel smooth against his thumb like the inflection of rises and falls in Hannibal’s tone or rough like the creases in the older man’s skin that mapped out an unspoken life?

Will’s hand twitched against his leg to reach out. His eyes traveled down the sharp angles of Hannibal’s face, curving along crisp lapels of cream colored linen to rest on hands folded neatly just above a leather belt. Will imagined propelling forward and falling between knees. He wondered if Hannibal would even notice if he dragged the belt open and jerked the fly down on his very expensive slacks. Would Hannibal simply talk over him, face as placid as his voice, unchanged? Would he stay perfectly statue still as Will ran his tongue over the head of his cock before wrapping his lips around it, sinking down?

“Do you find yourself aroused during all your professional appointments, Will, or just mine?”

Will jerked his head up at the sound. Hannibal stared back, blinking slowly, head tilted in curious regard. His palms were damp against his jeans. He swallowed hard and visibly grimaced. _What the fuck, Graham._ It wasn’t the first time he had fantasized during their sessions. It was becoming an unsettling par for the course.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter, I was just…”

_What? Fantasizing about sucking you off?_

“I-I just lost track of time,” Will managed flatly, looking down and away.

Hannibal leaned forward, smoothing a heather grey silk tie against his waistcoat, elbows resting on knees, a predator looming over its prey. Will instinctively shrank back as he did so, pushing himself farther into the leather, trapped. An almost smile crinkled the lines of Hannibal’s mouth as if amused by his sudden discomfort. His eyes remained dark and calculating.

“I do not mean to contradict you, Will…” Hannibal’s eyes slid half closed as they followed their way down bare threads of Will’s jeans tented from an erection beneath. The younger man's breath hitched. The corner of Hannibal’s lip twitched again. “However, it appears you may have lost more than just time.”

Will’s eyes widened, following his unofficial therapist’s rapt gaze on his crotch. _Well, that’s fucking unprofessional…_ His cock heavy and pressing against the sharp pressure of his wrists. _And incredibly thorough. Jesus._ His cheeks flushed hot, arms flashing forward as if they could hide the unabashed display of evidence.

“Where was your mind just now, Will, to have you in such a state?”

“Look, Doctor Lecter, I just-“ He huffed out a sharp breath. “Can we perhaps end our session early today? I-I should leave.” He tried hard to focus on a cresting cheek. “I am clearly not up to discussing anything further this evening.”

Hannibal’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “Are you saying you are not up for finishing our session due to reluctance, or not _up_ in a more general sense?”

Red began to creep beneath the plaid collar of his flannel shirt. Will tugged at its neckline, unable to breathe. The air around him felt hot, tight. He stared passed his outstretched legs and focused on the stitching of Hannibal’s shiny leather shoes.

“You are still sitting here.”

“Yes.”

“Did you not express an interest in leaving our session a moment ago?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to tell me what’s really on your mind? Or do you simply enjoy me seeing you like this?”

His face flushed. Will squirmed in his seat. He could see the shadow of Hannibal’s head tilting again, heard the crinkling of leather as he leaned closer. Their foreheads nearly touched. He felt heat radiating from their skin, the warm even breath of Hannibal on his cheek. He could have simply reached out to run his fingers across the older man’s mouth, sink them in light hair, and explore him with his tongue. A soft breath inhaled against him. Was Hannibal picking up his scent? Will felt his cock twitch, warm and sticky inside his jeans. Fuck, how was he supposed to think with Hannibal this close, let alone come up with some half assed excuse for sporting a very obvious erection?

“I-I don’t want you to think-“

Will clenched his teeth together, pressing the heel of his hand firmly against his arousal. Christ, just the feel of Hannibal’s breath warming his mouth was making him hard. He resisted an unnerving urge to lean forward until their lips brushed.

“What is it you wouldn’t want me to think?”

“That I… normally have sexual fantasies during our sessions.” His left fingernails dug his palm, biting the skin. “I-I don’t want you to think that.”

He had hesitated. Words stuck on his tongue. The left corner of Hannibal’s mouth ticked slightly.

_He knows I’m lying. He knows. I want him to know. Fuck, what’s wrong with me._

“Arousal is simply a physical response of an individual to desire the warmth of another’s flesh. It is all perfectly normal.” Hannibal paused. “Tell me, do you feel your physical responses mirror the darkest abnormal corners of your mind?”

“N-normal?” Will’s voice caught in his throat. “I don’t know, Doctor Lecter, I think if you live in the shadows of your nightmares, avoiding eye contact and any closeness with another human being, that any kind of desire for contact would be considered normal or wanted.”

“And do you consider it abnormal to desire those things? Do you believe yourself unwanted, Will? Undesirable?”

Will choked back a protest. Would Hannibal consider it normal if he knew how stretched and taut Will was, erection pressing heavy against his thigh, the heel of his palm doing nothing to deter it? How his mouth watered at the very thought of drinking him in? Hannibal had never shown the slightest interest in anyone, let alone any notion of physical contact, sexual or otherwise, except perhaps, an interest in him. The thought sent a jolt through his body.

“Will?”

Will’s eyes shot up and he instantly regretted it. Hannibal’s eyes were dark pools outlined with hints of red, inches from his own face.

“It-It wasn’t about you,” He stammered out, jerking back.

Hannibal’s fingers tapped a knee. “Is there a particular reason you feel the need to assure me of this? A subconscious need you wish to discuss?”

“Yes, no. Christ. NO.” Will sucked in a breath and held it. “Look. I was thinking about…” _You._ His mind raced, the biting sensation of fingernails reeling him back in. He stared hard at the oil stain on his faded jeans. “I was thinking of Alana.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Will had found refuge in her soft skin and red pout of her lips not more than a week ago. She had shown up on his porch with a cheap bottle of scotch and he had found his mouth on her's within an hour, inhaling fresh skin and lavender soap. He had buried his mind and body fully between her thighs, beckoning darkness of ghosts at his back. She had held him gently after, almost removed as if she might break him. It hadn’t been what he wanted, to be held, to be gently caressed, or soothed. He had fled to his beat up Volvo with the excuse of work on his lips, leaving her there, sprawled on his couch, watching him go.

He watched something flicker behind Hannibal’s eyes as he leaned back. Will swallowed again, feeling the distance between them immediately. It was unsettling.

“I would prefer not to be lied to, Will.” Hannibal said, voice remaining even.

“I was… thinking about Alana.” He winced slightly at how pathetic it sounded. Will couldn’t even believe himself. He flexed fingers, stiff and aching, sure he had drawn blood.

Hannibal’s eyes remained dark, leg crossed, fingers laced against his knee, studying him. “Therapy is a matter of trust, a connection between two people, Will.” The older man's long fingers brushed some unseen lint from twill slacks, drawing out the last part of his name. Will wanted to hear him say it again. Hear the notes of what wanted, cherished, desired sounded like rolling off his tongue. “Do you truly believe it is as effective if you are dishonest?”

“I. I am not lying to you, Doctor Lecter, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Will began to sweat. He used to sit across from guys like him and lie through his teeth to get them to confess. When the hell had he become so bad at it?

“What would make you suggest I was implying such a thing?”

His mouth ticked, hint of anger curling his tongue. “I was thinking of Alana.” He felt an edge in his voice, like choking, a need to insist, glaring up defiantly in Hannibal’s eyes. “We fucked, just last week.” 

Hannibal remained still, face passive, unblinking.

“She came over to my place and was jerking me off with her hands before I knew what was happening. I dragged off her lace thong, pushed the jeans down my thighs, and had my cock buried deep inside her minutes after. She was hot and wet. Her back is beautiful when arched. She was so loud slamming back in to me with my hands tight around her ass...”

Will heard his voice describing the scene in explicit detail, tumbling out in rapid succession, unable to bite down on his tongue to stop. He wanted to stop. Why couldn't he stop?

“It was…”

_Exceptionally unsatisfying._

“Wonderful.”

Hannibal blinked slowly when he had finished, another slight twitch of fingers that rested against his knee the only reply.

Will hated the way he looked. Calm. Cool. Unfazed. The light puffs of hair carefully combed against his head, the straightness of his posture, and perfectly manicured way fabric obediently lay against Hannibal’s frame. Will wanted to launch himself in the air and crush his hands against the cream colored suit, tear at the buttons, and jerk his hands through that hair until he got some kind of reaction. Until Hannibal looked like he felt.

_Ruined._

“And how did that make you feel?”

Will felt a scream trying to untangle itself from his lungs.

“I just told you I fucked one of your closest friends and all you can say is, how does that make me feel? Seriously?”

Why was he saying this, any of this? Hannibal had enough personal access to his mind as it was. Why did he care to tell him all the sordid details? He had barely cared if he had sex with Alana to begin with.  He wasn’t even fully present when it was happening. It had been distasteful, cheap, unfulfilling. He was her professional curiosity, nothing more. Why on earth did he think telling Hannibal would make him care? Make either of them care? Why did he constantly feel the need to justify his actions and thoughts, sexual or otherwise to this man?

“Are you looking for my rubber stamp of approval, Will? Perhaps a congratulations?”

The younger man bit his inner cheek, copper filling his mouth.

“Two bodies copulating requires nothing more than a twisting of limbs and biological function to fulfill an act of physical experience.” Hannibal straightened the knot of his tie, glancing at his watch. “I am far more interested in your mind than your body, Will. Did you find yourself satiated after the experience or did it fill you with an ache, a longing?”

_No, it wasn’t goddamn satisfying. Because it wasn’t you._

Will was standing before he knew it, towering over Hannibal. The older man tipped his head back slightly to look up, curious. Shadows flickered inside a dark gaze. Will wanted to scream. He wanted to wrap the silk tie on his fists and pull, hard. Will wanted to straddle him, tie tight in one hand, and reach beneath his slacks and work him until he was throbbing. He wanted to bring him to the edge and refuse him release. He wanted to watch Hannibal’s eyes slip closed as he struggled to breathe before he gasped for air, only for Will to do it all over again.

Will took a step back, cheeks burning. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

“These are rather direct questions with fairly simple answers, Will." Hannibal tilted his head to the side, disdain crimson on lips. "Or did you feel I would enjoy the pedestrian venue of our conversation as your therapist, or perhaps more likely, your friend?”

“F-fu—“ Will bit down on the curse, a sharp gaze looking back. His nostrils flared at the unspoken reprimand, fists clenching and unclenching at his side. Hannibal had just insulted him, had practically called his sex life, what existed of it anyway, ordinary, his sexual prowess unappealing to the point of disinterest. And did it all with a congenial thin smile. “I think…” Will felt his fist twitch. He imagined bringing it down across the face peering up, blood spraying up against his face and neck. “I had better go.”

Hannibal glanced at a golden Patex timepiece strapped to his wrist briefly with a slight nod. “Yes, our time is up I’m afraid.” He paused before rising to his feet, straightening a few inches above Will, friendly hand outstretched. The older man took a single, precise step forward to crowd his personal space when he did not take it. Casting shadow a shift of subtle power. Glint in maroon eyes. “Same time next week?”

He swallowed. Stared at the fingers outstretched, waiting, almost close enough to touch the buttons on his shirt. Slip in the spaces between them and feel the warmth of his belly. Trace his skin. Sink through slots of his rib cage and pry open his chest, to admire the shadows he gave safe harbor within.   
  
"Will?"

“I think our therapy has come to the end of its usefulness, don’t you, Doctor Lecter?” Will hissed back, spinning on his heel.

Hannibal watched carefully, unblinking. “If you feel that is best.”  
  
He felt a drag of eyes burning at his back, moving to his waist, dragging down legs, as he shoved through doors. Will stopped in the hall, bristling. He bit back swears bubbling up on his tongue. The door slammed with a reverberating shudder, a small act of defiance, sounding the end of his relationship with one Doctor Hannibal Lecter.   
  
Or so he thought. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously... this chapter was really just supposed to be a writing warm up... and then the rest of this happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Bandages patiently wound tight around Will’s chest. They were tied off with a firm tug. He fell back against a soft mattress of a cramped twin bed and inwardly groaned. They had been driving through the night for days. The pressure around his rib cage made it hard to breathe, cutting off bits of oxygen with each rise and fall of his chest. It felt good. A constant, threatening companion holding tight. His vision was hazy, following the ceiling from corner to corner, then falling. His gaze drifted over the man perched on the edge of the bed, far enough removed yet just within arms reach.

Hannibal dabbed at black sutures with a splash of alcohol and nimble motions. Red gashes of varying size and shape spiraled out against his back, a tessellating reminder of the Atlantic shore’s rocky embrace. Will grimaced. They hadn’t spoken about Hannibal shielding him from the worst of it. Or how Will had tried to kill them. Or how Hannibal had held tight during the fall, unresisting, accepting he path he had chosen for them. The hours after had filled with voids of silence and distance.

The older man's half naked torso flickered with shadows from faint candlelight. It was the only sign of their presence in the Lourde’s vacation home, former patients of the good doctor. Will watched the steady hands wind gauze bandages around purpling bruises and gashes, disappearing one by one. His gaze touched the raised edge of the Verger brand and felt something hideous and familiar twist underneath his skin. He looked away. They were still a good forty eight miles from Boston’s coastline. It was still enough time to get caught.

Will had immediately regretted asking whose house it was. The married couple had sought counsel on their lackluster love life crumbling beneath a threat of sheer boredom. Will imagined it was more resignation against a wife’s forceful suggestion. He figured Hannibal had suffered through it silently. A check with a fair amount of zeros his only savior from absolute tedium. They had renewed their carnal vows to each other in an alternative art form of _Shibari_ and a rather large yacht. Will had mildly suggested they use the guest room upon hearing the story’s conclusion, unable to stomach lying inside someone else’s invisible knots and ropes. He had enough of his own making.

“Are you worried about the possibility of scarring, Will?” Hannibal handed him two pills the size of horse tranquilizers; Oxycodone swiped from the newest medicine cabinet. A third pink pill joined the rest. Will eyed it warily. Hannibal had been force feeding him Levofloxacin antibiotics twice a day since they had made a brief stop of breaking and entering in Glenolden, Pennsylvania. “Take these.”

Will touched medical tape plastering bandages his face. It seemed fitting the ugliness of outside scars would mirror the ragged ones within. He swallowed the pills down with a dry gulp, grimacing at their bitter green after taste. He hated pills, even if one of them was staving off infection. Resented the idea of Hannibal once again deciding how to treat him. He had learned the hard way never to suggest the possibility of not taking them.

“For me? Or for you?”

Hannibal’s head tilted to the side, regarding him with unblinking eyes for a moment before swallowing one of each pill. He returned to dressing his wounds. “Our scars are merely visceral images of a lifetime, of lessons learned or forgotten. They are our history of where we begin, or where we end, written in malformed thoughts on our bodies.” The dark eyes gazed up intently. “Do you resent that part of your history will be laid bare for the world to witness?”

 “I resent the idea on more of an aesthetic level than a spiritual one, Doctor Lecter. It is unsettling to no longer hide what I am beneath my skin.”

 A hand drifted beneath jeans wrapped around his ankle. It was startling and warm.

 “Your physical beauty has always been enhanced by each cracking ravine rising against the landscape of your flesh, Will,” Hannibal replied softly before removing the hand.

Will cringed, longing cresting inside his chest, willing the touch to return. He turned his head away from the voice, staring at a far wall. A sepia toned cross stitch hung askew near a white paneled bathroom door. It read: _Home is where the heart is._ The bed creaked as Hannibal rose, moving toward an open door leading out to an even darker hall. His towering shadow flickered, framed in its space.

“Could you…” Will’s voice wavered against the back he knew faced him. “Could you just stay here tonight?”

A gaze prickled the back of his neck. He blinked hard. Legs of a wooden vanity chair dragged along carpet.

“Close your eyes, Will.” Wood creaked. “I’ll stay and watch over you until you fall asleep.”

Will curled on his side, away from watchful eyes with a pained sigh. He had never once asked for comfort, physical or otherwise, not from a friend and certainly not from a lover. He was uncertain which of those, Hannibal was to him now, if either at all. It was easier to bury the ache deep within his soul until his body burned than seek words or arms he knew would help soothe it. His ache for Hannibal, to know he was safe and near had risen to a panic each passing day and unraveled the fraying tangle of nerves in his mind in quiet desperation.

“I meant… here,” Will rasped, fingers curling a musty, quilted duvet.

There was the quietest exhale. A long pause. The mattress sagged beneath the weight of a single knee.

“Would you be more comfortable beneath the sheets?”

“N-no.” The mere suggestion was agonizingly intimate.

Will felt Hannibal’s body settle in next to him, flat on his back, inching away to provide as much space as the small mattress allowed. Heat of skin radiated against the curve of his spine. In a jerking movement, Will bent over and blew out the candle. Darkness engulfed the room. He let out a breath he had been holding. He couldn't hear the older man breathing. His heart wrenched. He reached back, fingertips trailing skin until his palm curved into the back of Hannibal’s hand. The ache immediately began to subside. It terrified him. What was he doing?

A throat clicked as it swallowed. Voice speaking rough and low. “You ought to catch the few hours of sleep remaining, Will. My associate said he will set sail without us if we are not aboard the ship by five a.m. before his crew arrives.” Fingers enclosed gently around his. Will’s heart beat a little faster. “It would be unwise for us to remain for much longer in this country. Surely Uncle Jack will be in pursuit, if he is not already.”

 “Your associate?”

 “Yes. Daniel du Pointe. He was rather flat on his back during our initial acquaintance…” Will winced, tucking a hand against scratching bandages on his chest. “He had become intimately familiar with the Camorra. Young boys, all fists and fury, looking to move up in their ranks with a good beating and fistfuls of cash.”

“You got involved I assume?” He asked quietly, trying not to intone all he really meant.

 “It would have been ungentlemanly not to. He renewed his work visa to remain in Italy awhile longer and we became… close.”

 “Lovers, you mean.”

 Will’s fingers curled to a fist, unable to keep visceral images of someone else’s hands pressing Hannibal’s flesh. Why the hell should it bother him what Hannibal did and with whom? It was years ago. It’s not like he had any claim on him then.

 _It’s not like I have any claim on him now. He’s my friend. A friend I tried to kill._ Will pressed a palm against his face, ache returning. _Absolutely nothing that could require therapy again. If I’m lucky, the next one will kill me outright and save us all the trouble._

 “Nothing quite so intimate.” The mattress sagged as the older man shifted. “Do you often find yourself reflecting on paramours of the past? Giving consideration to all that could have been?”

  _It’s really more of a recent development, Doctor Lecter._ A grimace. _With yours evidently_.

 “No,” He lied, pulling away.

 “Ah." A sound of disbelief. "Daniel considered this the best way to settle the debt between us.”

 “Debt?”

 “He owed me his life. This exchange will reestablish that otherworldly balance of scales. A weighty tipping in his favor presumably.”

  _What will he ask you for in return?_

 Will felt an anxious pitch in his voice fall, trembling, barely able to speak. “A cargo ship, right?”

“Yes. He will stash us among their rather… illicit shipment. It is in his best interest to keep the matter quiet for everyone’s sake. I gave my word we would keep to our space and remain as undiscovered as their various assortment of guns.” Hannibal sighed. “However, money will have to exchange hands first. A distasteful necessity I’m afraid, even between friends. Though I will ensure your new passport is safely within my grasp before doing so.”

Will tried to stuff down shadowed guilt rushing through his veins. How much had it cost Hannibal to secure them safe passage to France? A new country. How much more after for the creation of Will’s new identity laminated and stamped? A fresh start. How much more could he owe Hannibal without giving his life? The scales were hardly likely to tip in his favor ever again at this rate.

“Who are we?” He managed weakly.

“In a theological self exploration sense? Or literally?” A hand reached for his again, brush of knuckles on his palm.

“Literally, Hannibal, all my questions are always literal.” He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder in the dark. He knew Hannibal was watching. “Unlike some people I know.”

A light chuckle answered. “We are traveling under the guise of a married couple.” Will swallowed hard, aware his fingers seeking and tightening against the ones around his. “It evokes less curiosity or suspicion. People tend to ask fewer questions where wedding bands are concerned, usually more out of assumptive boredom and less of discomfort. Europe is far more open minded than American society, even in these days.”  
  
“It… makes sense. What are our names?”

 _Now introducing our very own Murder Husbands, let’s welcome both Hannibal and Will Lecter!_ Freddie Lound’s voice echoed with game show bravado in his head. He hated even the imagined sound of it.

Will ran a shaking hand through his hair. Was it too late? Fingers laced his, squeezing. Will shivered. He never wanted to let go.

 _It’s official. I’ve lost it. I’m running away with a man that tried to kill me. That tried to kill my family. Even after I’ve tried to kill him, twice. Three times if you count the time Chiyoh shot me when I pulled a knife._ Will cast a bewildered expression at the cross stitch on the wall. _It's probably more than that but hey, who's counting. I am going to become the punchline of some country western song... What could possibly go wrong?_

“Winston. You’re name is Winston.”

Will turned suddenly, rolling back against a tip of a nose brushing against his cheek, breath warm on his mouth.

“ _You can’t be serious_.”

“I thought it was rather amusing.” An unseen shrug.

“Hannibal!” Will whined then groaned, thumping a fist against a solid chest. He touched the spot gently. “Sorry… did I hurt you?”  
  
 _Did I hurt you? The fuck is wrong with me._

A hand settled on his elbow, resting there, gentle. “Not at all. I apologize.” Fingertips trailed against hand Will left on his chest. He unconsciously pushed against it. “I ought to know better than to jest, especially in regards to your dogs whom you love so dearly.”

He closed eyes over a sting of tears. “I wish they were coming with me…”

“I am afraid dead men tell no tales as well as bear no claim to their former lives.” Hannibal squeezed his hand in an attempt to soothe. “I am certain the others will care for them.”

Will sighed bitterly. He missed his dogs. He didn’t want anyone else caring for them. They were his. They belonged to him, and he to them.

“They will not be the last creatures to care for you unconditionally, Will…”

Will shuddered. He leaned in to the touch until a hand pressed firmly back and a strong arm curved around his torso. His undamaged cheek rested against Hannibal’s chest with a short fall and a soft thump. He took a deep breath in. It was hard, solid, real.

_What am I doing?_

A surge of comfort rushed against his skin just as it had before he had pulled them both off the cliff. It was followed by the same sense of clattering panic, of hurtling toward Death and realizing he had wanted to live, or rather that he didn’t want Hannibal to die, not at his hands.

“Sorry, I tried to kill you,” He said flatly, trying to stifle a warmness tingling in his chest.

“No greater poetic justice could I have asked for than dying in your arms.”

His heart stuttered to a stop, breath clinging to his ribs. Another surge of anxiety took over. Will fought from pressing his mouth close to bathe in radiating heat and skin, overwhelmed by the idea of wanting to do so. Since when was he ruled by unbidden emotion?

Silence stretched between them.

“You… have no future claims on consuming my body then?”

Hannibal’s heart sounded beneath his ear, thudding a quick change of tempo. “Not in that particular sense… no.”

Will opened his eyes to find glittering mirrors gazing down, grip tightening around his chest. A different kind of pressure stole his breath. It excited him. Hunger skittered his skin in fleshy goose bumps, nerves tingling. Was it his hunger, or Hannibal’s?

 _Christ. He looks fucking starved._  
  
“D-do you want to kiss me… right now, Hannibal?”

A thumb stroked his jaw then stilled. “Yes.”

“Have you… always wanted to?”

“There are scattered moments in time when the idea of our friendship blossoming into something more crossed my mind.”

Will lifted his head, steadied by a hand resting on a peaked collarbone. Warm breath fluttered on his cheek. He stared at deeper shades of shadow outlining a hard mouth, pressed into a pinching line of restraint, unmoving.

“Well?” Will growled, inching further until their lips nearly touched. Frustration and uncertainty washed over him. “It’s been five years, Hannibal, why are you hesitating?”

A dark gaze pierced his soul. “Consuming thoughtlessly without fully appreciating an offering borders on sacrilegious, William.”

He stirred at the unfamiliar pronunciation of his formal name. Hints of affectionate worship blurred each syllable.

“May I kiss you, William?” Hannibal asked, whisper ragged, touch light and trembling.

“Y-yeah.”

The older man inhaled a sharp breath when Will cupped the back of his head, pulling. Vivid expressions akin to violence brushed Hannibal’s cheeks and settled corners of his open mouth. He looked half gone already and their lips hadn’t even touched.

“Come on…” Will tugged with more force, desperation bleeding as terror edged in.

With painfully slow movements, Hannibal’s fingers tangled in his curls and leaned forward. Warm, dry lips pressed to his forehead, lingering. They brushed against his fluttering eyelids before stilling, kissing cheek to cheek; a _signum crucis_. Will nearly choked on the tenderness as they trailed sullen smile lines. He clung to the wrists framing his face, aching when they pulled away.

“H-hannibal…”

_This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For us._

A crashing sound of tidal waves roaring blocked out all other sensations except for the mouth settling gently against his. It burned with patient attention, lingering, moving to find a perfect fit. He clung tighter. A tongue flicked out, sleek tip requesting entrance. A groan rushed forth as Will’s lips parted, breath hot, filling Hannibal’s lungs as the kiss deepened.

“You taste like light filtering across the heavens, William.” Words mouthed against him.

“ _Please_ quit talking.”

Fingers twisted his hair, dragging forward. Hannibal began to fervently drink against his mouth, tongue flicking out to explore a wet dark cavern. Will groaned, ache deep and low, and tangled hands in pillows beneath. It licked along the side of his tongue, slipping around to taste the jagged, raw corners of his cheek. It flicked sutures. Will winced, pain sharp, then soothed  by each stroke. His nails sunk around wrists, silently pleading.

His tongue touched Hannibal’s in tentative flicks, a jolt of two live wires sparking. The older man's bare skin blistered against his, burning, alive, real. He felt Hannibal’s chest heaving a groan, completely unaware of having climbed his body in the midst of clamoring sensation. Will flushed against the back of his eyelids, sinking down and in to the arms enclosing around him, to ensnare or protect.

He followed a retreating tongue, dipping and claiming the inside of Hannibal’s mouth with forceful push. The tongue curled and flicked approvingly, welcoming him in. He tasted like sips of Chianti, flooding his taste buds with an elegant sweetness then a bitter bite. Will wondered if he could survive on Hannibal alone, to sustain his life with nothing else. He clenched hands tighter around his face, hot heat breathed between them, forcing the mouth wider open. He wanted to consume him. 

Pink stained cheeks in a rush, mindlessly grinding his mouth and hips into Hannibal with another series of stifled groans. A brief image of Molly flickered, all soft curves and gentle swells. The memory tasted sour in his mouth. He banished it. Hannibal was all muscle, sinew, and unyielding strength; a looming threat of splintering bones and blood. Will craved every angular plane with a desperate noise, knowing the hands exploring his skin could shield with protection or snap his neck.

A hand pulled at his hair. Their lips parted. Will clawed at the older man’s face, fingertips begging to keep them connected. To find what they had been searching for in the other.

“Perhaps we should both get some rest,” A soft command, rough with reluctance.

Will tried to steady his ragged gasps for air, longing for each one to be pressed out with another touch of Hannibal’s lips. He inwardly moaned at the need to push his tongue back into the inviting mouth. Will wanted to be disgusted, revolted by wanting all he thought he had hated, in himself and Hannibal. When had the older man stolen so quietly in to his mind to become all he ever wanted? He struggled as dark eyes traveled the length of his body, fingertips following, a tender exploration. He tried to pull away, to roll over, to separate himself from vivid screams to crush their mouths together until one of them drowned, ceasing to breathe.

“I would prefer… if you were to stay as you are,” Hannibal requested with stroking hands.

Will’s body succumbed to their guidance, in the same way he his mind had succumbed to the older man's voice. Pliant, melting, becoming a quiet stream. His back pressed solid flesh, fading inside a heartbeat strumming his spine, matching a symphony of his own. “Not a word, Hannibal. Just stay here.”

Arms folded in a tight embrace, interlocking their fingers. A mouth pressed to his temple, softly. “It would be my pleasure.”

The room darkened, a shadow of Will’s mind, clinging to the safety of arms dragging him through and against crushing waves. It was too late. It had been too late from the first moment their eyes met. When Hannibal had seen him. Looked through him. Smiled at what he saw.

_No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love._

A heady combination of gnawing discomfort and content flooded his lungs. He took in a single breath before exhaustion dragged him under.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second installment! On last week's episode, Hannibal and Will took a long drop off a short cliff. At least in the curtain ending of Season 3 anyway. 
> 
> Let the grand adventure of Season 4 Murder Husbands begin!


	3. Chapter 3

“This isn’t what I wanted…” Will confessed quietly, head dropping back against a steel hull. He swayed with the ship, pale faced and strained. He subsided with a flash of pain twisting the corners of his eyes, crumpling beneath an unseen weight.

Hannibal glanced disdainfully around the cramped room littered with wooden crates and cargo, hands stuffed in his trousers to hide hooked fists. His gaze fell upon the lifeless body clinging to a dingy mattress, back to him, coiled within the safe shell of bones. A stab of anguish raked his heart. Hannibal lowered quietly, curling his back against Will’s gently, carefully, barely touching. They swayed against each other, rocking waves a constant cacophony of splashing and lurching water.

“I know the conditions are not ideal, William. Please remember we are alive. We are safe. We have… each other,” Hannibal intoned with pained, measured breaths, brushing a hand nimbly over bandages.

Will jerked away, filling more space between the gaps of their bodies. The distance was more painful than the rough shove. “Christ, don’t! That hurts! I-I’m sorry, Hannibal. It just hurts. Everything fucking hurts.”

Every bone cried out to take Will’s mouth between his teeth and crush their wounded bodies together until breath left them both, their tangled bones remnants of ashen shadows on the mattress. He carefully pulled away instead.

Hannibal stared at grey fabric pulled tight across tensed shoulder blades, voice flat. “When was the last time you took your painkillers?”

“Yesterday morning… I’m out.”

"Why would you have kept that from me?”

“Because you would have given me yours and I just couldn’t fucking stomach it.”

Teeth ground inside his skull. “How much pain are you in?”

“It feels like the encephalitis is back. My skull is a throbbing freight train hurtling towards a mountain.” A yelping laugh. “I almost wish it was. The encephalitis, I mean. At least it afforded me the distraction of nightmarish hallucinations.”

It grated Hannibal’s ears, mouth pulling into a tensed line. _Insufferable._ He resented the sounding board of Will’s unhappiness expressed. It was what a constrained timeline and planning on the run had allowed for. A dark poison slipped through his mind, a predator moving silently inside its fleshy prison. He should have been sipping on champagne in the confines of first class with a flight attendant at his beck and call, a fine suit hanging on his frame. A provision allowed by a solitary escape. Hannibal snapped wildly against the uncontrolled image of Will’s shrinking figure in a review mirror as he left him behind.

The older man growled inwardly at the cold, unfeeling thing slithering within. _Will is all I will ever need to survive._ He curled against Will, dragging close, ignoring an echoing cry that answered. He held tighter. It wasn’t the lack of luxury, or the disparity of the romanticized notion of their escape that preyed on his mind. It was the pain of Will’s utter discomfort, a sharply pointed reminder of inadequacy at being unable to provide, to protect, to shelter. A complete loss of control was a slow death.

“Would you allow me to be your distraction, Will?”

Will turned slightly. “Are you going to tell me a story…” Wavering blue eyes fell upon the mouth hovering just above as Hannibal leaned in.

“In a manner of speaking…”

The t-shirt stretched, fluttered, desperately clinging before Hannibal dragged it over Will’s head with a tug. His breath caught. A jagged scar across the younger man’s stomach had faded into an etched white line, the only visible expression of what Hannibal felt for him.

“This is the fourth time you’ve done that in matter of weeks. You continue to have this unnerving habit of removing my clothes without asking, Hannibal…”

_Does one need permission to gaze upon the beauty of all that belongs to him?_

Hannibal glanced at the balled fabric in his fist, resisting a glare at its offensively stretchy surface. “My apologies…” He answered, offering the t-shirt back reluctantly. “I merely wanted to examine your wounds to ensure they were healing correctly.”

Will’s mouth quivered, brows arching high on his forehead, amused by the outright lie. “It’s fine. Nothing you haven’t already seen. Clinically or otherwise.” He pushed the shirt away. Hannibal dropped it with thin lips, what would have been a pleased smile. “I just happen to be awake and lucid during these particular moments.”

“There’s really no need to stand on formality, William. If you’ll remove those as well, I will…” Hannibal shook his head, quirking it to the side, gesturing at the jeans. “I keep wanting to say I’ll draw us a bath, but that’s not quite right, is it?”

_Us._

A startled look flickered in Will’s eyes as if he’d registered the same thought simultaneously, unconsciously touching the thin brass band turning his ring finger green. A cheap mockery claiming all Hannibal longed to possess, to cherish, to keep.

“Are you telling me, I should be more open to the unconventionality of our arranged marriage, _Doctor Bergstrom_?”

“I am suggesting you disrobe for the practicality of a sponge bath, _Mister Liam Bergstrom.”_

Will’s mouth opened wide with laughter. The serious formality of tone as their newfound aliases rolled of their tongues sounded absurd. It flooded every nerve inside Hannibal with a tingle of relief, of hope. He made note of the way the younger man's eyes colored with a hint of silver flecking irises when he was happy. Stars falling to earth, rare and fleeting. 

“I still can’t believe you couldn’t think of a better name than shortening the one I already have. Also, what is your obsession with choosing surnames that are drawn out syllables of flagrant symbolism?” Will’s cheeks flushed pink, head cocked to the side. “I swear you half want us to get caught.”

“It’s not that I was incapable or limited in aliases I could provide you, Will. It was to ensure against confusion.”

“Yours? Or mine?” Amusement filled the space with warmth, always the same question.

 “Ours. However, yours, primarily.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Though I gave consideration to the idea you might like to be called by something more familiar, at home in your own skin, even if that home is far from where you imagined it would be.”

A rusting copper tub ground across the floor, settling next to a plastic three gallon water jug. Hannibal heaved the jug to the curve of his neck and shoulder, biceps straining as the water sloshed out, filling the tub with greedy glugs.

“No candlelight this time, but I am afraid wining and dining you will have to come after this sordid affair with cold canned soup and…” Hannibal shot a disdained glance across the room at a small crate hiding the offensive contents within. “…this poisonous high fructose corn syrup you try to convince me is a luxury has concluded.”

Another barking laugh warmed Hannibal to his fingertips. “You really hate the idea of processed food, don’t you?”

“Just because they have an exotic sounding name like _Del Monte_ does not make them anything more than stewed peaches, Will.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“I do not appreciate putting anything in my body without knowing exactly where it came from.”

“ _Whom_ it came from,” Will corrected immediately.

Hannibal stretched out his hand, palm up, turned towards the younger man. “Come.”

Fingertips touched the faded burgundy v-neck slung on Hannibal’s chest, tugging at the hemline as Will looked up and then away. “Look, I am not going to be the only one to strip naked. Last time you turned away, and the time before that you left the room entirely.”

Breath hitched. It was his turn to look away. “Would you prefer me to do either or both of those things? I am happy to oblige if you find comfort in it.”

“No…” A sigh of fabric against skin. “I would prefer if you took off your clothes and we washed them together, alright. Just don’t fucking say anything.”

The older man turned respectfully, hooking fingers beneath the hem of his sweater. He drew it up his sternum, arced his back as it stretched over arms, and let it catch at his wrists before dropping it to the floor. He closed his eyes. Sensing the a flick of heat discovering him in a new light. He knew Will. Knew the color of his ever changing eyes by the sensation of them. Rainwater gaze searching and curious, dark piercing and violent, and mournful cerulean, vulnerable and wavering. Not heat. He swallowed, listening to the drag of a zipper unfastening. Was this what desire felt like? What were the color of Will's eyes now? He wrestled stirring want, tied it up, and stitched it carefully behind his placid mask as he shucked trousers and silk boxers off. 

They settled beside the tub with straight head stares and silence. Their hands brushed each other beneath a swirl of lukewarm water. Will stared hard at its glimmering surface, shaking the t-shirt vigorously as if it to drown it. Water splashed both their cheeks. With a light tug, Hannibal took it away to save it from some unknown wrath and certain death. The younger man’s gaze stayed where it was, limbs curling back from a crouch and bending to a kneeling position. He rested his head on an arm slung over the tub’s side, facing away.

Hannibal caressed the stitched lines of his clothes in the water, brushing and swishing with swirling motions. He tried hard to focus, to keep his gaze on the task at hand instead of stealing glimpses from peripheral vision. Sunlight filtered through a small porthole and set Will’s skin ablaze. Toned and golden. Muscles roping thighs and calves beautifully. Chest lean, smooth, and scarred. He purposefully feigned scrubbing with swooshes of water. His gaze and attention rested elsewhere entirely. Unable to look anywhere but the younger man’s naked, poised frame. Patroclus bathing on the lush banks of Athens, brown skinned beneath a setting blood red sun.

“Are you going to stare this much all the time? Or just when I’m not looking? Or completely naked? Or in this case, both.”

 His eyes snapped up from a thigh they had been studying with reverent strokes of charcoal on papyrus in his mind. Piercing blue eyes unabashedly stared back.

“It was not my intention to stare, Will. It is more a confusion as these moments have only ever existed in my mind.” Hannibal focused on wringing the t-shirt dry, knuckles stark white, fists shaking, exercising precise control over the task. “I fear it will be a combination of those things for some time to come…”

 _Forever if you would allow it. Until I have memorized every curve. Until I am able to know you are real without the sensory perception of touch._  
  
“I think they’re clean. I’m getting in.”

The tub shook beneath an unsteady clamber of flailing motions, stilling as Will crammed in, all limbs and pointed angles of poorly contained knees and elbows. He looked half miserable yet somehow completely satisfied by the meager provision. Their clothes dripped steadily in a stream of water, clinging to the metal surface for dear life, or at least for the hope to remain above a dusty floor.

“Charming,” Hannibal mused softly, quickly turning when he realized he had spoken aloud.

Aching eyes followed. “…Wash my hair, would you.” The body shifted another uncomfortable slosh. “That is if you’re done admiring my figure both in and outside of your own head.”

Water poured down closed eyes, tunneling fingers through soft hair clinging to his forehead as Hannibal admired studying Will’s face from another angle. “Never,” He replied quietly.

Eyes snapped open. “ _Christ.”_ Will flew from the copper tub, a blur of limbs, trembling and snapped a t-shirt over his groan. “You can’t, can’t…” He pointed with a firm command. “In.”

Hannibal ran a tongue across a lower lip and tipped his head. “Are you going to baptize me, Will?”

“Just shut up and get in the goddamn tub. Please.”

Hannibal lowered carefully into the tub, each motion a purposeful display of strength and muscle, unashamed. He knelt on its metal surface with a suppressed, twitching smirk. Cold water forcefully flung over his face. A reprimand. Another twitch. Fingers curled against his scalp, nails scrubbing. His skin tingled from an unseen gaze roaming down his body. He tilted his head back, throat arcing, pushing against soft flesh of the younger man’s bent thigh. Fingers stilled. He opened his eyes, gazing up, corner of a mask unraveling, half smile breaking loose.

“Beautiful.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard this ship, anyone? There may be a hinting of smut around the corner!


	4. Chapter 4

A hot mouth and burning limbs pressed Will flat of his back. He struggled to find a level ground between an overwhelming panic to escape and desire to be trapped within the flesh pressing in.

“N-no… Hannibal, stop, please.”

 A low voice rattled against his ear. “Won’t you let me give you this, William? It will relax you. It will help you rest.”

“Please. I can’t. Not here.”

“I thought you had become more… open to the new aspects of our relationship?” Fingertips stilled on his hips, pushing space and separation between their bodies. “Would you tell me if I have overstepped my bounds?”

“I-it’s not that… I just can’t right now.” Will stared at faint wavering light on the ceiling, sucking in a breath. “Not, not like that.”

_I want it to be different. Not here. It's not the right time. It's not like I'm looking for candlelight... but here?  
_

“The room is quite dark.” A thumb strummed curves of his neck. He shivered. “You may… close your eyes and think of someone else, if that is what you wish,” Hannibal whispered, words laced with soft bitter edges.

“ _No_.”

The shadow retreated to the edge of the mattress, elbows leaning against knees, face pressed to palms.  
  
“Forgive me. I seem to have made a… miscalculation.”

A sound tangled in Will’s throat, a fist pressed to his right eye. “ _I_ kissed _you_ , Hannibal.”

Seawater sprayed the side of the ship, drifting in the silence.

“It is not unusual for an inexplicable intimacy to form between two people who have shared a traumatic experience.”

“You can say it, Hannibal. We killed Dolarhyde together and I pushed us off a fucking cliff. We nearly died. And it is _entirely_ my fault. Yet for some strange reason you haven’t strangled me in my sleep, and I find it…alarming.” A fist slammed  a side of the metal wall. It burned his knuckles, throbbing a dull ache. “If that wasn’t enough evidence of what kind of crazy I am then I’m not sure what is."

“Why ever would I see anything but beauty knowing our spirits would be entwined after death, tangled in both the physical realm and in any that may lie after, Will? Would it not be fitting for our lifeless forms to wash up on a sandy shore, hands clasped tight in our final journey?”

Breath hissed out. “You can’t keep saying you were content with dying because it was at my hands, in my arms… or because it would have elevated to us to some fitting, final suicide murder tableau. It wasn’t beautiful. It was selfish.”

_And I didn't want to lose you._

“Where else would our bodies have entangled if not in the final flickering images of my mind before our hearts ceased to beat? What else would have filled me aside from mouthfuls of seawater if not thoughts of you in my final moments, Will?”

Will strained against the words, squeezing his eyes tight against them. “You don’t have to drown to hold me, Hannibal… I’m right here. It’s just… this is all new, crashing over and around me.”

“Have you often felt adrift in the currents of our…" Fingertips tapped a knee twice. "...friendship?”

“I have never been adrift as long as I can reach out for you, Hannibal. I have always sought you without reason or understanding, never knowing why. Yours are the only hands to both hold my head under the currents and drag me to safety from them. Your mouth has been the only one to kill me slowly with each word and breathe the life back in to my lungs. And so... I keep pushing away, off cliffs or otherwise.”

“Seeking blind comfort from a guide is often misconstrued as faithless trust in traveling the unknown with a stranger.”

“I… I don’t even know what that means,” Will answered with a frustrated sigh, thumping his head against the mattress.

_Why does it have to be so goddamn difficult? Isn’t this what I want? Why was it always riddles answered with more questions? Why was it never simple? Why is Hannibal so difficult to understand? Why am I... so difficult?_

“I want to tell you I am too tired to care and banish you from this bed to some fucking crate…” He turned his head, staring at divots of Hannibal’s hip, grasping for words to explain the rise and fall of a clamor inside his chest. “But I do care. About you, I mean. About this, whatever… this is.”

Fingers dragged his upturned palm, barely touching before pulling away. Will grit his teeth against the ache it stirred.

The older man kept his back to him. “It is not my wish for you to edge into an entanglement because you feel there are no other open doors, William.”

“You’re not a goddamn door. You’re a window. Wait. Why the fuck am I stringing along with this metaphor?”

“Those in my profession might advise it is your subconscious way of processing and handling a situation you find overwhelming.”

“For the love of Christ _, please stop talking_ ,” He groaned, fist jerking against the mattress. Will sprang up, hooking hands beneath strained arms and yanked with a growl, “If we’re going to do this… I am _not_ thinking of anyone but _you_ , Hannibal.”

“Will…”

Hannibal toppled forward. A crumbling statue of hard lines and angles. Knees hugged jagged points of his hips. Shaking arms locked on either side of head. Will tried to concentrate, to drag his gaze up from a thicket of hair and generous cock that hung between strong legs. The older man swallowed, chest rising and falling rapidly, gaze glowing heat and promise, a wolf’s glittering eyes in the night.

“God, you look at me like you haven’t eaten in months…” Will breathed, swinging his gaze away, staring at the curve of a shoulder.  
  
“I am perfectly content to suffer famine at the alter of my worship with steepled hands.”

“You can’t… nnn…”

A firm hand wrapped his half hard cock and stroked. It jerked, breath stuttering out. Will flashed a startled look at Hannibal, slack jawed and unprepared by the utter lack of finesse. He almost laughed. Teasing died on his lips when smooth fingertips wrapped tight. He swallowed, averting his gaze from glittering eyes. How many nights had he woken drenched in sweat as the haze of heated dreams rushed away from him? God, how long had Hannibal wanted to touch him like this? He made an abortive noise instead of a question, arcing his back and biting at his lips to keep from moaning aloud. A mouth blazed the side of his throat, sharp teeth nipping their way to his mouth. He reached for anything to hold on. Fingers clawed the mattress. Sank into broad shoulders. Dragged across hair sprawling on a solid chest. Down the curving lines of a rib cage.

“Oh Christ,” He groaned, nails digging in.

“Iconic, religious imagery seems to be on your mind, William, rather than on me…” Another long, hard tug. “Which I find rather charming when coming from your lips.”

“I-it feels good.” A gasp as precum dripped down his stomach.

“Are you elevating this particular act to the level of reverent prayer?” Hannibal whispered in his ear.

 “Nnn… oh shut up, just shut up and—ahh…” The hand stroked up and down, another settling to massage and cup his balls.

 Will threw his head back, heels digging the mattress.

 “I could paint portraits of your face lost in pure abandon and never be content with capturing how you look right now.”

“Jesus. You can’t…” He threw a hand up to cover his face. His cheeks burned. Will thrust wildly into the fist gripping tight, pace increasing. He throbbed in his grasp, aching for release. “Hannibal… faster please…”

“May I… taste you?”

His hips froze in place, inching away from the scalding touch. “I… is this not okay for right now?”

“That you are allowing me to touch you at all is a privilege, dear Will.”

His face flushed red. “But?”

“It is hardly important.” Hannibal turned, narrowed eyes focused on a softening cock.

“I’ve never…” Will growled inwardly at a blush stealing across his face, singed with anger. “… really come from that before. It’s never been… good for me.”

_For Christ sake, how old am I?  
_

Hannibal’s mouth was on his in a blur of movement, jerking gently on his rising head and in his hair. The tongue forced Will’s mouth open. It swirled heat against his tongue, luring it from dark safety. The moan he had been stifling came out long and low. Palms settled against his jaw, stroking, a thumb easing his mouth open wider. Will’s tongue licked furtively, seeking the other nimbly. Teeth nipped his tongue, playfully at first, dragging it out impatiently. A half yelp escaped. For a half second terror seized him again, terrified Hannibal might bite it off. The older man took his hand and placed it to a throat, caressing lightly, a gentle reminder he would stop if Will pushed. He relaxed, feeling a pleased purr humming vocal cords. Lips wrapped the stinging muscle, slowly sinking down. A tongue licked up the rough underside of his, sucking up then down, repeating each motion with languid strokes. Will pushed back, clambering into Hannibal’s lap with shoves and curling fingers. Sharp hip bones pressed his thighs as he rolled against the heavy cock pressing back and hand wrapped tight around him.

_This can't be happening... I'm going to be so pissed if someone is giving me mouth to mouth right now and it isn't Hannibal, and this is just an oxygen starved dream._

Hannibal released his tongue, breathless. “I-is that your way of… convincing me?”

A gleam of teeth in the moonlight. “You have never been with someone who takes pleasure in giving pleasure, William. It is a rare kind of gift. It would give me immense pleasure if you would allow me to savor every inch of you.” Hannibal’s voice was rough, low, ragged, thickening accent a pure seduction.

“I…” Will swore softly, leaning in and hanging on every word with a skitter of boldness. “Show me?”

A firm hand settled on his ass, fingertips sinking down one by one. Fine hair trailed his torso as Hannibal dipped his head, bent low. The muscles of his stomach flinched. Breath flitted hot against his navel, head straining for the lips hovering just above them. Will fought down the urge to buck up, desperate. The hand kept him in place with ease.

A wet tongue rimmed the edges of his head lightly, lapping at it with short flicks. “Do you feel my tongue against you?”

“Y-yes.” Will raked nails down the older man’s spine with a hiss.

Hannibal’s dark eyes locked on his, looking up, touching spaces between fingers holding his cock with the tip of a warm tongue. He dragged it up the length with the flat, wet edge. Will nearly came from the eye contact alone. Lust swirled in the ones gazing back, a corner of a mouth upturned.

“G-god…”

_Is this really happening?_

“And there?” A tongue flicked his ball sack, trailing, lips sucking rough skin lightly.

“Oh goddammit.” Will’s nails sunk down into broad shoulders. "Do that again."

“Mmm...” Fingers splayed against his lower back, stroking.

A mouth sucked lightly on Will’s cock and he thrust up against it, groaning as it popped out of Hannibal’s mouth and he was drawn in until they were face to face, foreheads pressed against each other.

The older man’s lips glittered with saliva, spit and mix of precum clinging to his chin. “How does it feel with my mouth wrapped tight around you? Is it different than when my hands are on you?”

“God, so good. You’re, ah… “ He raked a trembling hand through his hair, flushing. “…Hann-ibal...”

“To hear you moan your appreciation against me is absolute sin." A tongue lapped his racing pulse. "As informative as this was for me, I’m afraid we will have to cut this conversation short.”

“Nnnn…” His head dropped back, closing eyes against the hand fisting his cock with fast, firm, jerking motions. “Please…”

Hannibal untangled the fingers dragging in his hair, kissing the palm of each one. “I will need undivided focus if I am going to do this properly.”

“P-properly? That…wasn’t…?” Will’s mouth gaped, breath stuttering.

Hannibal’s tongue slipped inside, licking and sucking until he closed it. “How very charming.” A hot mouth pressed the corner of his cheek with a shadow of a smile. “You will be the one who needs to stop talking if you would like to be satiated, William.” The tongue trailed down his torso, dipping around the creases of his hipbone. “For now, please just close your eyes and fuck against my mouth. Think of nothing else.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

A hollow pair of blue eyes gazed back with crinkled lines, soft, weak. A gaping smile, a mirrored image of Death, drifted through each gasping breath. Long lashes fluttered closed, drifting in and out of sleep, blissfully unaware of the blackened figure lurking just beyond blurred edges of dream. A shadowy silence filled the spaces between quiet breathing, echoes of fading laughter settling in dusty corners. Will had barely been conscious the last three days.

Hannibal turned from the sleeping figure with a loud hiss. Hunger was not an unfamiliar visitor. An old shadow of a parasitic host perched at the edge of a banquet filled with viscera and broken bone, a reminder of what was, of who he was, of who he could never be again. He could bear the knotting and gnawing sensations of insides chewing their way out, relishing its strange irony. Studying the physical manifestations of hunger eating away at the younger man, however, was intolerable torment. He had watched as weight slowly, painfully, fell away from Will’s body until only skin clung to his rib cage, gaunt, spread thin.

Will had become too weak to speak more than a few sentences. The sound of howling air rasping through brittle leaves. Yet his eyes remained deep pools of blue, an endearing look of comfort rippling beneath the surface. He had slipped into Hannibal’s arms and allowed sleep to take him instead of the spirits drifting at his back. It was difficult to be reassured by rattling bones of the lifeless already half dead. It was maddening to hear Will try to do so. It made his blood run cold. They had run out of food completely. Half a stale roll of bread remained. A blazing fire burned behind placid maroon eyes leaning in the doorway.

“Hann… come to bed.” A feeble quavering called.

“Save your strength, William,” Hannibal replied over his shoulder firmly, skin prickling at the sound, unable to look.

A plastic cup clattered.

Hannibal spun on his heel, biting back curses. He shoved the half kneeling body down with scraping nails and a low growl of warning. Will crumbled against the mattress, light and effervescent like a sparrow’s hollow body caught against a blustering wind, clutched tight between sharp talons and teeth.

“What have I told you about moving without my permission?”

“N-not to…” A hand clutched at his sweater for a brief moment then fell away.

“Are we going to be cooperative in this endeavor to rest or am I going to have to sedate you again?”

A sleeper hold was all Hannibal had been able to offer Will’s harsh waking screams and pangs of hunger. Every moment after splintered and fragmented in Hannibal’s mind. A tense silence, checking to make sure he had not slipped off into the swirling currents of Death.

“P-please don’t… it hurts less when you are near.” Blue eyes shimmered, creased with fine lines and tears.

Hannibal ran trembling fingers through the scruff of beard on his face, repressing a scream caged deep within his chest. Neither of them would last long at this rate.

“We only have a few days left, Will. Is there anything else I am able to do to soothe you back to sleep?”

“You could kiss where it hurts.”

“And where might you hurt, William?”

A weak noise. “Everywhere.”

If he choked the life out of him now it would be a quick death. It would be merciful. It was easier than seeing Will’s sunken skull smiling back with pure trust and reassurance. It ripped through Hannibal with a sudden tremor of violence.

He crushed his mouth to Will’s with a strangling tongue, a gentle wavering caress at his throat, and a hissed command. “Sleep.”

Will’s eyes sank closed. His body went limp. His skin felt like ice. How low had his blood pressure dropped this time? Hannibal’s fingers pressed the side of his neck. How much longer could Will hold on? He swallowed acidic bile rising in his throat. A slow pulse thrummed back. Barely.

Hannibal pushed away from the litter of bones writhing, helpless twitches on the mattress. He was the only silent witness to Will’s body turning against him. Time was not on their side. Will was fading fast. He knew remnants of potassium crawled through his system, how his muscles gave in and gave way to pump blood to more vital organs, until only they remained for consumption. Until they shut off, one by one, until an oxygen starved brain caved against the assault. Until Will…

The walls closed in. Stale air snaked his windpipe and squeezed. He doubled over with a dry, hacking retch. Hannibal swayed against the door frame, breathing labored. He forced down a pang in his stomach and pushed out to the cargo hold, desperate to escape. He gasped for air, sucking in each gulp with measured breaths. He was standing aside, helpless, watching Will die.

_I need him alive._

Glittering eyes scanned row after row of crates. He listened intently to the spray of seawater. Alone. The crew would panic if one of their own went missing. He imagined his associate would be mildly displeased to find his first mate pressed to Hannibal’s mouth in a crimson kiss. The brig was likely to follow shortly there after. Or worse. Hannibal tilted his head up against the inner wall with a sigh. It was cool. He was rather reluctant to experience his first steps on foreign soil to the accompaniment of clanging chains or his last breath to trail out in a bloody stream between fifteen rows of jagged teeth.

He pressed a palm to a sweating forehead. He had to do something. He pulled the hand from his face suddenly. Grey light filtered between outstretched fingers. He tilted his head in consideration, turning the arm over to examine it. Strained flesh clung to the radius and ulna poking out.

_Yes. That will do quite nicely._

Silently, Hannibal stalked through the maze of crates in search of anything sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone. He began to rifle through each one quickly and quietly. A sense of urgency pressed painfully against the side of his temples.

A shadow twisted in the back of his mind. I _t is very unlikely that even a man clever as you can hide a missing limb._

Perhaps sharp was asking too much. Even a rusted tool would do.

 _Carving it out piece by piece is more practical in this situation, don’t you think?_ Hannibal let out a harsh laugh. _It is far easier to treat and stave off infection._ He only had to maintain consciousness long enough to stem the bleeding with a tourniquet while Will slept soundly at his feet. _It would be a divine gift to know Will sustained himself on my flesh alone._

_What will our dear William have to say about finding out he’s consuming you in a more literal sense? You know how much he prefers literal explanations to euphemisms._

_An unnecessary burden. Will is half conscious as it is. Feeble at that. There are far better ways to retain his acceptance with a few well placed suggestions and gentle pushes of influence._

_A rather successful ploy in the past. Will it serve to our advantage again this time?_

_It is not a ploy._ Hannibal let out a low hissing sound. _It is a necessity. He may not last three more days._

_And when he comes to his senses? What then? He’ll hate you. He’ll hate himself._

A wavering pang of uncertainty shot through Hannibal’s steely core. He clamped down on it with a clench of teeth.

_If he can hate then he can breathe. The consequences are of very little concern to me at the moment. A psychiatrist with my rather broad and intimate knowledge on this subject ought to be able to handle and deal swiftly with any trauma to follow._

_You are making the grave assumption Will Graham will be able to live with this knowledge long enough to suffer through it. At either your hands or his._

_He will live._

His fingers delved in fine sawdust and straw.

 _And when he struggles?_ The darkness slithered the base of his skull, coiling tight. _When he chokes on your blood with ungrateful sputtering and spits out the whittled carvings of your bones?_

Rough twine unraveled from a rectangular brown carton. Hannibal stuffed it in a pocket.

_Then I will do what is necessary to keep him still._

Cold metal greeted his palm. A thin smile pulled against tense cheeks. He tugged it free. A colt revolver gleamed in dim light, beckoning.

_Ah, a bit of hypocrisy creaks in your bones. Isn’t suicide the enemy?_

He dropped it with a scowl. _I will starve by Will’s sunken flesh and rotting corpse first._

_You could eat him you know. Save yourself._

_It would be utterly vile to consume him like this._

Dark, mocking laughter. _We shall see how long you last before he joins your sister._

“Silence,” Hannibal roared, slamming a fist down.

He rutted through several more crates with definitively less calm. The contents rumbled and clanked. A collected assortment of guns, crudely painted forgeries, and useless trinkets to flood the clamoring tourist coastlines, likely filled with smuggled drugs. A wood carving of an 18th century figure shuddered beneath his touch. It fell back into its container with blushing cheeks and a swoon.

 _Useless._ Not a single knife. Not even a poorly produced Ming vase. _All I need is a shattered piece._

He braced trembling limbs against the nearest wall. Sparks of warning coursed through his veins as adrenaline petered out. Another rough laugh stirred in the dark. He wasn’t sure if it was out loud or inside his head. Who would have considered the day Hannibal Lecter would long for brittle white bodies of plastic cutlery in his grasp? His feet dragged around a corner, shoulders sagging. He pushed passed an open doorway. Hannibal’s limbs gave way. He fell gratefully against the mattress. Will stirred with a quiver of limbs. He dragged the younger man against his chest. It melted with a sigh.

“Eat this,” Hannibal ordered, pressing a stale roll into a trembling hand.

“You already ate?”

“Of course.” He winced as another lie effortlessly fell from his lips. “While you slept.”

A faint glimmer of teeth sank into dough. A content sound then a devouring slurp of spit and grinding teeth.

“Thank you.”

Hannibal pressed his mouth to a hard grimace. “For what, Will?”

“Taking care of me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Will woke with a start, jerking against a mattress. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle a scream leaving his throat. It was raw, dry, aching. He ran a shaking hand back through damp curls clinging to his forehead. He reached for Hannibal. Thin air fell through grasping fingers. He curled away from the damp spot with a labored breath. A pang of hunger seized before a tremor shook through every muscle and limb. He let out a low curse when it subsided.

“Will?” A shadowy figure swung through the door, stepping in, a familiar sound of scraping feet.

“Where… were you?” Will asked, voice quavering with hints of anger, bitter and resentful of pain crawling through, as if Hannibal was its source.

Hannibal knelt carefully beside the mattress. He tucked both hands in trouser pockets, before drawing them out slowly. Shaking hands rearranged tangled, heavy limbs until Will was propped up against the wall in a sitting position. Hollows clung to deepening ravines of the older man’s face. Pale grey wisps of hair floated across a creasing brow. His lips formed a taut line of anger and concern, thin and cracking. His breathing was ragged. He was pale, a white flickering flame smoldering beneath soot and crumbling limbs. Thickets of red tangled in his irises, blown black, glassy and far away. Lines etched into his forehead with bated breath, deep in concentration.

“I may have slipped out to pay Daniel a brief visit. Have you been unable to sleep for long?”

A different kind of pang ripped through Will; jealousy. His jaw clenched at the name, sucking in a breath, chest rising and stilling. He reached forward, fingers curling in fraying threads of a sweater clinging to Hannibal’s frame. The upper sleeve on his left arm was blossoming with a darkening stain, warm and sticky.

“Is that blood?” He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing the substance between forefinger and thumb, eyes fluttering, unsteady. “ _Why_ are you bleeding?”

The older man swiveled away with a labored breath, leaning back  with a quiet groan until they rested side by side. “We may have had a mild disagreement about the methods I used to slip past his men and reach his room,” Hannibal answered calmly, hands flopping against his thighs. His arm shook with an imperceptible tremor, fingers twitching. “We may have then further argued about his utter lack of provisions and what I would do to ensure acquiring at least something to bring to you. A parting gift.”

“What did you do, Hannibal?” He asked, head falling to the side in burning regard.

“It all ended with a handful of apologies. Very cordial.”

Will hissed at the word with grinding teeth. “How cordial?”

“Enough to end in a knife wound.” A corner of the older man’s mouth tugged in an attempt to smile, drawing down in a grimace. “Nothing as cordial as that, I assure you, Will.”

“I’ll tear out his fucking lungs,” Will forced a quavering growl from his lips, touching the wounded arm.

Hannibal jerked away, smile faltering. “Language, Will. Though it warms my very soul to hear you would so, it is entirely unnecessarily. It is unbecoming to startle a man in his sleep. A lesson learned.”

Will wondered how far his starved brain had caved to even begin considering the possibility of Hannibal lying openly to his face.

“How did it happen?”

“A knife.” A blade glimmered in the palm of Hannibal’s hand, another buried in his trouser pocket. He pulled something out, clenched in a shaking fist. His gaze was haunted with a series of lights and shadow before extinguishing, dark once more. “Please, take this and eat.”

Something sticky slithered into Will’s outstretched palm. It was warm. “God… this isn’t…?” He shoved forward, eyes wide, glancing back between it and the older man’s face. “Tell me it’s not—“

“Daniel was very much alive and intact when I left him, Will,” Hannibal replied with an undignified snort. “Although rather cross upon finding his second in command unconscious in the hallway. It would be senseless to jeopardize our arrangement within mere days of reaching our final destination.”

“If this isn’t your friend…” Will turned red, glistening meat over in his hand. Its scent overwhelmed, filled his lungs, heady and blissfully sweet. “… then what the hell is it, Hannibal? What are you feeding me?”

“ _Carapaccio carne cruda all'albese.”_ A breath fluttered through Hannibal’s lips as he shifted, drawing knees up. Will knew beneath his closed eyes the older man was recalling fine white china with carefully arranged bits of ingredients. “An _hors-d'oeuvre_ usually composed of thinly sliced pieces of raw meat drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with sea salt, and garnished with a generous shaving of white truffles, served on a bed of arugula.” Will’s eyes followed a rising palm as it fluttered against a stain spreading on his sleeve. The older man paled further with a hiss.“Paired with the bitter acidity of a glass of _Grignolino_ , it can be quite an exquisite dish. Unfortunately, given our meager provisions, I am only able to offer you the meat at this time.”

“What _kind_ of meat?” Will brought the slippery meat up to his lips, inhaling. A mistake. He struggled not to bite down.

“ _Veal.”_ The older man glanced over as another tremor shook his body, fingers clenching and twisting in slithering pieces.“You are really in no state to argue, Will.”  
  
Will shot him a hateful glare as his limbs subsided from seizing. “You mean I am not quite as unconscious as you would like to not be able to object.”

“Have you not consumed far greater sustenance between blissful sighs and watering lips at my table, Will? Did it not thrill you in the absence of knowing what it wasn’t?”

“A vegetarian is usually not thrilled to find out their semblance of tofu twitches between their teeth and knots in the base of their stomach with several dying kicks.”

Blood trickled through his open fingers. His tongue curled in his mouth, begging for release, to lap up the liquid with long strokes.

“Please eat, Will. This may be the last meal I am able to serve you for some time.”

His mouth watered, lungs filling with a deliciously rich scent. “If I refuse?”  
  
“It would give me no pleasure to force you…” Hannibal looked up, straining with trembling limbs, trailing a finger along his cheek with muddied dabs of red.

His vision blurred. Blood pounded in his ears as a sudden swirl of anger shot through. Will jerked forward, grabbing the bloodied pocketknife and brandishing it with a flick of his wrist

“You would… wouldn’t you?” The blade glinted against Hannibal’s throat.

A half hearted smile tugged at Hannibal’s mouth as he leaned into the pressure, a brush of lips mouthing the words on his. “There are no avenues of horror I would not consider trespassing down if it meant keeping you alive, William.” Pain flickered in tired eyes, shoulders drooping with a sigh.

“If I find out…” Blood trickled as Will increased the pressure, wrist beginning to tremble.

“I assure you no crew member was harmed in its acquisition,” Hannibal answered softly, stroking the side his face. Will leaned in with closed eyes as a palm settled against his tensed knuckles. “I only wish to give you what you need. It is not much.” He sounded pained.

“…Thank you.” Will breathed, sagging as exhaustion flooded down.

Unsteady fingers pried the knife away. “Here.” Hannibal picked up the meat. It stained the mattress. It quivered, beckoning, beaming in his hand.

_God, what if it really is one of the crew… It’s so warm._

Will took the ragged pieces, one by one from an outstretched palm, spit clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hannibal?” His voice quavered from fear, from want, from need.

_Would it really matter at this point? Shut up and just eat._

“I promise.” A mouth pressed against his forehead. “Only I provide for your sustenance this night.”

With a snarl, Will’s teeth sunk into hot flesh. He ground meat between teeth with tears and rips, tongue swirling. He realized he was growling with each mouthful, palms jammed into lips with scraping and gnashing teeth; a wild animal. His gaze strayed, slipping towards the older man. A tiny smile flitted across his lips, gaze warm. A look of content. Of relief. Will winced at how human the older man looked in that moment, soft shallows and curving lines. He seemed at peace with providing a meager offering, an offer Will had thrown away with scorn at their feet. Hannibal had risked his life in order to find food for them. He made another vicious sound, slurping up the last of the meat in a final gulp.

Fingertips brushed lightly at the sticky substance covering his face, dragging across his bottom lip. Will looked up from shaking hands and over to Hannibal. He gently pulled, softness clouding a wavering gaze. Will leaned in, a breath shuddering from his lungs as the older man placed his mouth over his in a slow, aching kiss.

“Thank you, William,” He whispered softly, exhaustion bleeding in.

Will winced, forcing himself away. It was too much to see him, to touch the older man’s widening cracks and brittle bones between. He could tell that Hannibal was suffering beneath the surface. He wanted to press their bodies together and hold tight, to whisper soft reassurances and comfort against the curve of his neck. Who was he to divine whether or not they would survive? Whether or not he would wake with Hannibal’s teeth sinking deep in his throat?

_Am I ever going to be able to provide for you…?_

He motioned weakly to the neck of a bottle curled between Hannibal’s fingers. “Are you going to share that or just clutch it to your chest like a teddy bear until you fall asleep?”

“Why ever would I need to do so with you near?” A fifth of vodka poured into a tin cup. It pressed into his hand. “A taste only. To settle your nerves.”

Will tilted a trembling cup to his lips and choked down burning, sharp liquid. It mingled, swirling, and seeping into the corners of his mouth. “You’re not drinking?”

“A small victory is not a cause for celebration. The pangs of starvation have not yet reached a level of desperation to assault my taste buds. However, if you consider its use as single malt disinfectant then yes.” Hannibal tilted the bottle his direction. " _Salut._ "

“May I see? Is it…?”

“Skin deep. Nothing for you to be concerned over.”

Hannibal’s skull clattered into the wall as his body slammed back, away from vodka soaking through a sweater and burning skin beneath.

“I…” Hannibal hissed through clenched teeth. “Never thought I would be forced to use this kind of antiseptic ever again. It is not an experience I relish to repeat.”

“Is that…safe?” Will touched his knee, eyes searching ones closed off to his questions, lashes dragging against angled cheeks.

“Certainly not.” Hannibal’s eyes slipped open, entirely black. “A small price to pay to ensure you remain at my side, Will, our souls forever entwined.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A half hearted smile tugged at Hannibal’s mouth as he leaned in to the pressure, a brush of lips mouthing the words on his. “There are no avenues of horror I would not consider trespassing down if it meant keeping you alive, William.” Pain flickered in his tired eyes, shoulders drooping with a sigh.
> 
> The real question is. How willing are you to truly believe that Hannibal had enough strength to go traipsing around a guarded ship with waning strength and simply happen upon veal? 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments today! What a relief to hear its been enjoyable for us both!


	7. Chapter 7

_A chilled breath escaped in a puff of smoke. Stone and leaves crunched under soft pads of his bare feet. Will glanced down. They were covered in scrapes and gashes, etched in jagged lines. Red streams trickled against crumpled, dry bodies tinged the color of sunsets, buried beneath wet soil and melting snow. Will shivered, drawing his arms across his naked chest, scanning his surroundings._

_Where am I? How long have I been walking?_

_He shivered again. Flesh rose against his skin, dotting down his arms and trailing across his chest. Blackened, gnarled trees press in and around him. The air hung with the scent of singed, burning ash. Hair prickled at the nape of his neck. Breath steamed against his shoulder, fluttering and warm. Will turned slowly, heart beating loud in his ear before tangling in his throat. Burning red eyes glowered back. Black flanks rippled as the Ravenstag dipped its head in greeting, hooves digging into the ground with elegant stamps. Sharp pointed antlers raked down the sides of Will’s torso, edging forward. Will took a step back, then another. He stumbled back. Rough bark scraped against his shoulder blades as antlers came down on either side, a twisting trap of branching bones. A snorting breath of victory._

_Will shut his eyes as the damp muzzle pressed in. He waited, breath held tight in his lungs. It nuzzled against the side of his cheek. He opened them, a trembling hand reaching out. Black feathers fluttered against his palm. A head butted his hand away with a stamping of hooves. White teeth glittered in the dim light. An unsettling smile._

_The Ravenstag bent its head away, antlers shoving Will against the tree with brutal pushes. Sharp points jammed into his flesh, sinking to the bone. His hands tangled against them with a small noise of protest. Blood splattered across his face at its teeth sunk in, black hide peeling away, jagged and dripping, to reveal red, glittering muscle and sinew beneath. It continued to rip, tearing, jerking until blood streamed down its shoulders and trickled down its chest._

_Eat._

_A hoarse scream left Will. His nails clawed, shoving, buried against its muzzle as it closed in, flesh dripping in clenched teeth._

_Live._

_Blood trickled against his mouth, as he turned his face, screaming and choking as it dripped down his tongue, choking as burning hot flesh slipped down his throat. Before he leaned forward into velvety skin, teeth sinking in, and drinking deep._

“N-no… don’t…”

“Can you hear me, Will?”

Will reached blindly towards the voice. He latched onto cool skin. His tongue clung to the back of his throat.

“It is nearly time for us to disembark. Are you able to walk?”

He squinted against firmly closed eyelids. Tears trickled down his face. He shook his head weakly.

“No matter. I’ll carry you then.”

A palm cupped the back of his neck carefully. Water filtered between cracked lips. He drank greedily, choking then spitting. Copper filled bile rose in his throat, knotting in his stomach.

“That’s enough.” The cup disappeared, replaced by fingertips.

Will yanked forward, trembling, unable to open his eyes to see. Lips pressed against his forehead. Warm. Fingers stroked his hair.

“Hann…?”

“Shh. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“But…” Will struggled, to move, to breathe. A panic seized him. Jagged antlers twisted inside his chest.

A firm palm settled against him. Solid. “You are under my care, William. You will do as I say and go back to sleep.”

The voice blurred against shadows, fading black.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal swung away from the younger man to allow a violent tremor to distort his features. It had been nearly a week, stashed away in a flophouse near the docks, a different kind of prison. He had nursed Will back to life on what they could afford; day old bread and bits of bruised fruit with regulated side servings of unsuitable drugstore painkillers. Hardly anything. Certainly not enough.

“I’m afraid I’ve nothing more to offer you tonight, Will.”

Rage turned inward, brutal and unyielding in its reminder of what he had been unable to provide. _Unforgivable._ Bare sustenance and cramped quarters had suited the smile lines buried beneath Will’s rough beard. The second week, Will was delighted when peeling back lids with a crunch and laughing to lighten the gloom. Peach juice had drizzled down his chest. He had grinned, lapping it up. _Content._ The third week had been quieter. Will had stuffed pieces of stale bread into his mouth with a half hearted smiles. _Grateful_. Will had kissed back with thanks on his lips, blinded by Hannibal’s soft insistence and touch. _Blissfully unaware._ Hannibal had stopped eating all together. The final portions had been his. They had both been grateful for the copious amounts of water to fill the aches in between. When they had run out altogether, Hannibal had offered up brushes of his lips and mouthfuls of lies.

A nauseating, stale stench of the ship’s bowels filled his lungs. His arm throbbed, an aching reminder to how intimately acquainted he had allowed Will to become with Death. How deeply ingrained Hannibal was within him now, without knowing, without consenting, bits of the older man clenched between snapping teeth and a strangling kiss. It had hardly been enough.

“Well…” A blurring Louisiana drawl drew him back.

Will reached, pulling up the hem of his stained t-shirt to survey the damage. His head bobbed on his shoulders with a kind of nodding approval and a shrug. “I’m sure I could stand to lose a few more pounds without wasting away entirely. I mean, this is France, right? My skeletal physique will be… en vogue?”

A skeleton’s rib cage beckoned, a perfect perch for starving crows or a withered mount for a stag’s weary antlers. How much permanent damage shadowed against the organs he could not see? Another visible, violent tremor flinched on Hannibal’s cheek, staring with a grit of teeth. He nearly preferred the weighty silence of malnourishment to half grins of misplaced wit.

“It was a joke, Hannibal, a joke. Relax, it’s fine.”

“It is far from the definition of fine,” Hannibal fumed, fists curling at his sides.

In a matter of seconds, Will closed the space between them and pressed his forehead against Hannibal’s with weary eyes, whispering fiercely, “I’m _fine_ , Hannibal. It’s all going to be okay. Remember?”

Not a single emotion registered across Will’s face as clothes were torn from his body. His eyes traced the path of a flutter of fabric as Hannibal’s joined them on the floor. His hands trembled against jagged bones on the younger man’s body with a sharp gaze as if he could see the organs and bones beneath, to undo what he had done to them.

The younger man turned on his heel with a knowing gaze and a tug of his hand, leading them both to a small, glass shower and stepping in. Hannibal’s eyes followed the soft curves of his ass, trailing across gaunt skin stretched across the back of his thighs before following with a silent snarl.

A door shuddered closed. Hannibal bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as hot water sprayed across smaller shoulders and arms came down on either side, caging him against tile. Wet brown hair clung harshly across blue eyes alight with a white heat of anger, helplessness, and lust. It took Hannibal’s breath away.

“I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in my blood. Stop blaming yourself, Hannibal, and be grateful that I am alive. That we are both alive,” Will yelled with a shove of hands.

He latched on and held the hands against his chest. “It is particularly difficult to absolve one’s self of sin,” Hannibal replied softly, averting his gaze, silently hissing as water stung through the bandages clinging to his arm.

“How much money do we have left to survive on exactly?”

“Enough.”

“ _How much, Hannibal?”_ Will rumbled, forcing a thumb against the soft underside of his throat, a stroking threat. He pushed until Hannibal was unable to look anywhere but his eyes.

“Approximately one hundred and twenty euros.” He spat the meager number out. “We will use it to provide us with a sufficient amount of food until I am able to find suitable employment,” He replied stiffly, gaze lingering on dark shadows clinging to the divot of the younger man’s dangerous mouth.

“Work?”

“Yes, William.”

Hannibal leaned in to press a strained, chaste kiss into the curve of his shoulder. Salt flooded his mouth. He turned the body, facing away from its accusatory tone, before guiding them both under the shower head. The water was blissfully scalding. It burned. It was hardly a sufficient punishment.

“I will have to earn enough to provide us transportation in a more legitimate means. While stealing a car would be the most expeditious way to get on with our travels, I would rather not arouse suspicion of local authorities.”

“I-I’m sorry. I just… what is it you think _you’re_ going to do for work here?” Will shot a look over his shoulder, blinking against droplets of water tangling in his lashes. His gaze flicked down the length of Hannibal’s naked torso. His face flushed a shade of glistening pomegranate seeds and turned away. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“You may keep the disparaging remarks to yourself if you’ve nothing else to say.” Hannibal responded tersely then muttered, “I think I preferred the blissful state of your unconscious slumber.”

“I didn’t mean it like that…” Will answered softly, tilting his head back until water showered across his face. Even in the waning throes of starvation, Will was truly remarkable, beauty enhanced by clinging skin and jutting bone. He leaned back carefully until just their shoulders touched, chest arcing into the spray. The small patches of skin to skin contact burned. “I’m just tired. Honestly, we both look like shit. Rusty razor burn and gaping wounds are not exactly physical markers of the trustworthy. I wouldn’t hire either of us. I mean… I might be able to find work on a fisherman’s boat but…”

“You will not be leaving this apartment.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes slowly slid open.

“I will find work,” Hannibal growled, fiercely dragging a mint green bar of soap across the younger man’s chest. It smelled acrid. Cheap. “You will stay here.”

“That doesn’t even make---“

“That’s final, Will.”

With hunched shoulders, Will shrunk back from the harsh sound of Hannibal’s voice, wounded. A growl left his lips, stiffening, rising; the puppy a snarling, starved wolf, all teeth. He snatched the bar of soap away, swiping lather around and down Hannibal’s torso with scratching nails. Hannibal reserved a glare for when his head dipped away, turning as soap glided up his back.

“This particular city is still a cesspool of drug trafficking, gun smuggling, and police corruption, Will. Despite the disbandment of the French Connection, it still has one of the highest murder rates in the country.” Softer fingers trailed up his sides, nails raking down his torso. Hannibal closed his eyes. “It is not a world that I want you wandering through, with or without me, even in broad daylight.”

He felt Will’s shoulder shrug against him. “I can take care of myself.”

With a flick of his wrist, Hannibal pinned Will against the shower door, fist latched on to his throat, towering, voice dipping low. “ _You are not to set foot out of this apartment_. Is that perfectly clear, William? I would rather not resort to chaining you to the radiator in my absence.”

“Fine,” Will growled shoving back, folding his arms across his chest with a glittering stare. “And what is it you plan on doing to provide for us then? Christ, don’t you dare answer work.”

“My particular skill set is valued in these parts.”

“Could you possibly be more vague, Hannibal? You know what, of course you could.” He shot him a scathing look. “Traipsing through dark corners of other people’s minds? Your culinary skills? Or eating people? Pick one.”

“You are beginning to test my patience, William.” His fingers trailed at the back of his neck, squeezing lightly in warning. “ _Discretion._ The ability to kill another man with both efficiency and silence for a price is most valued here.”

Will stepped back, gaping. The soap thumped to the shower floor. “You… you’re going to be a _fucking hit man_?”

Hannibal stepped out with a snap of a towel, pulling Will along with another unrestrained snarl and a clenching fist, “ _Language, please_.” He buried the head in rough shakes and drags against wet hair. He considered placing the fabric around the younger man’s neck and pulling tight for a few minutes of silence. He resisted with thin tendrils of fraying restraint. “I prefer to think of it is a distastefully brief interaction with freelance.”

“It’s cold blooded murder, Hannibal. You don’t just kill people without reason. You never did. _It’s beneath you_.”

With a fling, Hannibal parted with the towel and pushed Will back into the wall, glowering down.

“I believe acquiring enough to help us reach safety and begin our new life together is reason enough given the circumstances.” His fingers curled beneath the shadowed chin, tilting up to look deep into ocean blue staring back. “There is _nothing_ in this world beneath me, that I would not do, if it meant I am able to protect and provide for you, William.”

“N-no, Hannibal, you—“ The eyes wavered, flicking side to side.

Hannibal cut him short with a wave of his hand, a dismissal. “I am afraid our options at this juncture are rather limited. We are in desperate need of money, Will. And the longer we stay here, the less likely it becomes that we will make it out of Marseille alive.”

“I… I’m not waiting here every night wondering whether or not you’re going to come back.” A hollow voice echoed against thin walls.

Hannibal hooked his arms around the sinking body, holding it up. “We will set protocols in place in the event I do not if it would assuage you.”

“That’s not…” Will blanched. “W-when will you go? Where will you go?”

“Tonight. And that’s none of your concern. First, I believe the both of us are in deep need of rest and by some miracle, sleep.”

“C-can I go with you?”

“Absolutely not.” He moved away from the outstretched arms, body trembling.

“Please. I just… I don’t want to be here alone tonight.”

Hannibal turned back, spinning on his heel, simultaneously lifting Will into his arms. He was much lighter, despite painstaking measures of care, all skin and frail bones. He tucked the trembling body beneath starched sheets before flinging moth eaten drapes closed. He slipped in. The cotton was rough against his skin. His eyes adjusted in the dark with measured shadows. He glanced down. Tears shimmered against Will’s hollow cheeks. It pulled against something buried in his heart.

_What will haunt your eyes when you discover what I’ve sacrificed to keep you, William? Will I become your waking nightmare then?_

“Fine.” He sighed, words tinged with harsh, rough edging. He stroked away the wet stains with soft fingertips. “But you will follow _every single_ instruction given to you. You will not leave my side. And when my business has concluded, I will return you here. You will say nothing when I leave. Understood?”

“Yeah….”

“Promise me, Will.” Hannibal growled, caging the younger man in his arms.

“Yeah, I got it. I promise.”

Silence. Hannibal closed his eyes with a soft sigh. It was too good to last.

“Hey, Hannibal?” Lips brushed against his fingertips.

“…Yes?” He pulled the younger man closer with a grit of teeth.

Droplets of water snaked between the warm, flesh of bodies in silence as Will nestled into their curves to find a comfortable fit.

“Consider for a moment that you are not the only man in this room who would gut another to protect all he held sacred.”

 * * *


	9. Chapter 9

“Stay here.”

Will shook his head once, firmly. He gritted his teeth against pounding music. He felt Hannibal’s disappearing touch like a knife slicing through his heart. An overwhelming ache of panic clawed at his lungs. Hannibal stopped, sensing his distress. He looked back once in warning. The last glimpse of his broad shoulders was swallowed in blinding lights and a sea of bodies. It took every bit of his waning strength not to scream, not to shove against swaying figures, and drag Hannibal back against him. Where he would be safe. Where they would both be safe.

_Christ, I need a fucking drink._

Will slipped a hand into his right trouser pocket. Metal cooled his sweating palm. The feel of a switchblade was comforting. The man he swiped it from on the street would not miss it. Though in retrospect taking his wallet may have been impulsive. Will let his head fall back against the wall. It vibrated against his skull to a throbbing eight count beat. His eyes slipped closed. The bass washed over, slamming through his chest, moving his heart with its pounding time. A tremor of bones. The air felt stale, hot. It was difficult to breathe. An odor of sweat, spilt alcohol, and cigarette smoke wafted over him; altogether unpleasant. It had only been a matter of minutes. 

_Just wait._

Sweat began to bead against his forehead. He felt nauseous, dizzy, from lack of food or sleep was no discernible difference.

_He'll be back. Just wait._

_What if he needs me?_

_It's Hannibal. He needs no one._

He wanted Hannibal. To feel his touch. To quiet the painful tremors of his absence, disguised as a throbbing beat in his skull.

_I can't take this... I'm going to--_

“You aren’t looking so good, friend. Perhaps you should take this drink?”

Will recoiled against sticky breath on his cheek. “Thank you. But no.” He opened his eyes cautiously.

A grinning stranger offered him a glass tumbler with an outstretched hand covered in gaudy, glinting rings. “American, eh?” The man’s shaved head shimmered, reflecting swirling lights, a hideous human disco ball. His tattooed sleeves rippled beneath bunching muscles, an allusion of threat. “In our country, it is disrespectful for someone to refuse the kindness of strangers.”

“In my country, it is generally considered life threatening to be rude in general.” He looked away, disdain dripping on his lips, and focused on the crowd, searching for Hannibal’s figure.

“So you will accept my gift then?”

Will laughed, glancing back and then away. “Not a chance.”

The man leaned in. Grubby hands yanked Will’s face back towards him. Grey eyes narrowed. Cold. “Perhaps, I ought to take you outside and teach you what we do to pretty boys in Marseille…”

“No offense…” He answered coolly, fingers flexing against the hidden blade, lip curling against the touch. He swatted the hand away, squaring his shoulders with a narrowed gaze. “You’re not really my type.”

_How lovely it would look protruding from your smiling skull._

The man bared his teeth. “Eh? And what type is that?”

Another smile pushed onto Will’s lips, effortlessly. “ _Cannibal_.”

With a jerk of his head, two burly skin headed men lumbered over. They loomed behind the other like frozen statues, all muscle and no brains, clad in cargo pants and white ribbed tank tops two sizes too small.

“Get ‘em out the back door. I’ll handle the rest.”

Fists clamped down on his shoulders in a vice grip. Will allowed them to drag him through waves of twisting and heaving limbs. It would be rather vulgar to draw attention to it. Hannibal would be displeased if he caused a scene. He smiled down at his feet trailing behind his body across the dance floor.

_What an elegant dance it will be._

Will collided with a cement wall with a crack of his head. Pain exploded against his temple, seeping down his neck and pooling in the bones of his shoulders. Blood surged through his veins with a hot rush as he heaved up into a standing position. A shadow of a smile settled against his mouth.

A hand closed around his throat, squeezing. “It looks like you have a history of being disrespectful, pretty boy,” The man snarled through jagged, gnarled teeth as another hand ground across his face and ripped off the bandage.

Will jerked against the touch. It was offensive. Vile. Crude.  

The tip of a cold butterfly knife jammed against his cheek. “Hold still or I am going to slice up the good side of your face. Whatever will the world have to look at then?”

Will forced his body to go limp, choking against fingers tugging at the front of his jeans, pulling down the fly. He inwardly screamed. He fumbled for the knife in his pocket, red streaks blurring the edges of his vision.

A looming shadow fell across them. “Excuse me… but I believe you have something that does not belong to you.”

Will’s eyes shot up. Rage flashed across Hannibal’s with thunderous twists and crashing waves. His mouth had curled, teeth bared. His eyes burned through the back of the man’s head and bored into Will. Cold seeped through his bones, heart seizing in a stutter of terror.

“Shit…” He muttered quietly, shoulders rolling forward to hide. “Too late to ask you to stab me, I’m guessing?”

“ _Foutez le camp, morceau de merde!_ ” The man spit against Hannibal’s shoes, middle finger raised.

A wide smile, all teeth. “How very rude.”

“Do you have any idea who I am? My men are right inside!” Another spitting snarl.  
  
"We may have become... acquainted."

"I believe you may want to rephrase that question with: Have you any idea who _he_ is? But it's you're funeral..." Will stared hard at the concrete, trying to ignore the eyes burning against him. "I think I should be offended you haven't asked who I am. Why does no one ever ask? Always the nonthreatening mop of hair I suppose."

"Shut up!" The man bobbed, dragging Will forward by the throat, waving the knife wildly. “You’ll get out of here if you know what’s good for you!”

“Oh this can only end badly for you…” Will muttered between choked breaths. “Or for me really.”

Hannibal leaned forward by several inches, head tilted as a blade swiped across his cheek. “Perhaps, you did not hear me.” His mouth was near the man’s ear, a low growl, “ _He belongs to me_.”

Will jerked back as nails left his throat. A blur of fists. The side of Hannibal’s hand slammed into the man’s windpipe. A sickening crunch. The figure crumpled to the ground, rolling, clutching at his throat with choking sounds.

Burning eyes regarded it for a moment before returning to Will’s face. Ice cold. “Flagrant disobedience, William, is a disrespect I will not tolerate.”

Another gurgling moan of pain. A hollow laugh burst out of Will’s mouth. He doubled over, hands clenching his knees until his lungs burned, aching with the effort. He smiled down at the jerking body then back up at Hannibal.

“How very gilded age of you, Hannibal, to swoop in to rescue and then remind me of all that I owe in return.”

Will dropped to the ground, eyeing the flailing body appreciatively. A symphony of half noises and jerking limbs against the ground. The cold concrete seeped into his knees. It was not a crescendo. Not yet. He pulled the knife from his pocket. It flicked open. He glanced back. Hannibal’s mouth hung slightly open, still. Will followed the beads of blood trickling down his cheek, tongue flicking out.

Will dragged his gaze back. It was a poor man that ignored an esteemed guest. He slammed its sharp blade into the man’s chest, eliciting a raw, sputtering scream. He stabbed again with a harsh drag. _Three_. Blood sprayed against his face, soaked his shirt. _Four._ He continued to stab until silence fell over them. _Six_. Hot liquid trailed over the curves of his eyelids, leaking down his jaw, trickling in streams then gushes. _Ten._ The body had stopped flailing for help. He lapped at droplets clinging to his mouth, cringing. The man tasted as disgusting as he had looked. A hand caught his wrist going in for another swing.

With a half twist, Will stared up past their entwined hands, a bloodied knife pressed between their palms. Tendons in Hannibal’s throat strained with a hard swallow. A shadow drifted beneath his steely gaze. Lust.

“Our relationship is not founded upon a list of checks and balances, William. You are indebted to no man. You a prisoner to no one.” Hannibal pulled Will to his feet with a jerk, fingertips trailing down his crimson soaked arms. “You are free to leave when ever my company ceases to bring you pleasure.”

Hands dragged the knife away, one finger at a time. It fell into Hannibal’s pocket. Will twisted his hands against curves of the older man’s waist and stepped in, fixing the dark gaze with a level stare and a lingering smile. A short breath shuddered out as he stroked his bloodied cheek against the side of his face with slow, purposeful motions.

“Do you take pleasure in seeing me this way, Hannibal?” Will asked quietly, trailing his bloodied knuckles down the front of smooth trousers. His fingers curled around a hard length digging back. “Has the sight of blood always excited you? Or just when its dripping from my mouth that you so clearly…” He moved closer, voice dropping a few octaves. “…wish to devour, to possess, to kiss?”

Hannibal’s mouth crushed down on Will’s with a strangled, muffled groan and a shove of fists. A tongue slammed into his mouth with a scrape of teeth. Will whimpered as the older man bit down, lapping at new bruises forming on his lower lip. A punishing hand scratched and raked its way up his back, beneath the stretch of his t-shirt. It settled, clamping down until Will hung from the base of his skull, tips of his shoes barely dragging against the ground. His vision began to darken. He slapped weakening hands against shaking arms and broad shoulders. His skull rattled against paved bricks as Hannibal continued to drag the air from his lungs. The older man stifled each gasp for air with another push of his tongue until Will crumbled, black bleeding through with a ringing in his ears.

Will came to with a gasp and bitter swear. His head ached, feet dragging one in front of the other against cobblestone and pavement.

"D-did you just suffocate me... w-with your mouth?" Each word slurred into the next.

He swayed against arms guiding him through back alleys. Wind whipped against his face, cooling dried blood. Hannibal pulled him along, an arm slung across the back of his neck, nails biting in at his hips. His embrace was the only thing keeping Will upright. They huddled against shadows before skirting around the edges of flickering lamplight. Will pictured grey glassy eyes staring back. He stumbled against an unseen obstacle.

“Keep walking.” A rough order. “We are nearly there.”

He recalled gurgling screams of pain, echoing in his mind. It made Will’s blood sing. Lusting approval seeping through Hannibal’s reserved mask made it boil.A surge of pleasure hit hard. Another stumble, stomach twisting.

“Can you, can you—“

He yanked away with a violent shove, gasping for breath. He fell into something hard, limbs trembling against the effort to not give way. An ache unfurled in his ankle, hobbling forward. Will retched against the concrete side of a building, spitting out bile between hisses and clattering teeth.

A hand settled against his shoulder blade with a light pressure. “I should have exercised restraint over you.” A quiet huff. “It was not something I should have allowed.”

“No. I mean, I’m glad you didn’t.” Will choked back a rising sob, beating a palm against concrete. It throbbed with a dull ache. Pleasure coiled within, seeking out the blossoming throb with twists and turns. “I…I enjoyed it. The fuck’s wrong with me? W-why would I say that? Why does killing under your watchful eye feel good?" He spit out a bitter taste. " _Just_ even?”

“Will…”

Will tilted his head back, tears rolling down, catching them with a drag of his sleeve. Blood smeared across his wet face and down his chin with rubs of disgust.

“S-sorry.” He held Hannibal at arms length, trembling. “I… I just thought it would be different… here.”

Strong hands gently pulled at his waist.

“N-not right now… I need a minute.”

“Will.” Another pull, insistent, fingers twisted in his collar. "Come here."

Will’s resistance crumbled. A tremor ran through Hannibal’s body with a short breath. Will stepped into the embrace and crushed the older man’s body against his, burying his face against his throat. He bit his tongue to stifle a mewling sound as both pain and terror fled beneath the hands stroking reassuringly against his back, trailing down his wrists.

“It will be. Different.” A hand tilted up his chin. “Can you trust that once we reach Lourmarin that I will provide you with the life that you deserve? A life without darkness. A life of comfort.” Will closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “You will want for nothing.”

“I just want a shower right now, Hannibal, not homespun fantasies of a life we might not even survive to see.”

“We need to move quickly.” Sirens sounded in the distance. “Would it pain you to be picked up?”

“No.” Will pushed against the hands, glaring. “Yes, it would pain me, Hannibal. My pride hurts at the mere suggestion of being carried off like a damsel in distress.” He pressed two fingers to his nasal bone with a derisive snort, closing his eyes once more, briefly. “Christ. Turn around.”

The older man’s brows rose slightly. He obliged with a slow turn and a shift of shoulders, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye. Will took a few steps back, settling a hand on his shoulder. He sprang up from his good ankle and landed against Hannibal’s back with about as much grace as an octopus flailing before smacking into glass.

“Will—“ Hannibal yelped with a jerk, fists clamping down against thighs wrapping around his torso. “—iam!”

“Shit! Christ!” Will struggled as fingers dug into his flesh through jeans. “S-sorry! I forgot, bad idea, Jesus!” He pushed at arching shoulder blades. They shook beneath his touch. “D-did I hurt you? Hannibal, just let go! Wait… are you… laughing?”

Will was heaved up with jostling motion as Hannibal straightened. “I believe both of the answers to those questions are a resounding, yes, Will.” A hint of an unseen smile warmed each word.

“You can let go…”Will replied, locking his arms around the broad chest. His heart ached at the thought of Hannibal doing so. His brows knit together as he bounced awkwardly. They moved with an unnatural speed down another winding alley. “I’ll be fine. Just let go.”  
  
“That would require me to no longer bask in the sensation of your legs wrapped tight against me.” A mutter under ragged breath.

“Wait. What?” Will’s face flushed bright red, unsure if he had heard or imagined it. “What did you just say?”

“We’re nearly there.” He touched the older man’s lips. A disappearing smirk. “Hold on.”

Will’s arms tightened with a hard swallow. He closed his eyes as they made their way up several flights of stairs with jerking motions and sways. A dizzying speed. He was sure it was more of the stairwell spinning in his head. The older man’s breath fell out with short, measured gasps, footing sure and nimble, palms squeezing against his thighs. Will applied pressure at Hannibal’s waist with his knees to get them to hold tighter.

He fell back into a closing door as the hands abruptly released. Will struggled to rise. Most of his dignity remained intact. He looked up with a half grin. A fine sheen of sweat and smudges of blood clung to the corners of Hannibal’s mouth as he stared down, flushed pink, panting slightly. Breath left his lungs.

Will dragged the older man forward by the neckline of his shirt. “I would… really like to kiss you right now, Hannibal.”

“Would it be possible to catch my breath first, Will?” A hand trailed at his hipbone with uncertainty.

The older man fell back against the mattress with a push, eyes widening slightly as Will climbed on top.

“Absolutely not…” He dragged the sweater over Hannibal’s arms, eyes lingering on the wince creasing his mouth as Will removed his hand from the bandages on his arm, stained red.

 Hannibal rolled his head back and forth against the mattress to ease an ache in his neck, eyes locked on the hands trailing down and pulling gently at his chest hair. "And why is that, Will?”

“I enjoy the sound of your ragged breath, wild and unrefined…” Will pinned arms above the older man’s head, sliding his cheek against Hannibal’s sharp one as he crouched over. “Especially pressed against my ear. How your chest rises and falls between my thighs…” He squeezed his knees lightly together. A breath hitched. “How you feel here, in my palm,” He breathed across lips beneath, squeezing at the hard length pressing back.

“Kiss me.” Fingers tangled in his hair, rough.

Will lapped inquisitively at the dip and swell of Hannibal’s collarbone, reveling in the sounds it drew out.

“That is not where I want my mouth at the moment…”

He blew air softly down a thicket of curls trailing down the older man’s torso, skittering around a dipping navel, and disappearing beneath a waistband. His fingertips settled on a cool metal button, slipping it open.

They settled on a zipper pull. “May I?”

Hannibal’s ribcage shuddered with a rapid rise and fall, breathing hard. Black eyes looked down the bridge of his nose, lips parted. His fingers twisted in the shirt covered in blood, gnawing a line of red on his lip.

“Tell me, Hannibal…” A wave of power rushed over Will, tendrils skittering through his veins, burning between his thighs. He fumbled at the zipper, teasing. “I am not going to without your explicit permission.”

A hissing sound of disapproval.

“Will…”

A hand clamped down on his wrist, drawing up until Will was hovering safely above his chest.

“Isn’t…” Will squinted. Confusion settled against a frown. “Isn’t this something you want? Or are you worried… that I’m … that it won’t be good?”

“Please…” Fingers settled against his, gently pulled away from the throbbing ache. “There is no greater pleasure imaginable than when your mouth is drinking from mine, William.”

“Then. I don’t understand. You did this…” Will tucked his chin down to avert his eyes. “To me. Is that not something you’re interested in?”

“Reciprocation or lack of interest is clearly not the issue…” Lips brushed against the underside of his forearm, the tip of a tongue flicking out. “It is merely circumstance that I find unappealing.”

“You’re seriously refusing my offer to go down on you, not because of my inexperience, but because the scenery isn’t what you imagined?” Will rolled away, flopping back against the bed with a half growl of frustration. The inside of his jeans were sticky. “Why am I not surprised. Your need to exercise control must be exceptionally unnerving in the bedroom.”

“On the contrary…”

“Don’t.” Will swatted the hands pulling at a button on his jeans. “If I’m not allowed to touch you then you can consider your privileges revoked. I am tired of only playing by the rules you keep throwing into this made up game, Hannibal.”

Hannibal struggled to a sitting position, drawing up a knee and leaning against it, arm swung across and around it. He rested his chin in its crook. He peered down at Will with a look nearing hurt. Anger faded to disappointment and something else before it was replaced with a still mask of unfeeling.

“Do you often feel like a pawn in someone else’s game, Will? Or only in the match you imagine the two of us are playing at together?”

“Christ.” Will rolled away to the other side of the bed, clutching at the bloodied shirt and throwing it to an unseen corner. “Go to sleep, Hannibal.”

The mattress squeaked as the older man’s body lowered into it. He shivered. Will squeezed his eyes tight shut, feeling the mere distance between their bodies begin to form a crack and widen slowly into gaping ravine. He struggled to maintain calm, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out. His foot trembled, anxiety radiating from a vigorously shaking ankle.

_I’m not going to reach for you this time..._

Will’s eyes fluttered open, listening to the quiet and steady sounds of Hannibal breathing, fast asleep. He turned, gnawing at his bottom lip, jerking back a hand seeking out contact, to settle against flesh, to find comfort.

_… Fuck, why the hell does this hurt so much?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments radiate warmth into my heart and day! <3
> 
> I apologize if I butchered the language here in this chapter. It has been a good many years since I have taken French. Hopefully it translates well?
> 
> And here I am weeks later, realizing I forgot to offer said rough translation. Nice. 
> 
> "Foutez le camp, morceau de merde"  
> (Get lost, piece of shit!)


	10. Chapter 10

“Hannibal…”

“You promised, Will.”

“I. Sorry. I know.”

“What will you do if I do not return in exactly 72 hours?”

“Take the rest of the money. Steal a car. And follow the coordinates you have programmed on this phone.”

“Will you wait another moment after?”

“No.”

“Will you make any stops along the way?”

“N-no, I’ll drive straight through the night.”

“My clever boy. It is endearing to know you will save yourself even if the future no longer holds me in it.”

“Please… don’t say that.”

“And Will?" A pause. "Not even lying on death’s open gates could keep me from coming back for you.”  
  
A warning. A promise.

* * *

_What the fuck am I doing. Just turn around , Graham. Just go back and wait._

_And wait for what? What if Hannibal doesn’t return? You think 100 euros is going to be all you need to survive on to escape this hell hole. You were nearly raped, stabbed, and robbed, an attempt at least. And that was just this week.  
_

_You should see the other guys..._

_Go ahead. Go back. Your death sentence. And his._

_What if I’m not good at it anymore?_ Will slunk around a corner, stepping out of the path of a hooded figure scrambling down the sidewalk on a skateboard. He limped forward. _I haven’t counted cards since college. What if I get caught?_

_They’ll cut off your hands. If you’re lucky._

Black letters gleamed, foreboding, against frosted windows. _Les Etrangers Sombres._ Dark Strangers. _Fitting_. Glass glinted with flashes of colored lights and a shuddering bass.

_When have we ever been lucky?_

_A valid point. You really are following in his footsteps you know. Returning to the scene of a crime._

_Shut up._ He pushed through flesh pressing in on his own, unknown hands trailing across his thighs and chest.

_Tell me, what are you more afraid of in this moment: imminent death, certain maiming, or the look on Hannibal’s face right before he kills you?_

Will slipped into a smoke filled room. _We both know the answer to that._

Four pairs of eyes lifted up to greet him.

“Deal me in.” He set a roll of bills on the green felt. It was stained with cigar ash and wet rings of alcohol.

A green visor flashed in the light. “House rules dictate a buy in of five hundred euros, sir.” A look of disdain. “That’s not nearly enough.”

Will dragged out a metal folding chair from the table and settled in. “Consider this a down payment towards the buy in plus interest if I win this hand.” He uncrossed his arms, elbows leaning on the table and motioned towards the money. “Plus, if I lose… the House can consider it an even exchange for my life. I imagine that’s far more valuable to your employer than any financial investment.”

_A wager of your life? Hannibal will be none to pleased for you to give what belongs to him to another._

_He’s not going to find out. We need the money. I will not let him suffer the indignity any longer. So just shut up and let me concentrate all ready for fuck’s sake._

Glowing embers and grey ash floated from a hard mouth and bony fingers. A gaunt shadow of a man moved against an even darker corner. A mute nod of his head. He melted back, disappearing. Something about his ghastly aura made Will shiver. A flash burn shadow clinging to the wall.

“The House agrees to your terms.”

_I suggest you don’t get caught. We can't really afford to lose._

_* * *_

The younger man moved in wild, frantic motions as he tidied the tangle of sheets on an unmade bed. Will’s face was pale, mouth pressed in a tight line of concentration and worry. Hannibal stepped in from the doorway, purposefully making a sound as electric jolts coursed down his arms like tuning forks. He felt a need to crush Will to the nearest surface and devour his mouth before shaking him senseless. He wanted to strip him bare. On his knees. A fitting punishment. 

“You are still here.”

Will’s head snapped up, wheeling around, eyes wide. They flooded with relief. Panic filtered in.

White cotton fluttered in the air with a snap. “W-where else would I go?” He smoothed them across the unmade bed, gaze stuck to its surface.

Hannibal sucked in a breath and let it out in short, tense bursts at a time. Red hazed across his vision, forcing his body to meld against the wall and track the movements of the younger man skirting around the bed.

“You may wish to give consideration to reining in your feigns of ignorance. Insolence is unbecoming, Will.”

“I, uh, I already... got us a car.” He heard Will swallow. “It’s parked a few blocks over.” A grey cable knit sweater flung in his direction. "Rusty on the outside. A good looking engine within. I checked." Hannibal caught it without looking, eyelids dipping low. “And I thought you might like a change of clothes for the time being. I know it’s not what you’re used to but…”

Hannibal caught the wrist brushing passed, forcing his grip to remain firm, restrained. A mere twist would snap it in half. Another would have him on his knees.

“Would you care to explain, William?” He asked in a hollow sound, forcing regulated air in and out of his lungs.

“I went out and worked for a few days down at the docks.” Will stilled against the grip, lashes trembling against his cheek at the sudden contact, the heat. “A local fisherman needed some help on his boat. It was just cleaning and gutting fish.”

With a quick step, Hannibal pressed his back against the younger man’s, inhaling his scent. Ash mingled with seawater. His nails sank into the wrist. A thundering heartbeat slammed beneath Will’s chest. He would look breathtaking in the light, looking up, begging forgiveness.

“Are you absolutely certain you want to continue with this story given I have just returned from a hunt? A fresh kill?”

“L-look, Hannibal, I couldn’t just wait for you.” The younger man’s body began to tremble as a hand snaked around his front. “I had to do something. What would I have done if you hadn’t returned? Honestly.”

“I always keep my promises, William.” Hannibal’s long fingers splayed across his throat, pulse throbbing beneath. "You disobeyed."

“Goddammit.” Will shoved back violently, forcing space between them, crossing to the other side of the room. “Hannibal, you know very well I couldn’t really afford to take that chance, now could I?”

A rumbling rose inside of Hannibal’s chest.

“Look…” Will ran a trembling hand back through his hair, dragging it down his face and drawing his mouth into a wince. “…as much as I think I would catch more than a fair price on a street corner, it was not exactly the kind of work that I thought I could survive or that you would appreciate.”

The rumble came out in a dangerous growl. “Is that your attempt at humor?”

“Fuck! Hannibal!” Will’s face burned red, eyes flashing. His fists unclenched and clenched at his side. Legs tense, spread wide, coiled for a fight. “I have a car. Let’s just go. Can we just skip this part and go, just leave for once, without you going all psycho, jealous ex-boyfriend on me?”  
  
_How would you do it, Will?_  
  
_With my hands._

Hannibal pushed a hot breath through his mouth, eyes sinking closed. How would they feel? Nails, knuckles, and joints striking out against him? Dragging the air from his very lungs?

His eyes opened again to focus on a crinkling sound. A dusty, tan wind breaker balled up into an outstretched fist as Will snapped it up from a chair. He jammed his hand into a pocket. A set of black keys jangled out. Hannibal followed their movement before it disappeared into white knuckles and curled fingers. What kinds of blossoms would bruise against his flesh with them against him? 

A shoulder jostled against him with a shove.

“William.”

A hiss left Will, frozen in the doorway. “What? _For fuck’s sake._ What!”

“If I find out you have twisted the truth in any way…”

“You’ll kill me. I got it. Yes. _I see you looking at me._ Just get your goddamn coat and put on the sweater. Now. NOW, Hannibal. You can fantasize about slitting my throat while we walk to the car. Or you can do it on the way to Lourmarin. Just do me a favor and do it with the absence of your goddamn, judgmental voice for a change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick snapshots in time. Because Will Graham's empathy would never allow Hannibal to suffer the indignity of struggle. And this, friends, is where it will all begins to get complicated. Or a how to guide of not starting out being Murder Husbands with good intentions and mouthfuls of intoned secrets.


	11. Chapter 11

Skin blistered across Hannibal’s shoulder blade, knife slowing to a dead stop in his hand. Heat snaked down his spine. It coiled around a white apron tied tight against his waist. His jaw clenched, breath ground between a sharp snap of his teeth. It burned with dancing skips at the edge of his hip. Flames licked its way across his front, trailing up his chest, and settling in to melt the skin above a threading heartbeat.

“Is there something I can do for you, Will?”

He turned his head slightly. Soft curls and pleading eyes blurred just out of his vision, pin pricks of black rimmed in wavering shades of ocean blue.  
  
“H-hungry… I guess.”

Reaching down, Hannibal balanced bits of onion tottering on a wooden cutting board in one hand.

“Dinner will be served in approximately half an hour.”

He lifted the knife in the other.

“Anything… I could do to help?” Barely a sound.

The knife’s silvery glint caught Will’s face mirrored in its reflection. Visible lines of pain wavered in the corners of his mouth, lingering on his forehead, bleeding deep in his gaze.

“Do you find routine comforting, Will?”

“Routine?” Brows creased with confusion replaced by worry.

“It has been nearly a week and a half since we arrived. At exactly seven o’clock you come to the kitchen. A familiar, skittering dance of fingertips pressing in with an overt attempt at seduction. This is the third night you have silently asked, and each time I have refused.”

Need bordering on desperation clung against the younger man’s skin with beads of sweat. “… God, are you bored with me?”

“It is of simply no interest to me at this particular juncture of our companionship.”

With a light push, Hannibal dislodged from the kitchen counter, removing Will from against his flesh in the process. He tried not to acknowledge the way his body dropped in temperature. How his skin crawled. How his fingertips numbed, resisting the urge to touch. He set down the cutting board and knife gently, gaze drifting for a mere second along hands trembling at the younger man’s side.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since we got here, Hannibal…” A weak reply.

“Our conversations have never ceased.” Hannibal watched another wince form in the knife’s reflection. “Did you not enjoy my company over the dinner I escorted you to yesterday evening?”

Will looked wounded. He sank against the edge of a kitchen sink. An unsteady hand pushed at the curls clinging to his forehead. His gaze swept in rapid motions, surveying the marble island counter placed firmly between them. An insurmountable distance. His trembling hand clamped down on the counter until his knuckles turned pink then white. A tarnished brass circle of metal still clung to his ring finger; a false claim, a dissolution of an imagined union, an accouterment of another identity's life. Hannibal looked up with a tilted head, rooting his feet firmly to the floor to keep from going to him. Will turned until the profile of his face gleamed beneath fluorescent light, safely drawn in, away, from the eyes watching. His brows drew low on his face, staring at the floor, unseeing.  
  
“The pretense of your company is not an acceptable substitute…”

The blade rocked in Hannibal’s firm grasp. It was unnecessary to look as his hands began to take over, a muscle memory of years of obsessive perfection.

“Are you suggesting that one us remains without fully being present?”

“Not a suggestion at all.” A barking, angry laugh. A jagged scar stretched down a flinching cheek accented with white butterfly bandages. “More of an accusation.”

Hannibal dragged eyes away from the intense anguish flourishing across the younger man’s face. A twinge of pain surfaced in his bones. The color had returned to Will’s face, ruddy from the sun, pink and fleshy from the copious amounts of nutrition Hannibal had forced upon him. His body had begun to fill out ragged lines of various jersey t-shirts, flannel button ups, and jeans lining the shelves of a closet. Hannibal had wanted him to be comfortable in their new life. He wondered if Will would ever truly be comfortable ever again inside his own skin. 

He had erred on the side of caution. He insisted on another round of antibiotics, setting out two pills aside a steaming cup of coffee for Will’s breakfast. Hannibal had disappeared to inject a liquid form straight into his bloodstream, away from the ghost drifting through halls seeking his presence. He lightly touched his arm. A bandage was hidden beneath rolled up cuffs of his sleeves. Discomfort spread. The swelling was moderate, going down bit by bit. Raw, angry tissue remained, a muted color of raw salmon. In time it would scab, even heal. A scarring reminder of sacrifice. A looming threat to a new beginning.

_Are you unconsciously aware of the wounds I have quietly torn into your heart, Will?  
_

“Hannibal, I…” A choking noise. “ _I miss you.”_

“If you would like to be useful, perhaps you could set the dining room table, Will?”

Clouded sea foam and crashing waves filled the gaze looking back, mouth quavering.

“I…e-excuse me, I’m not feeling…well.”

The younger man scrambled up, fleeing from the kitchen with a jerk of shoulders. His figure stumbled out the open door, disappearing down a corridor. A tiny, muffled sound followed in his wake. A justifiable escape. 

A knife clattered against marble. His knees gave way. Hannibal’s back slid down the counter’s side with a creak of bones. He sank slowly to his knees. He pressed the back of a palm against his forehead. Warm. Not just from their exchange. A paltry fever. Heated by a controlled restraint to keep a constant divide, a growing wall of paved rock and bone, carefully between them.

He closed his eyes, pressing a hand against his chest. It was hard to breathe. He could hear Will’s distress reverberating in his mind, leaking through drywall, drifting from his room. Hannibal forced his body to remain still, to fight against straining tendons and sinew trying to rise, to go where they were needed. To find what he needed. To feel Will tucked tight against his chest, where the younger man was safe to sleep, clutched by the quiet, strangling nightmare of his dreams.

_Desist. You’re losing control._

_Of him?_

_Of yourself. A foundation of sandcastles should only ever crumble in the fantasies of your mind, Hannibal. You used to build walls._

_It would have been less cruel to hold his head under water until his heart ceased to beat before drifting out to sea._

_Cruelty is all you are capable of offering. You imagine yourself through his eyes, a mirror image of what you are not._

_How do you imagine it is justifiable to repay his empathy with a torturously slow death of denial? Of taking away a companionship once freely offered?  
_

_From the moment you laid eyes on him, there was no escaping the growing shadows of your companionship. You have suspended his soul in time, between this world and the next, cupped in your hands with an intimate cage of touches and strokes. Whispering tight against his ear to follow a path to condemn him to the depths of hell, simply to keep your soul company._

Hannibal brought the back of his head against a wooden body of the counter with a slam, to push the slithering voice from his mind.

“Q-quiet,” He hissed. 

Red tangled, blurring behind the back of his eyes. Unsteady feet dragged Hannibal to his feet, body moving on its own, away from the safe confines of the kitchen, from the damning, shadowy voice. He pushed noiselessly down the hall. A quiet cry. His palm settled against a closed door, forehead coming to rest beside it. His nerves alighted with blazing fire, raw, exposed beneath flayed open flesh, knotted tangles running through muscles and circling bone.

 _William._  
  
Hannibal shoved away, jamming an incisor into his bottom lip to keep silent. French doors swung closed. A finely etched barricade. His head fell back against them. A blot of pain focused. His eyelids drifted shut, forcing a burning breath through lungs. He swallowed another before exhaling once more. A muffled sound of distress reached his ears. It wasn’t too late to keep Will at bay from the monster lurking outside his door, safe from knowing the betrayal clinging to his blood vessels. An all consuming threat rushing through with each pump of his heart like fluttering moths gnawing tiny holes into its walls.

In four long strides, Hannibal crossed to the other side of the room. He stroked shaking hands down the curving body of a gramophone. It glimmered comfort in dim light. It promised a stifling sound of relief. He flipped a switch without seeing. A rising _adagio_ of harsh pounding piano notes bellowed out of its slender neck. Hannibal’s knees shuddered and he sank down as a wave of rising, mellow strings followed. He let his head fall back, staring up out an open window towards the night sky as Rachmaninoff’s _Piano Concerto_ washed over, blocking out all other thoughts and sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you would like to listen to the beauty of Rachmaninoff while reading this: (and cry)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpaPWuDQUcc&list=RDvpaPWuDQUcc#t=3
> 
> <3 Up coming chapter of smut <3 That way we all can cry a little quieter into our pillows at night.


	12. Chapter 12

Shadows danced and twined against the ceiling. Will had been staring at them, entranced, wide eyed, perhaps for hours. It felt like days. Time had begun to blur. It had been days, hadn’t it? Three weeks since they had sought refuge in the villa. It had passed in excruciating seconds, almost amicable moments of deafening space and silence. _Under the same roof…_ Will mused, touching cold sheets. _But not in the same bed._ The room was overwhelmingly quiet, empty. _Not even in the same room._ He had gotten used to the steadying sounds of Hannibal’s soft breathing lulling him to sleep.

_Were you expecting to dress up and play house with Hannibal forever?_

Hannibal had slipped off the brassy cheap ring without hesitation, burying it in some drawer as if its mere presence grated against him. No need to play the part now. He had fallen effortlessly back into a familiar suit of distant indifference. It pained Will to hide a tan line along his ring finger beneath expensive linens and candlelit tables. A ghostly apparition of the ring he had worn. The warmth of light never reached Hannibal’s eyes. Their conversations drifted and skirted inside confines of thickly outlined borders of formality. Hannibal had twice side stepped his clumsy attempts to reconnect them with searching fingers and aching lips. The last time he had placed a kitchen island and gleaming knife between them and went back to cooking, a vague disdain clouding his features.

Will suspected he should feel something akin to gratitude. Perhaps even a morsel of content. They were, after all, safe. They were together. _Yet entirely separate_.He scrounged around in his soul for a few moments, dragging up a stinging sensation crossed between resentment and guilt. He sighed, raking a hand back through his head, falling back into soft pillows. He stroked his hair idly, wondering how long it had been since Hannibal had truly touched him. A quiet desperation had sought out even the most fleeting of purposeful, planned accidental touches and brushes. His overt subtlety had been tolerated up to a point.

He gingerly touched the sterile strips on his face. It wasn’t entirely necessary. He was certain Hannibal had seen clearly through the ruse, but played along for the sake of purely medical contact. Had he hoped not to wound Will’s… Pride? No, that wasn’t it. Will laughed inwardly with a yelp, cupping a hand over his eyes. Feelings? His cheeks flushed in the darkness. Did he have feelings? Did Hannibal feel at all?

They had went as far as their injuries had allowed. Or at least, as far as Will had felt comfortable allowing. Hannibal had denied him and Will reciprocated in kind. He had wanted more. He hadn’t been able to ask. It was jarring. Frustrating. Would he ever be able to ask now? How else could he describe being so inexplicably drawn to Hannibal, but some crudely plain label of feeling? Of longing? Of pure need to seek out his touch?

Will pressed a hand to the wall between wooden bars of a bed frame, where he knew Hannibal waited just on the other side. Something clattered. A muffled voice reverberated against drywall. Will lifted his head slightly to listen. Was Hannibal as restless as he was? He clambered out of bed and reached for a flannel shirt flung across the back of a desk chair. He glanced down at blue cotton boxers briefly aware of his exposed skin chilling in the night air. He crossed quietly through the hall. The shirt stayed where it belonged.

“Will…” Another muffled sound.

Was he dreaming? Or having a nightmare? One of the master bedroom’s double doors hung ajar. Will paused. He should knock. Shouldn’t he? Were they past the point of formality? Or had they simply been confined back into its prison? He took a few steps forward, frozen against an invisible wall of the threshold. Perhaps, he could just look in and make sure Hannibal was all right. It was harmless to look. His right hand snaked around the frame and gave it a light push. He slammed a fist against his mouth, biting down hard on his knuckles to keep from making a sound. He grabbed at the frame, knees threatening to give way with a shuddering buckle.

Sprawled in the middle of a large bed, every single inch of Hannibal’s naked flesh gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat against black silk sheets. His head was thrown back into oversized pillows, trimmed hair casting soft shadows on a perfectly arched chest. Muscles shuddered against a toned stomach. His left hand clutched against ornate carvings, woven and etched into a charcoal grey headboard. The sinew of muscle bunched and released inside sculpted thighs and calves dragging against sheets. Heels dug into the end of the mattress with a twist.

“Ah, Will…”

A throaty growl of his name pulled him through the threshold. Will’s body moved on its own. Completely silent, drawn in by force. His gaze burned down the naked body sprawled a mere distance away. He could have reached out and touched his knee. He could have licked his way up straining thighs. Breath burned in his lungs, begging to escape. His eyes traveled across tightly clenched clefts of Hannibal’s ass before locking on to a hand moving between them. A black vibrator sunk slowly in and out, guided by long fingers curled against a sleek handle. Will felt a scream battering his ribcage, forcing his knees to remain locked, to stand still and look.

 _What a fucking masterpiece._ A flash of anger and hurt clashed inside his chest.

“Nnn, William…” Another moan as the vibrator pushed in deep.

Will let out the breath he had been holding in a loud hiss. “Yes, Doctor Lecter?”

The vibrator slowed its pace.

Hannibal’s eyes slipped open, glittering.

“Did I wake you, Will? I apologize. I was trying to be discreet…”

Will’s eyes stayed locked on the vibrator between his thighs, unmoving, resisting an unrelenting urge to bite down on the older man’s knees. He imagined his thighs would look lovely stained in streaks of red. He settled straining palms against them instead. One leg sunk into the mattress, kneeling forward.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I admit to feeling a bit restless…” Hannibal replied, propped up on an elbow, cool eyes observing the ones drinking in his skin.

Nails raked up the outer edges of the older man's thighs.

“Imagine that. Neither could I,” Will seethed, leaning in until all his weight rested against the knees thrust up, lip curling. “And here I was thinking you no longer had any interest in touching me.” His fingernails dug into peaked hips. Another sting of hurt flashed across his face. “When it turns out you seem perfectly capable of fucking me as long as it’s inside your own head.”

“If you’ll give me a moment to dress, perhaps we can continue this—“

Will’s hand snapped out in a blur, clamping down on the one between the older man’s rigid thighs.

“No one said that you were allowed to stop, Hannibal. You’re going to finish fucking me, even if it’s just in your little mind palace.”

A heated shadow flickered against dark eyes gazing back. Will settled his hand over his, forcing him to thrust the vibrator back in. A corner of Hannibal’s hard lip twisted as he bit down a moan, locking their gazes.

 _God…_ A controlled violence looked back.

“You’re a goddamn selfish prick sometimes, Hannibal.”

Will felt his cock thick and heavy against the waistband of his boxers, breathing heavy, tracking a trace of a wince settling on the older man's cheek.

With a forceful shove, knees fell apart and Will climbed his way over Hannibal’s body. The previous refusal burned in the space between their bodies. He crushed his lips against ones beneath, invading with a thrust of his tongue. Hot, wet, slick. A moan filled his lungs. He wasn’t sure it was his or Hannibal’s. He dragged the bottom lip against his sharp teeth and bit down with an aching hunger. A deeper groan this time. Hannibal’s. Will smirked against it, yanking his fingers in Hannibal’s hair until he was looking only at him.

“Is this what you want, Hannibal?” The dark gaze strayed to his shoulder. Another jerk brought it back, glowering. “You will continue to fuck yourself. And I am going to watch you come since I am apparently undesired, not capable, or never given permission to do it for you.”

A feral shadow fell across Hannibal’s face, jagged lines of hair slinging harshly across narrowing eyes. A restrained snarl clenched between his teeth. Nails scratched long, digging designs down Will’s spine. He arched back into each sting.

“I will not be responsible for my actions, William,” A low, growled warning. “What I crave is… different from what you are used to.”

Will propped his knees against the sides of Hannibal’s heaving chest, lowering until a thick cock was pressed tight against his ass. It burned through thin cotton. His jerked in response, throbbing.

“You knew this is what I wanted.” He began grinding. “And you kept pushing me away.”

He twisted slightly, reaching behind to settle over the hand moving between the older man’s thighs.

“When all I wanted you to do was just touch me…”

His eyes slipped closed, imagining what it would feel like if the vibrator was spreading him wide, slipping in deep.

“I asked you…”

His hand moved with Hannibal’s in a steady, quickening pace.

“You denied me. You let me suffer.”

Pleasure spread through his chest as short, quick breaths of the older man fell out in ragged gasps, jaw clenching and unclenching.

“You’re right, Hannibal… this is very different from what I’m used to.” Maroon eyes whipped up. “I didn’t say you could stop. Harder. Push it harder inside of you.”

Hannibal released a throaty groan, body arcing, head jerking back against the bed. Blood trickled down Will’s spine, nails following raw pink lines of broken skin.

“That’s… fuck…”

_Beautiful._

Breath stuttered out of Will’s lungs. “God… maybe I would have tried this with you sooner had I known you would sound like that.”

A hand tangled in his hair, dragging their mouths together, jagged teeth and slicing tongues.

“Always an impertinent, clever boy, aren’t you?”

Will pleaded against his lips, pulling hard. A hot tongue pushed in, tangling against his, burning all it touched. He fisted both hands in sheets on either side of Hannibal’s head. Will moaned back, vaguely aware of grinding his hips to the rhythm of each thrust of Hannibal’s hips. A slew of filthy, desperate curse words stuck in his lungs. His entire body coiled, begging, pleading. He began drowning in the growls and untamed moans Hannibal was making inside his throat. A hand dragged at the elastic of his boxers, fisting against his ass. He shoved back against it with a needy sound.

“Grind harder against me, Will.” Teeth dragged against the curve of his throat.

“Fucking h-hell…” Will panted, gasping as the length of their bare cocks dragged together.

The fist pushed harder against his ass until they were rutting together in a divine friction. Sticky, dripping, wet.

“H-hannibal…”

“Harder.”

Will threw his head back with a moan as the hand jerked against him. “Oh god, I love when you’re in control.”

Teeth sunk into his shoulder with a wolf’s snarling howl. Will cried out, bucking as sharp tendrils of pain ripped through. Hot liquid spurted between them as Hannibal stiffened, nails digging deep, stilling. Sharp incisors slipped out of flesh, dabbing where they had been with a slick, hot tongue. The younger man collapsed with a shudder, head buried against the crook of Hannibal’s neck. His shoulder burned. His cock ached, pressing to a navel. Will lapped with curious strokes against Hannibal’s throat. He tasted heady, salty, sweet.

“You… bit me.” A muffled response.

Will felt blood snaking down his torso, pooling between their hips. Another stream slipped down the base of his spine, trickling down his inner thighs. He wondered if Hannibal appreciated painting his bloody fingerprints against his flesh.

Every single muscle in Hannibal’s body stiffened. “I… that was not my intention.”

Pushing back hair from his eyes, Will raised his head and breathed, “I…I liked it.”


	13. Chapter 13

A burning mouth trailed blisters along his skin, sharp teeth nipping and sucking at flesh. Will pushed himself back onto his knees and cupped the back of the older man’s head in a crushing embrace, fingers twisting. The mouth clamped down on his chest and began to suck hard against the tender scarred skin on his shoulder. It nearly hurt worse than the knife. It would bruise.

_God, it feels good._

“Take these off, please,” Hannibal replied quietly, heated gaze flickering towards thick curls between the younger man’s legs.

Will pulled the boxers off slowly, down the remaining length of his legs. He kicked them away. His breath quickened as strong arms pulled in. A flat chest pressed solidly against his. Fingertips skittered down his spine, splaying across his lower back, swirling in red streaks. The muscles of their torsos melded together inch by inch. Peaked hipbones jutted against the other’s. Will swallowed, glimpsing down at the sculpted, already half hard cock pressed against his. An offensive injustice to call every inch of it, of Hannibal, beautiful. Will imagined he would never find another word to describe him.

“A-are you going to…” Will looked up and immediately regretted it. He pushed his head back down, a blush warming his cheeks. “It’s just… the mechanics. I’m not really familiar…?”

_God, I sound like such an idiot._

A palm slipped against his jaw, tilting his face up. “Would I be your first, Will?”

“Not my first…” Will swallowed hard, hands trembling. He buried them beneath pillows.

“You have… been with other men before then?”

“N-no…” He let out with a weak laugh, brows furrowing. “No. Not men.”

Hannibal regarded him with a heated stare and half parted lips, a small prayer.

“Is that something you would be interested in exploring, Will?”

“God… yes.” He winced at how desperate he sounded. “I… I just need this. With you.”

A strong hand enclosed around his cock. Will’s eyes fluttered closed. It dragged against his length in a single stroke. He remembered every smooth indentation, every whirling pattern of each fingertip.

“Again?”

 “Yes,” Will gasped as fingers slipped around his head, prodding at the slit. Beads of sticky liquid rushed out. “ _Yes.”_ He thrust into the hand. Will’s cheeks warmed again, staring hard at the corner of one eye. “Hannibal, I am not sure how much clearer I can be with my hard cock in your hand. I know it’s not eloquent but for Christ sake, can you just fuck me already?”

A slow smile spread across Hannibal’s face. Will sucked in a breath. It coiled every nerve within him.

“With pleasure.” A mouth kissed gently against his cheek. “I thought you might never ask.” Two fingers tapped patiently against a pointed hipbone. “Place your knee here, please.”

Will tentatively curled his leg around Hannibal’s waist. A firm hand guided it further until the heel of his foot pressed tightly against the small of Hannibal’s back. Another flush of skin crept down his neck, achingly aware of the eyes watching him. He gasped at another drag against his cock, fist holding tightly. It pulled again. He let out a low moaning plead.

“How do you feel, Will?” The low voice slithered against his ear, breath hot.

“I… I just need to come, Hannibal, god please let me come.”

He watched the older man drag a long index finger from his mouth, covering it in spit.

“God…” Will craned his neck forward, licking against the older man’s fingers before it pulled away.

“Oh William…” A growl as hand trailed down the base of his spine. “The words falling from your mouth are mortal sins…” A wet finger rimmed against the puckered skin between his cheeks. Will moaned, thrusting forward into the fist. It held on with steady, slow strokes. “What it does to hear you say them to me like this.” The hard shadow of a cock pressed against his thigh. “An exquisite torture.” A finger slipped into a tight entrance with a push.

“Christ! Can’t we…I’m not…” Will ground to a halt, wrenching away. It burned. He dug his knee into Hannibal’s stomach, eyes flashing. The finger prodded gently. “It hurts.” He shoved again with a gasp.

Lips pressed to his temple, firm grip jerking along his length, a ripple of pleasure. “Just close your eyes, Will…” He commanded softly.

_Just close your eyes and fuck against my mouth._

Will thrust harder into the fist with gritting teeth. The mouth had been wet. Hot. The tongue had burned slick lines across cock, dripping with spit. How his head buried deep in the back of Hannibal’s tightening throat, hot, coming hard in his mouth. Another finger pushed in, stroking, gentle, swirling. Will panted, eyes flicking up the dark ones studying his features then away then back. Two fingers scissored inside before a third began stroking something hard and tight. Violent, purpling curses fell from his mouth between hisses and moans. A mouth pressed gently against his forehead. Pain and pleasure blurred, unfurling every knot inside him.

“Oh Christ, please…” Will groaned, blindly welding their mouths together.

A light touch settled against his chest, stilling his frantic movements. A wet tongue pushed out of his mouth. A silver metal canister glittered. Will watched with bated breath as Hannibal slid a strong hand between their bodies, fingertips slick, rubbing the substance against his head. Fingertips trailed down his thick shaft then back up. His cock gleamed in the light. Will unconsciously dipped his head forward for a taste. His tongue flicked out along the bobbing head still clenched between the older man’s fingers. A violent tremor seized Hannibal’s body in a long moan. He tasted like sea salt.

Hands tunneled in his hair, jerking Will’s head back. “Would you be so kind as to tell me how long you’ve waited to do that?” Hannibal’s eyes burned through his body, dark, hungry.

“Y-you know I wanted to in Marseilles…” Will reached for Hannibal’s cock. “The scenery was unsuitable.”

Hands pushed him away, fingers curling beneath his chin. “And before that…? Tell me.”

He bucked into the sensation of both of their cocks sliding together in a strong fist, clawing at the curves of Hannibal’s shoulder blades for anything to hold on to.

“F-for so long…” Will gasped, pushing into each stroke with a frenzied need. “I, ohhhh… I used to wonder what it would be like to suck you off… nnnn, Hannibal… ah, during our sessions.”

Lips twitched against his forehead, voice rough with another aching pull. “Blatant lies stunted your progression through therapy, Will.”

“It was a little… ahhh-awkward to explain that having an erection during our appointments was a little less than…ah, therapeutic. It was easier to tell you I was thinking of—“

“Not another word.” A fist jerked on his hair, hard. “I only want my name upon your lips.”

Will began to suckle and nip against skin to taste the growling sounds coming from Hannibal’s throat with fleeting strokes of his tongue.

“Nnn…” He smiled as Hannibal pushed his mouth harder in, fingers twisting and knotting at the nape of his neck. “Had I known your inclinations, William, we could have explored this particular desire of yours much sooner.”

“For professionally therapeutic purposes?”

Hannibal placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. He shifted their hips, drawing in till Will was lying against his chest, leg curled around his torso. The head of his cock rubbed against his entrance with a slick slide. Will’s eyes fluttered closed. He reached around to hold the burning cock against him with another moan. He writhed as it slide between his cheeks, hand stroking along his head. His cheeks burned red with a need to beg bubbling out of his lungs.

“My interest in you was never purely professional.” Will pushed his hips back at the cock sliding languidly, cheeks clenching, grinding his cock against Hannibal’s navel. Both their breaths hitched. “This would have been for our mutual… pleasure.”

Will bit down on his lip, chewing hard. “C-can you…? Christ, don’t look at me like that. Just…” He pushed his ass back onto Hannibal’s burning hard head. “Could you…?” He winced, skin crawling, overwhelmed with the sensations washing over him, against him, through him. “Hannibal…”

A warm mouth swallowed the last words with a slight tremor, a nimble tongue washing away sudden panic with tender, soothing strokes. “Do you trust me, Will?”

_Implicitly._

“Please…” Will felt another clamor of fear and pain rise in his chest. “Yes. I trust you, Hannibal...” He pushed the tender mouth away from his forehead, burying it against the older man’s shoulder. “Please don’t…” He swallowed hard. The soft palms against his back seeped through like acid. “Y-you can hurt me if you want…”

Fingers wrapped around his biceps, steadying. “Does the idea of my desire bring you pain?”

“I find the idea of you hurting me… alarmingly comforting.” He squinted then closed eyes, burying deeper. “It’s your kindness I find hard to bear.”

“Pain is not always a weapon wielded for the purposes of maiming. It is also an instrument of pleasure.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Fingertips coasted down his arm, settling against his hand. “Restraint is a tedious practice. Control is an immeasurable release.” A mouth pressed against creases in his forehead. “Pain that pleasures is another realm of intimacy and trust entirely. A path I am more than willing to guide you through with measured patience and time. However, if you are asking me to hurt you without merit, for cruelty’s sake, then the answer is a resounding no.”

“But isn’t that what…” Will tried hard to choke back the words. “…gets you off?”

“If you are inferring that I am purely a sadist above all else you are greatly mistaken.” A hand jerked his head up, nails biting in. Will looked back in burning eyes, lust replaced with anger. “I do not delight in _your_ pain, William, physical or otherwise, for the sake of degradation or shaming. It is abhorrent to suggest such a thing.”

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Violence is what you understand, Will.” Hannibal’s head tilted, unblinking. “Do you trust me to give you what you need? To bring you back from the brink before breaking?”

“Y-yeah…” Will answered softly, wincing as knuckles traced his jaw line.

“Then close your eyes, please.” Will closed them obediently with a shuddering breath. His hands were placed around Hannibal’s neck, slowly rolled onto his back. A dry, warm palm settled against the side of his face. “I want you to hold on to me. Feel me. Steady your breathing. Concentrate on nothing else.” Lips pressed against his, once, softly. “Very good, William.”

Fingers slipped back inside his body. He let out a short gasp. They began to move inside him with practiced strokes. Spread wide, scissoring, pushing until another tremor of pleasure washed over.

“When the sensations of your body become too much to bear, William, I want you to remember…” He felt soft skin of Hannibal’s cheek nuzzle against his throat as a hand cupped the back of his head. “I will never let you fall without my arms around you.”

Will let out a cry as Hannibal’s head pushed inside of him. His nails dug into shoulders. The older man stilled.

“I-it’s okay… just keep going.”

_Christ. Fuck. Christ. Jesus Christ._

Hannibal sunk in, pressed hard against warm folds clenching tighter against him. “William…” A reverent whisper.

Air pushed out of Will’s lungs as he thrust back in. A gasp when he pulled back out, desperate for the spaces it filled, for the shadows it chased away, filling every tendril of skin and mind with only the feel of Hannibal, distance absent between them, connected.

“G-good. Move.”

Hannibal’s face pressed against his cheek, puffs of hot breath against his throat. Will began to push back into the thrusts, tentatively. One hand stroked down the bony rises and divots of Hannibal’s spine. He held on tightly, kneading his fingertips against clenching cheeks beneath. It elicited another moan, this time a long drawl of his name.

“Say it again,” Will growled against his collarbone. Hot ragged breaths answered. “Do it.” He bit against skin just below the clavicle. Salt flooded his mouth. “Say it.”

“Nnn… William…” Fingers yanked on the roots of his hair as teeth bore down on his throat.

Heat spread. Pleasure began to coil inside him, burning through blood with a hot rush. Hannibal wanted him. Was fucking him. Was holding tight. Moaning his name.

_For the love of Christ, Graham, stop letting him hold you like you’ll break._

With a low sound, Will hooked the back of his heel against the older man’s waist and rolled on top with a hard jerking pull. Flames licked at the rims of Hannibal’s eyes, staring up with an open mouth, teeth glinting in the spaces in between.

“Put it back in, Hannibal.” He ordered, leaning in. A dangerous growl from deep inside Hannibal’s throat made Will’s cock jerk, straining. “I want you to fuck me, not make love to me.”

A slick head pushed against his entrance. Will sunk down with a forceful curse, throwing his head back with a rake of nails against the chest heaving beneath, tugging on hair.

“I… thought you had never been with a man.” A breathless reply.

Will tossed curls out of his eyes as he began to ride slowly. “I haven’t but… I’m a quick study as you know…” He leaned forward, pinning Hannibal’s hands against pillows with a flashing smirk. He wasn’t getting away this time. “And you’re not really a man are you? You are the dark shadow clinging in my mind, stirring inside my blood, the waking haunting of dreams. You are _much more_ than a mere mortal to me.”

“Charming…” Eyes black coals glittered back.

The tip of a tongue slipped beneath a jagged incisor as the older man swallowed another growl, bucking up in a quickening pace.

“Do you like this, Hannibal? Do you like it when I tell you what to do for a change?”

The hands bound in his fist jerked, a hard cock thrusting deep. “A fairly straight forward, self explanatory answer to your question, Will.”

Will let out a groan, grinding against a pressure mounting at the base of his spine.

“S-straight forward…t-that is a change…”

His cock throbbed, burned, screamed for release. It was harder and hotter than any of the night’s he woke, sweating in his sheets, Hannibal’s name caught between his teeth. It was better than the thrill of killing and bathing in blood. It was Hannibal’s blade sinking deep, held tight, and ripping out his insides.

“I… want to hear you say it,” He whispered fiercely between mouthfuls of Hannibal’s tongue and lips. “Do you like it, Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s fingers curled into claws, nails biting into his palm. “ _Yes,_ ” He hissed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would much rather my hands were on you when we finish.”

Snapping wrists left his grasp and crashed down on him, all nails and bruising fingertips. Hannibal thrust up with hard, slamming strokes as Will wildly bucked into each one with another swear, another moan, another plea. A symphony of slapping skin. His cock throbbed as liquid dripped down his length, pooling in the curves of Hannibal’s navel.

“Oh god, Hannibal, please!” He reached to touch, to find release.

A fist latched onto his fingers, squeezing until bones ground together. He let out a yelp. “You will come from what I give you and nothing else, Will.” Hannibal’s lip drew back in a snarl, eyes flashing.

Will let out a shuddering moan, toes curling against the balls of his feet. “Yes, just you, just…nnn harder, please. I’m so close.”

Fingertips fisted in his hair, drawing close until Hannibal’s mouth pressed tight against the crest of his ear, breath hot. “Once more, William…” He clung to the broad shoulders, rocking back hard against the cock slamming in. “Ask me again.”

“ _P-please…_ ”

Red glowing embers filled the corners of Will’s eyes as his vision began to blur. His panted against the curve of Hannibal’s neck. Teeth nipped at his throat before biting down. A scream erupted from his throat as the hard cock rammed in with a series of hard, sharp thrusts. Hot liquid spurted between their chests. A snarl of his name on Hannibal’s lips. Orgasm slammed down, clawing and twisting every single organ, knotting every artery until Will’s heart struggled to beat, as he struggled to breathe. Hot tears clung to the corners of his eyes. Unbearable heat blistered below the surface of his skin. He gasped for air, yanking at bones and sinew melded against him, desperate to regain control.

“William. Are you listening? _Will_.” Strong hands clasped his cheeks to steady a rising panic, a kind of terror, as each new sensation crashed against him. “Just breathe…” Hannibal mouthed against his forehead, stroking softly, looking down with a searching gaze.

He made a small sound, a tear captured between gentle teeth.

“Just breathe.”

“N-no....” Will reached out for the retreating figure, heat leaving with it, eyes fluttering open in pained creases.

A small smile softened Hannibal’s features, eyes filled with something before snuffing out. “Just a moment, Will.” He clung to the hand as it pulled away. “Less than a moment.”

He squeezed eyes shut again, clutching at a tightness trapped inside his chest, coiling, dragging, cutting deep. It hurt. The air. The space between their bodies. The separation. The distance was too much. Will choked down another sound. He wouldn’t survive it.

“Shh…” A lukewarm washcloth trailed across his body in nimble motions.

He curled away, burying a face in a trembling palm, retreating. “C-can’t…Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” He bit down on strangled sound. “C-cant…”

Cooling skin molded against his back. Sheets fluttered over their bodies with a soft sigh. Arms lifted until Will was curled between the safety of Hannibal’s strong arms and legs. He began sinking against firm, solid lines of his chest with a tremor of limbs.

“You never need to apologize, Will.”

“I just…”

_I don’t want you to touch me. It hurts. I don’t want you stop. God, it hurts. I want to bury myself inside your bones and fade there, safe inside your chest, disappear in the soft sounds of your lungs breathing._

“I have you, William. Feel me here. Now, please…” Hannibal placed a light kiss against his mouth. “Just drift here, with me until you fall asleep.”

_Please don’t let go._

Will’s eyes fluttered at a melody of a soothing heartbeat pressed against his ear. His fingers entwined with the ones against him. He took a breath, trembling. Fingertips swirled repetitive, soothing designs against his skin. His chest began to rise and fall with each stroke, ache receding. Vibrations of Hannibal’s voice rumbled against his body, thick with rises and falls of foreign sway and rhythm of another language. The sounds lingered, brushing inside dark caverns of his mind, settling with a stilling peace. Solid. Steady. A shelter from the storm.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was enjoyable, dear readers! As promised, a lovely two chapters of smut.  
> (To be fair, I think we can all agree we would have to wait till half way through Season 4 to reach this point, hah.)


	14. Chapter 14

Earthy aroma of glistening berries and sweet caramel drifted through Hannibal’s lungs as he blew steam gently away from a rich dark liquid. Its chocolate colored surface rippled with a glint and glisten. He smiled down at it stepping through the kitchen and into the hall. _Fazenda Santa Ines_. A fifty dollar per pound of pure comfort. A traditional coffee blend to soothe a knotting tension lingering in his arms and limbs, to waken his mind from a sleepless night.

He ducked into the library. Hannibal leaned carefully against an oak desk and stared out glass doors leading to a lush garden. Streams of a morning sunrise rose over fragile petals and branches, rimming each with a glowing halo. He had woken to another morning of cold tangled sheets. Will had not returned to his bed the previous night. He had slipped out the three nights preceding it, noiselessly and without warning. Hannibal allowed sweet steaming liquid to warm his insides, to dull an ache gnawing somewhere, buried beneath layers of twisting entrails and organs. What would one label such a sensation? A phantom ache of a missing limb?

“Is that coffee?”

His eyes slid the direction of a voice with a half twist. His skin prickled at the sound, thumb burning on the hot glass cup unsteadily. A haphazard tangle of brown curls peeked around a wing back chair. Tired blue eyes looked out from beneath each wisp. Hannibal rounded the chair to find a plush cashmere blanket draped over the younger man’s stretching limbs, black framed glasses perched on top of a worn leather book: _Representative Men, Ralph Waldo Emerson._

“You are a rare sighting, Will Graham.”

“You make me sound like an endangered species…” Will answered, quirking his head to the side inquisitively.

“Is this where you slept last night?”

“Not slept really…” Will reached out, tugging the glass cup from Hannibal’s fingers and put it to his lips in a long swallow.

An unknown feeling twitched the left corner of Hannibal’s mouth.

“It is remarkable that we share the structured frame of rooms and a roof and yet this is the first time I have truly laid eyes on you in days,” Hannibal remarked slowly as the cup was offered back to him, half empty.

“Just reading this book.” A hand motioned to the leathery spine beneath glasses.

“Avoiding the question?” Hannibal asked, turning and walking to the desk to sit the cup against a stone coaster, crossing arms and leaning on an edge.

Will rose from the chair with stiff, unsteady limbs, blanket tumbling to his feet covered in brown suede slippers. The hem of a navy v-neck shirt crept up his rib cage. His thighs trembled simple white cotton boxers, stretching until circulation returned. He glanced over, feeling Hannibal’s eyes moving over the exposed skin. His gaze flicked away to stare back at the garden. It paled in comparison.

“Avoiding the implication of a question that wasn’t ever asked.”

“Clever boy.”

“I have to…” A shuffle of feet.

Hannibal’s fingers latched lightly on a wrist brushing past, gently holding Will at his side, another curl of fingertips at his waist. Startled blue eyes gazed down. Rays of sunlight brushed wisps of curls until a fine, shimmering light glowed around Will’s figure, each shadow softened by a touch of blinding white and sun kissed yellow.

_Stunning._

“Won’t you stay here with me for a moment longer?”

“Why?”

“To observe the flickering morning light as it paints vivid hues of flame against your skin, Will.”

Will's face flooded a storm of adoration followed quickly by a flash of pain and a violent shadow of anger. “ _Christ_.”

A mistake.           

Glass doors flung open and Hannibal watched carefully as the younger man crossed the garden in long, quick strides, fists clenched at his side. He disappeared around a bend of white lilies and drooping branches of a fading lemon tree. A long, tense sigh left Hannibal’s lips, raking a hand through his hair. He shrugged back into a dark suit jacket and straightened his tie. He rose from the desk, striding out into warmth of sunlight and cool air.

For a brief moment, Hannibal considered if he would ever be able to breathe words softly across Will’s sensitive skin without burning him from the inside out. Would he ever be able to resist the curiosity of wanting to do so simply to watch bits of Will’s mind unfurl in his wide eyes? Another area lain bare for exploration. Would he allow Hannibal to press against each new shadow, to revel there, to become intimately familiar with every inch of Will both inside and out?

The younger man’s back was pressed against rough bark of a birch tree, head tilted towards a cloudless sky as if seeking answers from on high. His eyes were closed, breathing heavy. His legs trembled, hands a flutter of motions at his side. Hannibal moved closer until he was near enough to run a hand along his tensing jaw line. He resisted, purposefully bringing the heel of his dress shoe down against a fallen limb. It snapped with a popping sound. The body jerked against the tree.

“Y-you can’t…” A ragged breath left Will’s body, unmoving, edging closer to the tree, farther from Hannibal. “…s-say things like that to me.”

Long lashes fluttered on his cheek, rippling through his face and moving limb by limb until Will was just another trembling branch clinging to the tree. A hand pressed to his throat, another to his chest. He was having trouble breathing. His nostrils flared, mouth gaping open to suck in air. A panic attack.

Hannibal stepped in, placing two fingers against his trapezius muscle, and forced his voice to remain low, even, a firm command. “ _Kneel_.”

Will’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Kneel.” The fingertips pressed harder. “Please.”

“W-what the hell… I’m not going to…” The pressure increased.

Will’s legs crumbled, knees falling with a thud, scattering dirt and wildflowers. Another Roman statue bent on knees and praying beneath an expanse of open sky. His fingers clasped knees with another tremor, head bowed. A red flush crept down the back of his neck melting beneath the neckline of his shirt.

_How lovely._

“Better?”

“Y-yes,” He answered weakly.

Hannibal took another step until he rested slightly behind and to the right of the younger man, close enough to remain a reassuring presence yet not close enough to overwhelm. He looked down, gently cupping his palm against the back of Will’s head. The younger man made a small sound. He leaned into the pressure, temple pushed to the front of Hannibal’s thigh, pupils tracking beneath eyelids.

“Is there something we should be discussing, Will?” He stroked soft hair beneath his fingertips with approval.

“N-no… yes. Yes. I’m sorry.” A tense breath huffed out of Will with a shudder, shoulder blades and jerking arms. “It hasn’t been avoidance so much as self preservation.”

“Are you preserving yourself here in nature for its spirit to see?” Hannibal tilted his head back to stare between light filtering through graying branches, gnarled and twisting, faint lines painted against a sapphire blue sky. “Or preserving as you steal from our bed in a cloud of sheets when our limbs have parted?”

“This…” A hard swallow, a pained cough. “…isn’t easy for me, Hannibal. It’s difficult to… bring two disparaging images together.”

“Struggling against the perception of all that you know of me?” He continued stroking, pleased that each touch brought Will unconsciously closer. “Or fighting to bring the images of yourself into clarity?”

“Both.” He answered, finally looking up with a shimmering waver of uncertainty piercing his gaze.

“There is no shame in rediscovering the fragments of your soul and rearranging them into an entirely new design, Will.”

Flailing gracelessly, the younger man rose unsteadily to his feet as Hannibal’s firm hand settled on his elbow. “It is a lot more difficult when you’re hands keep reaching in to shift those pieces.”

“Do you not enjoy the feel of my hands pressed against you?” He asked softly, fingers tangling in the one reaching for his, soft and warm.

“Come on.”

Insistently tugging, Will pulled them both back through the garden, shoulders squared, determined. His entire body had relaxed, moving with lithe and ease. A brief smile flickered on Hannibal’s lips, a sense of satisfaction filling him.

“May I ask where you’re taking me?”

The younger man stopped abruptly, swinging around and claiming Hannibal’s mouth with his own. His fingers twisted lapels angling down the older man’s frame with a yank, sucking the air out of his lungs with each drag of a hot tongue.

Will pulled away, black seeping into blue eyes, a low growl perched on his lips. “I’ll be taking you right here in the garden if you don’t move and I know you would never suffer such an indignity as muddying your fine linens.”

“Will…” When did his voice only reach above a raw whisper?

Fingers fisted his jacket, dragging Hannibal with skidding footsteps into the library and depositing his body with a shove against the desk. His fingernails dug its wooden edge, straightening in an attempt to lean seductively, keenly aware of his own jagged breathing.

Will settled into a leather chair across from him and looked up at Hannibal. A flickering dark smile, observing closely with lingering flicks of his eyes. His cock jerked at the sight. He gnawed at the inside of lip. Steepled fingers glided up the front of his knees before rounding behind them, curling in. With a firm yank, Hannibal skidded towards the edge of the desk. Will settled between his legs, eye contact unwavering, still seated and leaning forward. Hannibal’s fine trousers tented as hands found their way up his thighs and settled on a leather belt.

“Will, I—“

“Shut up, Hannibal.” His belt jerked open. “Can you do that?” The trouser button popped. The fly snapped open. “Are you capable of remaining quiet?” Nails dragged down his silk boxers, pulling the trousers open with it. Cool air fanned flames as his cock sprung free. “Is it possible for you to just let me do this without the sound of your voice?”

“I really must insist—nnnnnn.”

A hot mouth plunged on the head of his cock with a disapproving growl and another jerk of hands. A throaty moan echoed in the library as Hannibal pitched his head back. Lips sucked his foreskin with a humming noise, plastering it in spit. His fingers dragged the younger man’s scalp, groaning appreciation louder. A tongue dipped out, lapping at his head, licking off drops of precome beading against its slit before breathing cool air over it.

“A-ah, W-will…”

Dark blue eyes flickered up, heated, smirking. Will held his cock in a firm grip, tilting his head this way and that, tongue running circle after circle in a spiral down the length of his shaft. Hannibal dug a heel of his shoe against the back of the desk chair, dragging it forward. A pleased sound reverberated down the length of his cock as Will sucked down once more to elicit another moan before drawing back up, mouth and tongue swirling off.

A pink tongue flicked out to dab spit off the corner of a curling smirk.

“I said it was an unfamiliar experience, not that I wouldn’t be any good at it. Now hold still.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we all still here? You are! How I adore you for staying. Or in Hannibal's way of talking we would say something like: "The beauty of my world is accentuated by your mere presence." 
> 
> We'll be looking through the subtle dynamic of Will and Hannibal for a bit as they rediscover how the other fits in their life under a new roof and a new life. 
> 
> (With the possibility of a calm before the storm...)


	15. Chapter 15

_God, what a pretentious coffee mug. Its rimmed in gold. Twenty four-fucking-carat gold._

Will clamped down his fists as Hannibal thrust up, mouth bobbing up and down on his cock, with quick strokes before forcing the older man to still, rolling his tongue up and down its shaft before repeating.

 _Jesus. Focus, Graham. Focus. If he’s not a writhing moaning mess, you’re doing something incorrectly._ Fingers yanked against his hair as Will buried the head in the back of his throat. _Not that you would know what that was but… honestly— that fucking cup. Shit, coffee is beginning to slosh out on the desk. Now it’s dripping down the corner… _

He glanced up from the travesty unfolding, staining oak wood and a collection of papers. Maroon eyes followed his drifting gaze. Will sucked hard until the eyes snapped closed with another groan and a tremor of shoulders.

 _My hands are a little full to be worried about catching it. He’ll be so pissed if it falls._ The mug and stone coaster bounced against the desk, perilously close to the edge. _Don’t break it. Just don’t. It probably costs a small dowry of a flock of Shetland sheep, ancient enchanted camels, and a—_

The desk ground forward with a skid. Will lurched forward, nose buried against Hannibal’s navel as he let out a growl. _Fucking desk!_

Will rose from the chair, placing his hands on either side of Hannibal’s hips to pin him in place with a heated glare. He moistened his lips before sinking back down, inch by inch, eyes flicking to the side to make sure the cup remained intact.

_Good. Still all in one piece. We know how he feels about broken cups…_

Air wooshed passed Will’s head. A strong backhand made contact with the coffee cup. It flew from the desk. A crashing shatter of glass resounded. An aroma of sweet coffee filtered through the room. Fingers locked in his hair, jerking until Will looked up, lips moving with a sucking sound.

Hannibal’s eyes burned red, mouth a jagged line, growling, “Better?”

“Mmmph…”

With a kick of his foot, the chair banged into a wall behind them. Will shoved his palms against Hannibal’s chest, falling back. Will placed a knee against the desk before climbing up the length of his body. The older man sprawled back against the desk, a handsome disheveled mess. Will ran a tongue across his teeth, breath hot in his lungs. His dress shirt hung half open from popped buttons to reveal hair and sweat clinging to his chest. A navy jacket crumpled beneath a heaving ribcage, tie trapped beneath an angled arm. His trousers clung deliciously below his hips.

“I believe you would say something poetic here, Hannibal, but I’m just going to say that I have never seen such a mess made out of you,” Will said with a slow smile, hands snaking around the tie and freeing it. “Stripped of your refinement, moaning loudly as I take you in my mouth…is _quite charming_.” Hannibal’s lip twitched at the turn of phrase coming from Will’s mouth. “What other sounds will you make for me, Hannibal?” He drew the older man up, bit by bit, coiling a tie around his fist until an open mouth, breath wild and warm, fanned against his. “What kind of symphony can I draw from your lungs?”

Will hooked his arms underneath the older man, jerking until he was fully on the desk, knees hooked over the edge. He stripped off the t-shirt and threw it behind. A cluster of pen nibs jabbed against his arm as he inched back down Hannibal’s waist. His hand struck out, blindly knocking them to the floor. He crouched, swinging a leg across rigid thighs, wood pressing against his knees.

With a dip of his head, Will licked up the thick cock, savoring the warm salt on his tongue. It jerked, bobbing with each lap. His fingers pushed inside tailored trousers, stroking, cupping soft velvety balls beneath with another trail of his tongue. Hannibal groaned, knuckles going white, holding tight to the desk. Running a tongue along his top and bottom lip, Will leaned in with a small smile before filling his mouth with Hannibal inch by inch, until his nose pressed against his pubic bone and swallowed.

_Orchestrate a symphony for me, Hannibal._

“W-will.” “W-will.”

“…Will…”

“Nnn… Will-iam…”

“Will.”

“W-will, si, Will.”

“Nnn, ah, _raggazo di notevole_!”

“ _O mio Dio_! _Altroché, Certo!_ _O, cazzo_! Nnn… _Cazzo_!”

“ _WILLIAM_.”

A tongue followed a bead of sweat trickling against Hannibal’s mouth, drinking in his lips with slow, languid movements. He tasted of ruin and sex. An unsteady hand tangled in his hair, a hoarse whisper pressed against his forehead with a light kiss, “ _Oh, mi accadesse quello che invoco; e Dio mi concedesse quello che spero_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where I believe Hannibal would revert to a writhing mess of various foreign languages when it comes to Will having his way. (I had actually formatted the "symphony" to start from a size 6 point font increasing to a 12 for a lovely paragraph crescendo in the original doc)
> 
> Assuming I have not yet butchered another lovely language, the rough translations for some of these are as follows: "raggazo di notevole": remarkable boy, "O mio Dio" oh my god, "Altroché, Altroché": oh yes, oh yes "cazzo" : a really lovely way to say fuck
> 
> And because iconic religious imagery is prevalent throughout...a biblical reference:  
> "Oh, mi accadesse quello che invoco; e Dio mi concedesse quello che spero."  
> "Oh that I might have my request; and that God would grant me the thing that I long for."


	16. Chapter 16

“It is in my professional opinion that this may be bordering on an obsession, Will.”

Hannibal dragged up from the desk, slipping two fingers beneath a Windsor knot and dragging a pale yellow tie from his throat. He folded it up neatly before tucking it safely away in an open desk drawer, above the one on the left that was locked, harboring layers of dust and precious possessions. A hand reached out and plucked the matching pocket square from his jacket’s breast pocket. He glanced briefly at suede boots perched on its surface before wandering down the legs they belonged to.

A smug smirk had settled over Will’s face before he wiped it away with the pocket square, cleaning off spit and come with a single drag. A beige cotton button up lay open against his bare chest, skimming against a waistband of faded grey washed jeans. The tattered aesthetic was growing on Hannibal bit by bit, placing fingers lightly against exposed skin. The right knee had torn from Will’s attempt to pluck the last of Limousin apples, glinting golden yellow in an afternoon sun, just out of Hannibal’s reach. He had tumbled from the tree with a little less grace. Hannibal had rewarded his efforts with a bandaged knee and fed him pieces of freshly baked _Apple Flognarde_ between languid kisses. Will had tasted of cinnamon and vanilla, crumbling just as quickly.

“If it’s an obsession then I suspect its one we both share.” Will’s voice brought him back to the present, untwisting his ankles from their perch and standing with a languid stretch. “I heard quite a good many things from you the last half hour, Hannibal, and I am fairly certain not a single one of them was an objection.”

Soft curls brushed against the side of his face then down his chest. Hannibal let out a gasp as a tongue licked him clean, pocket square following to mop up anything remaining. Will glanced up with a smile as he carefully tucked him back beneath trousers, tucking in the shirt, and smoothing out creases with his hands. He stood back to admire his work.

“And I am beginning to suspect you are using my fascination as way to win most of our arguments without every bothering to finish a single one,” Hannibal replied with a knowing look, reaching forward to reluctantly fasten buttons of Will’s shirt, one by one. “By covering my mouth with yours are you seeking my silence or your own?”

“Perhaps I just like the sound of Italian falling from your lips?”

Fingers curled around the younger man’s chin drawing him close as Hannibal placed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, breath warm against his skin. “It would not require this particular form of orchestration to hear it should you ask.”

“Hardly as pleasing if I have to ask.” Shoulders shrugged against him with a chuckle, pulling away.

Will settled back into the leather chair, legs spread wide. His blue eyes were a warm light filtering beneath and through wispy clouds. An ache stuck inside Hannibal’s throat before he swallowed it down. A crumpled pocket square landed on his desk.

“That was a very expensive napkin, Will.”

“Was it?”

“Quite.”

“You’ll let me.”

A hot breath left Hannibal’s chest as he rose to his feet. “Will I?”

“Yeah.” Will’s teeth glittered up between curving lips.

“And why is that?” Hannibal asked, hands curling on armrests on either side of him, leaning down.

“Because it’s what I want,” He answered, breath warm against his cheek. “And I was promised to want for nothing, isn’t that right?”

“Is there anything else I can provide you with?” A button popped open down the front of his shirt, followed by two more.

“A motorcycle.”

Hannibal looked up from his task of divesting Will of clothes with a tilt of his head, weighing the request carefully in one side of his mind before rolling it over to the other. The idea of Will clad in leather was aesthetically pleasing.

“Certainly.”

“A-a joke.” Red stained the younger man’s cheeks.

“Not to me,” Hannibal answered firmly, running an index finger along each flushed edge.

“God… stop,” Will replied weakly, ducking his head and pushing out of Hannibal’s grasp. “Don’t do that.”

_Do you find my desire to bring you comfort a form of torment, Will?_

“May I ask why you object?” His eyes followed before Will rested a weary head against a fireplace mantle.

“Because my legs are perfectly capable of taking me wherever I need to go, Hannibal. Lourmarin is a thirty minute walk,” He replied, spitting salt and venom. A wince shadowed his cheek. He looked back, pained, gaze softening. “The fresh air is good for me.”

“Given your tendency to disappear…” Hannibal made his way across the room with measured steps, careful to keep a certain amount of space between them. “I would feel more at ease knowing you had proper transport.”

“Here.”

The younger man drew something from his pocket and pressed it into the hand reaching for his. Their fingertips brushed gently against brown paper and twine. Will’s eyes turned a misty turmoil of blue before looking away and down. For a moment guilt had clung to the corner of his eyes.

“What’s this?”

“A replacement. I hated the color of the other one anyway.”

A small package rested in Hannibal’s open palms with a crinkle, light and fragile. He peered down, running a curious finger over its paper skin and rough sisal binding. Small red twine wrapped around speckled pheasant feathers and hackle tuffs. A barbed silver hook rested between them. A red string of Fate or tangled trail of blood?

“A fishing lure?” Hannibal touched it gently, stroking each feather and pressing a thumb against a sharp edge of the hook. A pinprick of blood formed on his thumb. He looked up, a tremor drifting through his hand and shaking his core. “Did you make this?”

“Bought some supplies to start making them again. Found a pole lying in the woods on one of my walks the other day. Would you, uh… go sometime with me? Fishing, I mean.”

“If that would please you.”

A hand settled against his, a forefinger stroking across his knuckles. “Open it.”

With succinct tugs, Hannibal peeled the brown paper apart, loosening twine with another pull. It blossomed open with a crinkle. A folded, cornflower blue pocket square rested in its center. It was lightly patterned with satin threads, a radiating sunburst design. It was cool and soft to the touch. Pure silk. He glanced up. Pain settled beneath the warmth of Will’s gaze studying each movement.

“The color of your eyes, an ocean tide singed with last light of a sinking sun.”

“Jesus…” He whispered, looking away.

“Was it very expensive?” With a light touch Hannibal brought the face back to him, tone soft.

“Would it please you if I said it was?” Fingertips dragged the pocket square away before neatly arranging in it the jacket pocket.

“It would pique my curiosity,” Hannibal answered until his arms encircled the younger man’s waist, drawing in. His skin lingered with a scent of sweat and something indefinable. “Where did you get the money, Will?”

“I had a bit left over from working. It seemed suitable to spend it on an extravagance you would enjoy…” A mouth pressed into the curve of his throat, hands slipping beneath the edges of his jacket and stepping in. Hannibal’s heart stuttered for a stop in his chest, body warmed by the ease of Will’s sudden closeness. Blue eyes flashed up. “What? What’s that look? Has no one ever bought you a present before, Hannibal?”

“Some have tried,” He answered words blurred with a rough heat of an unknown emotion clouding his mind.

What was it about the softness of Will’s tone bleeding out against his spoken words? Why did it creep through his veins, blocking out the will to focus, to think?

“And failed?” The younger man’s head dropped against his shoulder with a soft sigh and a turn.

“And disappointed…” Hands drew the edges of his jacket until Will was wrapped up tight against his chest, beneath folds of finely stitched lapels. Hannibal tried to remember to breathe as another sensation skittered up his spine, a kind of gnawing pain and pleasure of wrapping Will up in his skin. “A trivial exchange of friendship bought and paid for.”

“I would be impressed with myself if I thought I could buy you, Hannibal,” Will answered with a soft laugh, rolling his head back so Hannibal could gaze upon his upturned face. “That’s simply something I cannot afford to do given your tastes.”

With a tilt of his head, Hannibal drank deep and long against the younger man’s lips until his form melted, arms keeping the lighter body from falling to the floor.

He breathed across the warm mouth as they parted, “My tastes only involve you, William.”

“Y-you… like it then?” A ragged noise with a tremble of limbs.

“ _Beautiful._ ” Hannibal admired each new angle of Will’s face from its new perspective. Each curve of his cheek was a sheer cloud flickering beneath pools of blue wavering between pain and a kind of devotion, a gauzy veil of soft comfort and a hint of fading shadow. “Thank you. I will strive to cherish it.”  
  
Will’s mouth parted slightly as hands stroked down the side of his cheek, swirling against curves of his throat, voice almost inaudible. “Not talking about the gift anymore are we?”

“Aren’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another brief interlude of guilt ridden, compassionate gift exchanges while we all wait for either Hannibal or Will to pick up on subtle clues.


	17. Chapter 17

Cold seeped through Will’s knees with a dull ache against a hardwood floor. It skittered up his thighs with a tremble, sank deep in his stomach, and clenched tight against a hammering heart. A flush ran down his chest, warming exposed naked skin as cool night air drifted in from the balcony. He blinked to refocus his vision, staring intently at gleaming dress shoes. He shifted slightly to ease a sharp pang in his left knee, pushing his weight to the side and resting it on the back of his heels. The arches of his feet throbbed from the increased pressure. How long had it been?

 _What am I doing?_ He closed his eyes briefly, forcing them back open with a tremble of his cheek. _Who the hell willingly strips their clothing, folds it into neat shapes, and waits for twenty minutes of silence at another person’s feet?_ Will swallowed hard. _It’s not like he forced me. I could just get up…_

“May I ask where you go in the middle of the night when you believe I am asleep, Will?”

Will stayed firmly rooted in his place. He swallowed down a sound of internal distress aimed at his uncooperative limbs. He followed the dress shoes with his eyes, head bent low, until they disappeared from his peripheral vision.

“I find escaping into still quiet comforting.”

 _What a bullshit excuse for a lie. I don’t even believe me._ He rolled his shoulders back to ease a knotting tension in his neck. His head throbbed with guilt. _When the hell else am I going to have the opportunity to move a duffle full of cash except in the hours when you’re supposed to be sleeping, Hannibal? Insomniacs have better sleep schedules than you do._

“And what is it that you find necessary to escape from?” A fingertip trailed down the arc of his shoulder blade, leaving a light heat in its wake.

“Only my own shadow trailing after each step.”

Will flinched as each sound of his own voice blurred with a flicker of red resentment. _Why the hell should I have to explain myself in the first place? Why do I allow you to rip me open and gaze upon my shadowed organs?_ He felt a trail of Hannibal’s eyes skim down the curving length of his spine, lingering at the divots of his naked hips. A chill ran up his spine.

“Our shadows are a flickering reminder of all the lives we have lived, a metaphysical representation of consciousness,” Hannibal answered coolly with another scrape of shoes as he slowly prowled in half circles, a pacing predator studying its prey, blotted from Will’s vision except for a shadowy blur. “It is a deepening reflection mirroring passages of time where our physical bodies have lingered and communed with ghosts of both the past and present.” Hot breath curled against the shell of Will’s ear. “Do you wish to escape the confines of our life and travel back to one where the mirrors reflected your image alone?”

“I’m not running from you, Hannibal!” Will jerked away as another tremor of anger erupted from his lungs, a bead of sweat clinging to his temple. “There have to be some secrets between us.”

_Fuck._

Fingers twisted in his hair, yanking back until Will was forced to look up into Hannibal’s icy gaze, knee digging into the small of his neck. “Would you care to clarify this statement?”

“ _Sure_ , just as soon as you’re done ripping out my hair,” He growled, grinding an incisor into his bottom lip to maintain a steely gaze. He let out at a curse as hands jerked harder, twisting and knotting each strand. “It is truly beyond me that you can be my sole comfort and everlasting torment, Hannibal,” He hissed between clenched teeth, fist lashing out to clamp down on the older man’s wrist.

“A loss of control can be very freeing, William,” Hannibal answered with another tug. A brief smile settled on his lips before it vanished. Fingers curled around the front of his throat. “Would it bring you solace to have your demons held tightly in my grasp to protect or wield against you?” Will struggled to breathe as they squeezed. Another tremor of fear then pleasure burned within. “Would you trust I would cease before the precise moment of breaking occurred?”

He shivered as the hands released, stroking gently. “A sacrifice kneeling at your feet then?” Will rubbed at his aching throat, staring up with narrowed eyes. “Or is it simply exorcising my demons that appeals to your senses?”

Hannibal’s head curled to the side, unblinking. His hand released its fistful of hair. The older man peeled out of a light grey suit jacket, tugging out a blue pocket square. He draped it carefully over the back of a wooden chair.

“You are a gift of twisted knots and gnarled nightmares, William.” The waistcoat followed in suit before curling over its companion. Silver cufflinks glinted in the light before disappearing into a dresser drawer. “You long for me to reach in to dissect each one, pull them apart, and piece them back together to leave each as they were found, allowing me to revel in intricacy beneath my fingertips.”

 _And how will you feel once you find what it is you’re looking for?_ Will turned his gaze to the side to stair at legs of a chair. _Will the intricacies melt away as it spills out from my chest? Will it stain red beneath your fingernails and leave a bloody trail of my good intentions and heartfelt lies at your feet?_

With a ragged breath, Will tried to steady each pounding of his heart as Hannibal settled against an edge of the bed. He leaned forward, elbows digging into his rigid thighs with the pocket square twisted between his hands like a garrote. _There’s an irony: gifting my own death._ A blue paisley tie swung dangerously in the space between them. A frigid rush crawled through Will’s veins as long fingers pointed at the floor resting between Hannibal’s feet.

“Come here.” Silk unwound between the older man’s fingers, voice dipping low.

Will’s eyes widened, unable to move from the safety of cold rooting him in place. He found the idea of being choked to death unsavory. A flash of anger heated his fingertips at the thought of Hannibal denying him a proper murder tableau.

“I will not ask you again.”

A tremoring breath stilled on Will’s lips. A darkness clouded Hannibal’s gaze with a bright flash. A hand hooked around the back of his neck. He let out a yelp as it dragged him, knees bent, across the floor. Will pushed back with shaking hands against the older man’s ankles, clutching at the soft linen hem of his trousers.

“W-what the hell are you doing?” Will asked, fraying nerves shaking each syllable, unable to drag his gaze higher than the older man’s chin.

“Testing a personal theory.” Darkness engulfed Will as the pocket square dragged across his eyes with a tight knot.

He reached out blindly to pull it away with a trembling noise, relief flooding out in a rush of air. “S-stop, Hannibal, what are you doing?”

“ _Admiring your form_.” A soft, firm tone settled against Will’s skin as palms settled against his knuckles, pulling them away from the blindfold. They crumbled against each gentle push, falling in his lap, resigned. “Without sensory imagery of sight, I am free to gaze upon you while protecting you from the fear of being seen.”

Will tried desperately to contain a caging scream rumbling within his ribcage. He heard his breath fluttering, trapped inside his lungs. He heard himself breathing hard against the forced darkness. Each muscle coiled within, making way up his legs, curling against his torso, and up arms until his entire body trembled with the effort to stay, to remain statue still at Hannibal’s feet. His heart thudded in his ears. His head shook with a jerking motion to listen carefully in the silence for any sound besides his own. He bit down on his tongue, anticipating hands at his throat or a knife in his chest.

“N-now?”

A mattress creaked as Hannibal shifted against it. “The absence of touch will free you to sink deep beneath sensation, to feel within your bones what is absent beneath your fingertips.” Tufts of hair brushed against Will’s temple as silk wound around his wrists, binding them together. Its pressure was as soothing as Hannibal’s hands at his throat, a reassuring threat. “Restraint will ground you in a moment of time, to keep you from drifting, present and open.”

Breath hissed out of Will as the unseen figure pulled away. His skin ached against cool air as a breeze rustled against chiffon curtains. Absence of the older man’s voice gnawed at the edges of Will’s lungs as he struggled to breathe. He leaned forward in the dark, desperately hoping to make contact, knowing a mere touch would soothe a panic steadily rising within. Only a rush of air reached out.

“And…” Will choked against the word, forcing each one out. “…now...?”

“I wish to free you from the constraints of thought, Will, until the sounds of my voice are all that are brushing against you inside and out. Where you will succumb to its pleasure rather than flee from its pain. Where you will learn to remain in my presence.”

A shudder ran through Will’s heart as his head sunk against a soft mattress. He could feel heat radiating on either side of his shoulders. His wrists twisted against silk restraints, aching to reach out. His eyes squeezed shut against a sting of hot tears. They blotted against the pocket square. He was grateful he could bury guilt shimmering in his eyes beneath it.

“A-aren’t you going to touch me?”

“Not at the moment, William.” A single finger slipped the tie loose. It fell away from his wrists. “Perhaps not with my hands for some time.”

_God, he’s punishing me._

“H-Hannibal…” A weakening reply as Will’s body curled in on itself, achingly vulnerable.

_Please._

“An exercise in restraint, Will.”

_Don’t…_

The heat of Hannibal’s body swung around him without even a single brush. “When you are ready, dress, and we may share a meal and perhaps a stiff drink.”

_…leave._

“H-hannibal, wait…”

Shoes clicked out of the room, warmth of the room fading with the sound.

 _God, what have I done? I...I'm sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez, these two are making *me* nervous and I know what's happening later on... Well, sort of. Who am I kidding? That could all change...


	18. Chapter 18

Tufts of white clouds drifted across a grey sky, painted with pale lavender hues flushed with coral pinks as a glowing sun began to make its morning ascent against a wooded horizon. It caressed Hannibal’s upturned cheeks with warming, gentle strokes as he admired each hue it painted against surrounding scenery. A quiet stage filled with arching boughs of trees that rustled against a cooling breeze with a hint of decay and sweet morning dew.

A body continued to writhe in his arms until it subsided with nothing more than a trembling of limbs. A content sigh began to form on his lips. He swallowed it whole. Hannibal flicked his gaze down to the body sprawled against a red wool blanket. Rainwater blue rippled beneath a flutter of lashes with mirrored reflections of agony. It was no longer discernible whom the emotion belonged to. A glow had settled in pinpricks of black as if a flame flickered with each dilating contraction, widening once more as an emotion surfaced.

It forcibly extinguished with closing eyes as Hannibal’s hands trailed up a curving neck, thumb pressing lightly into a racing pulse. It was the only sign that Will was truly alive with a breath full of hidden darkness blackening his lungs. His entire body shivered, head jerking lightly in the lap cradling his head. A tremor of pain settled into a corner of Hannibal’s heart. A jacket shrugged off his shoulders before fluttering over the younger man’s torso with a snap. His hands dipped low to expose a rising and falling chest, dragging a flannel placket apart with open buttons.

“A bit contradictory isn’t it?” Will asked quietly with a rough sound, eyes fluttering open and closed as heat pressed against his skin.

“There is no greater beauty in the world that cannot be found by simply casting my gaze your direction,” Hannibal answered with another push of his fingers. Tiny ridges appeared on each bit of skin he touched. “Covering it would be a great injustice.”

“Shit.” The younger man’s face flushed a deeper shade of crimson than the blanket he laid out on. He buried his face between shaking hands and a muffled voice. “Hannibal, you really _have_ to stop.”

“My apologies…” His fingertips drew back with a murmur.

Hannibal studied deepening gloom painted between the younger man’s trembling fingers, stiffening joints an armor. He wanted to pry them open and gaze between their spaces, to look upon the beauty that pained him, to unravel what lay hidden. He wanted to taste a salt of disquiet brushing between their lips, unmentioned words choking air from their lungs. A hand reached out for Hannibal’s and pressed it against the face beneath, a blindfold made of cracking texture and warm skin. Lashes brushed against his palm with an aching sigh, hiding beneath and from Hannibal’s touch, safe from a burning inquisition of gaze.

“Are you comfortable, William?”

_In this life we have built with crossbeams and rafters to keep the other out, to keep each other in, to know where our bodies lie twisted beneath its frame?_

“Yeah…”

_Do you find comfort in the strength of my arms as they hold you close, warm and gentle, as they choke the life out of your lungs in their wake? As I pry each secret loose from your lips?_

“Would you like to make our way back to the house?”

_Are you aware of the trail of bloodied bodies? Of unspoken words stacking between us there?_

“I would rather stay here…”

_To keep safe, to keep quiet, to blind us both from our trespassing of sin?_

“Content?”

_With hearing our souls scream as we seek the heat of each others body, knowing only death awaits if we parted._

“No place I would rather be.” Will nuzzled his cheek against his knee with a sigh.

Hollow hooting of an owl filled spaces of silence stretching between them. Wings beat against fragile branches. The younger man began to tremble as Hannibal stroked his flesh once more, purposeful and insistent. Will groaned, writhing once more. An intended side effect of punishment settling into overly sensitive skin. His eyes wandered to the half eaten croissant lying near a wicker picnic basket. Creamy butter the color of hazelnuts ground with fresh peanuts and blackberry jam oozed between bite marks. It was surrounded by bits of glistening melon and red grapes.

“I am beginning to regret my decision to not prepare our lunch for this outing,” Hannibal mentioned between another bite, a corner of his lip trying not to turn up in a smile.

“You asked me what _I_ wanted, Hannibal, not what _you_ thought I wanted,” Will shot back, dragging the hand away from his face with a sultry look of pinching cheeks and a flush. “You should be thankful it’s not some grape jelly and peanut butter between two pieces of stale rye toast with flecks of mold as its only appetizer.”

“Was that considered edible?”

“It was considered a meal,” The younger man answered dryly, snatching the sandwich away and stuffing its remains, whole, into his mouth. His cheeks puffed with a grind of chewing teeth and sharp glare. Hannibal blinked, certain he should be appalled or at least irritated. A flicker of warmth hit his chest, spreading. “You learn to take what you can get when your father has to decide between paying the rent or buying a handful of groceries.”

Teeth clinked inside Hannibal’s mouth as the image of Will’s starvation ravaged body burned into the back of his eyes. A skull with gentle, smiling teeth. Red seeped into the corners of his eyes. His bicep clenched with a visceral phantom pain of a knife cutting deep. He imagined the younger man’s form shrinking until he was nothing but a small huddle and wide eyes, a child formed from a birdcage of bone and sickly right angles.

“Criminalized even then at such a young age for crimes of violence brought upon you by fellow man. If they can indeed be called such a thing.” Hannibal reached out to stroke Will’s face, lips, and throat, touch harsh with a rising rage. It was blood red with loathing. Could he be called a man for being unable to provide during Will’s darkest nights? He longed to reach back, to pull his young fading form into the protection of his embrace. “Poverty is often a brutal robbery of childhood, a token of currency passed by those who have given up caring.”

“It builds character. At least that’s what society dictates…” The younger man let out a shaking breath, struggling to regain composure. “When we first reached Marseilles, I was reminded of it. Of a quiet fear settling over me from snatching bits of food to fill each ache, knowing unpleasant consequences awaited with each bite.”

Fingertips curled around his wrists to still searching hands trying to peel back his skin, to kiss the bruises resting within.

A weak smile pulled at the younger man’s mouth. “Sometimes I think about it now, of good intentions purpling against my flesh, an atonement for trying to provide what my absent father could not.”

“One must never seek to atone for the sins of a father, William,” Hannibal answered with another stroke of hands, pulling at the shirt, shaking with a sudden anger. He was unable to see through the wavering gaze, to find what lay underneath. His arm throbbed steadily, a discord of harmony. “Consequences do not always reflect a rhythm of what was intended, only perceived.”

_Will you see intention or only what you perceive when our imminent death of hearts reaches us?_

“For a man of such eloquence, you seem to struggle with a crippling inability to say what you actually mean…” Will shuddered with violent tremors, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead, breath hard, achingly aroused.

“Have you gathered your strength or would you like to continue resting?” A pang of lust raked against Hannibal’s skin, dragging the shirt open, pushing his jacket to the side, uncaring of the answer.

“Only if you are ready to put me out of my misery.”

“Are you not fond of our current exercise in restraint, Will?” Hannibal asked, dragging Will’s hand to his mouth before sucking against each digit with a drag of his tongue, caging the other to the younger man’s chest.

“God…” Will arched with each pull, struggling against the palm keeping him firmly in place. “Y-you are quite aware of what you’re doing to me.” Hannibal placed two fingers in his mouth and sunk down on them slowly, watching a cock jerk against denim jeans, its taste flooding his senses. “You simply like to hear me answer.” Eyes fluttered up, burning. “Maybe you just like to hear the sound of your own voice. Too bad there aren’t any large angled mirrors out here or you could have the full experience.”

“That was a matter of—“ Hannibal clicked his teeth shut with a glare, licking up a long blue basilic vein running through Will’s forearm. A shaking moan answered. “Clever boys ought to remember who it is that has their body so sensitive to the slightest ministrations.” He repeated the motion down the side of the younger man’s throat, testing his pulse. “How very lovely.” It raced. “How terribly pleasing, my dear Will.”  
  
“Wish I could say I reciprocate those particular sentiments given you’ve spent the last week torturing me,” Will ground out, straining with a buck of his hips.

“Are my methods of pleasuring you blurring with the edges of agony?”

“Nnnn…” Hannibal pulled his tongue back from circling a nipple, allowing just enough space for Will to feel its moist heat. “I-if you consider endless hours of abrupt fellatio and hand jobs, at all times of the day and night, none of which actually conclude in an orgasm, utterly painful… _then sure_.” Wrists jerked in Hannibal’s grasp with a heated flash of eyes.” And that includes whatever the hell you did to me earlier.”

“Rimming.”

“What?”

“Our rather long interlude with my tongue against you.” Hannibal pressed his mouth against Will’s collarbone, tongue flicking out. “Rimming. A rather lovely segue into our morning meal, yes? I found it quite filling. Satisfying even.”

With another yank, Will broke free and rolled onto his stomach, springing to his knees and launching at Hannibal with scraping nails. “I am struggling with the idea of punching that smirk off your face or fucking you against this ground until you’re covered in dirt,” He snarled, shoving hard.

“A vivid imagination,” Hannibal quipped, settling back against the blanket with a languid stretch and a smirk. “Bitter?”

“ _Desperate_ ,” Will growled with a heaving chest, rocking his hips against Hannibal’s to find friction. “Which I suppose is how you wanted me.”

“There is something rather exquisite…” Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment as their throbbing cocks dragged together with a slow grind. “…in watching your form drift through each room, half hard, and thinking of nothing else but the next time my mouth or hands will be against you.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” Will snapped, pushing and dragging until Hannibal was pinned to the ground with his knees, wrists bound in a crushing embrace above his head.

“Would you be interested in branching out to explore that particular privilege in terms of role reversal, Will?”

The younger man drew back briefly, nails digging into Hannibal’s jaw, snarling, “ _Explain.”_

“I believe our lessons in restraint have been rather effective…” Buttons strained against hands tearing them open. A hot mouth pressed against his exposed chest with a rising sound of need. “Would it give you pleasure to have control over what torments you?”

Will rose stiffly, lifting his head to stare back at Hannibal with black coals burning beneath half lidded eyes. He swallowed hard, flexing his grip against the older man’s wrist, tightening with each passing minute. It would bruise.

Hannibal shivered, voice a rough whisper of lust curling into each syllable. “Absolutely no markings above the neck, Will.”

Hands released his wrists. “Here?” Nails raked hard down his chest, leaving red streaks in their fury.

“When I am at your mercy…” Hannibal’s hands tunneled in Will’s hair as a tongue lapped at each angry marking, breath sticking in his throat. “There are no boundaries, no limits, nothing I would deny you if it brought you pleasure.”

_Nothing I would not give to sustain you._

“How about here?” Curls brushed against his abdomen, waistband curling down as Will sucked a bruising mark just above his hipbone.

“As…” Hannibal pushed his torso up into the mouth, fingertips twisting in the blanket to keep them still, to submit. Teeth scraped against his skin appreciatively, tongue flicking out. “…you see fit.”

Will pushed his way back up Hannibal’s body, hands settling lightly at the sides of his throat, struggling to breathe. He glanced down at the man’s tented jeans and wondered briefly if he could make him come with nothing but a single word. He resisted, biting down on his tongue.

“Nothing?” Fingertips tightened slightly at his throat. “Say it.”

“Anything you wish for is yours, William.” The head of Hannibal’s cock jerked with each imperceptible increase of pressure. “By your command.”

Will’s gaze drifted from his face, intently watching the small space between their thighs and hips. He squeezed again. Another jerk. He looked back up with a darkening smile of understanding.

“Is this giving you pleasure, Hannibal?”

He grunted in reply as fingertips pressed tight against his trachea, eyes narrowing. _Another obvious question, William. Are you simply seeking your own pleasure in my reply?_

“If only I had known…” Will squeezed again, covering the older man’s mouth with his lips, licking at each corner, smothering him with each kiss. “This would have saved me a week’s worth of trouble.” Breath warmed the lobe of Hannibal’s right ear as teeth scraped down his jaw line. Will began to grind against him, each short gasp curling his hands tight. “How does it feel to have my hands around your neck?”

A groan crawled out between each tightening clench of fingertips. He watched Will’s blurring naked chest as he gasped for breath, rutting back into the brutal pace the younger man was setting. He hooked thumbs and forefingers into rough belt loops, dragging down hard until the younger man was forcefully grinding their cocks together. Will let out a throaty moan as his elbows dug into Hannibal’s sternum, pressure increasing with each roll of his hips. The younger man panted, locking his eyes with Hannibal’s, mouth open with moans, wild with need. He grit his teeth to stay conscious, to take in premeasured breaths between each loosening grip. Hannibal would not black out before he brought Will to a full release, until he was screaming.

Will’s cries rose, hands shaking, nails digging into his neck. Hannibal struggled to bite down gurgling sounds rising, fisting the cleft of the younger man’s ass with a tight clench.

“ _Hannibal, god, fuck_ _me_!” A choking scream echoed in the trees.

Red and black blotted against Hannibal’s vision as his hands fell away, a growl stuck deep in his lungs. His hips seized in response, a sticky substance dampening beneath trousers and trickling down his thigh. A thumb rammed against his pulse as pointed knees dug into his ribcage, unable to breathe.

“Oh god…”

A heavy body collapsed against his, heaving, every muscle trembling. Hannibal sucked in a mouthful of air with an arching throat. His hands jerked upright, reaching out to scrape against moist flannel clinging to the younger man’s back. He gasped between a curling mouth, remnants of pleasure coiling and rushing through his blood. His head lolled to the side. Rough wool scratched against his cheek. Black speckled to grey with another sheet of blinding white as Hannibal blinked to bring back his vision.

Huddles of bright yellow muddied with swirls of brown and black hovered on the horizon, flowing through winding trees, moving up hill. Colors drifted between blurs transformed into swirls and hazy shapes. Hannibal closed his eyes tight, forcing them back open with a steadying breath. A blanched white face hidden between a yellow plastic raincoat stared back with an open mouth. Two men with hunting rifles, covered in camouflage stood just behind her. One flushed bright red. The other’s eyebrows had risen below a rim of his woolen cap.

“Bonjour, Mesdames et Messieurs!” Hannibal managed with a hoarse call and a weak wave of his hand.

Will jerked up, head twisting, glancing at Hannibal with confusion before looking over and up. His face drained of color, white as a fallen snow spattered with bits of blood against his cheeks. The younger man made an incoherent strangling noise, frozen in place. Hannibal bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling, leaning up to suck a bruise in the younger man’s chest, for show, a finale of claim.

Rough hands pulled the sputtering female away, disappearing back through thickening trees of forest.

“Adieu! Adieu, mes amis!”

“ _Goddammit, Hannibal_!” Will collapsed against him, knocking breath from his lungs. A hard fist followed against his chest. “You are such an ass.”

“I said it was a remote location, Will, not that it would be desolate of neighbors.”


	19. Chapter 19

_Pitch black. Will’s hands jerked at his side, unmoving. Everything was black. A deafening silence crashed around him. He struggled as his lungs clenched tight, a strangled sound unable to free itself from his throat. His breath fell out in ragged gasps. He twisted to the left. To the right. A panic clattered in his mind. I can’t move… Smoke curled into his nostrils. He yanked back against the scent. He dragged his face away as hot smoke blew across his face. A hacking cough left him. He jerked again, metal digging into his wrists._

_“This isn’t fucking funny, Hannibal!” He twisted again, searching for the an unseen figure, feeling a presence lingering near his side. “Let me go!” Metal clanked against metal. “Hannibal?”_

_Hollow laughter rang against his ears with another cloud of smoke. A stench of rotting teeth spread against his skin. You belong to us now, Will. You have always belonged to your demons.” A cold blade trailed down his side, pressing and pushing at flesh. Trickles of blood followed. “You sold us your soul,” A sickly voice howled. “You owe us your life.” A sharp edge ticked up the side of his ribs. “One. Two. Three. Four. Mm, yes, the quickest way to man’s heart.” Fingertips tapped out a rhythm on his throat. “How do you think Hannibal will feel when we leave your body on his steps? Incensed by your betrayal? Or delighted with a renewed peace and quiet?” Sour breath hovered above his mouth. “Five. Let’s find out, shall we?”_

_“P-plea—“_

_A scream ripped through Will’s throat as metal slid between his ribs, gutting and flaying insides of his heart with a twist and a jerk, throbbing, sputtering against a knife… blood sprayed out, pooling down his sides, covering his feet…_

_N-no… Hannibal, please… Please, I can’t…I never said… H-h-hann…_

“H-HAN-NIBAL!”

Strong arms stripped away a tourniquet of wet sheets wound around Will’s body. Fingers clawed at ones threaded tight around his throat, cutting off his air, yanking with a forceful curse. A tearing sound echoed in the dark room. Will gasped for air, flailing and striking out with fists and feet. His fist landed against a hard muscle. Pain exploded across his knuckles. His heel dug into something soft, ramming in.

“Unn… Will-iam…” Feet stumbled back. “I-it’s just me…”

Will's eyes snapped open, springing upright. The older man doubled over against an edge of the small mattress. An arm clutched his abdomen, as another steadied himself against the headboard. He was breathing hard, chin tucked in, hair streaking across a damp forehead.

“S-shit, Hannibal,” Will clambered up, each muscle crying out in protest, throat raw and burning. He dragged the older man forward. “Here, come here, Jesus!” He drew back his hand. Red speckled against his palm. Blood oozed through gauze bound around Hannibal’s bicep. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Christ, I’m sorry!”

With another forceful yank, Hannibal fell face first against the mattress with a groan. “I would be most appreciative…” A hand pulled Will down next to him. “If you would cease these efforts in trying to kill me, William.”

“S-sorry…” A blush burned Will’s cheeks as he dragged off his wet t-shirt and threw into an unseen corner. “Did I wake you?” He asked stupidly.

“In the middle of reading when I heard your…”

“Screams?” Will offered, staring up at the ceiling with another flush.

“ _Distress,_ ” Hannibal corrected with a pointed look upwards, dark circles clung beneath his eyes.

Will brushed strands of hair from the older man’s eyes with a lopsided, weakening smile. “S-sorry…” He pointed to the bloodied gauze. “Would you like me to take a look at that?”

Hannibal jerked back, fingers curling around it with a tight lipped smile. “Unnecessary…”

“Oh.” His eyes fell away from the older man’s hand.

“Another panic attack?”

“Y-yeah…”

Dark eyes flicked to the side to stare up, an icy cold steeling them. They filled Will’s skull with a biting frost.

“It concerns me the ferocity of which your nightmares have haunted you as of late, William,” Hannibal mused quietly, settling a hand over his knee, warm and steadying.

Will’s eyes flickered, gulping down words struggling to break free, reaching out with a trembling hand. “Hannibal…?”

_I’m sorry. I did it to protect you, to protect us._

With a quick roll, Will’s arms encircled the older man and pulled. He dragged until Hannibal’s spine fused into the dip of his sternum, a connection to make them whole. Heat spread against his chest as he wound a leg around stiff, straining ones. He wound tight, curled around the older man’s body, arms shuddering. Will pinned their hands against Hannibal’s chest, fingers laced, trembling.

“What is it that blackens your mind in the throes of deepest sleep, Will?” Hannibal asked in hushed tones, squeezing against his fingers, body rigid.

_Are you counting the seconds until I release you, Hannibal? Does it hurt to be held?_

“Moments…” Will scrounged for correct words, wincing, burying his face in the curve of the older man’s neck. Patchouli and rose hips clung to his skin. He kissed behind Hannibal’s ear with a lungful of his scent, mumbling, “Of separation.”

_Of losing you. Knowing I wouldn’t survive it._

“Is your physical entity separating from the planes of this one, Will? Adrift in the galaxies of your mind?”

“You mean… am I losing time?”

Will closed his eyes, to memorize the feel of Hannibal’s skin warming his own. How his chest rose and fell with each breath. A steady heart beat against the one knotting inside his own ribcage. Would he be able to remember this moment forever?

_Could it be considered lost time if you vanished from my life, Doctor Lecter, with all of the years between us disappearing with your presence?_

“Are you…” Hannibal turned his head slightly, glancing back out of the corner of his eye. “Losing time?”

“N-no…” Will managed a faltering smile, tightening arms around his chest. “There are nights when I dream of salt water filling my lungs, lost beneath a black sky, calling out your name before I sink below the waves.” He tucked his forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder blade, breathing out the words across his skin. “Not being able to find you, drifting out to sea… is what I fear the most.”

“William…” Hannibal turned inside the arms holding him, gentle, unhurried. His fingertips brushed through Will’s hair softly. A dry palm settled against his cheek. “Our souls have burned into each others bones, charred with ash and soot, drifting through each others heavenly consciousness.” A warm mouth settled against his, blinking away a brief reflection of pain. “Our stars will always be the same. They will always guide you home if you allow them.”

_Will the tides always bring me back to you? Or will you allow them to crash over and swallow me whole?_

A tiny light flickered in Hannibal’s gaze, a hint of starlight beckoning back to ones falling in Will’s eyes. With a blink, the light imploded, a black hole expanding in its wake. Will swallowed back a sound of longing, searching the older man’s eyes for a sign, praying for another glimpse beneath the mask.

“The weight of the world rests in your eyes,” Hannibal noted with another stroke of his fingertips, brushing a thumb across his bottom lip.

Will turned his head down and to the right to escape a questioning gaze, murmuring, “I think you would say something about mirror images.”

“And which one of us is reflecting the other, William?”

With a turn of shoulders, Will nestled against the older man’s chest, desperate to hide in the angles of his skin. He pressed an ear against it. A heart thrummed inside, steady, calming. A melody of pure, soothing comfort. Arms settled around Will’s frame as Hannibal drew him in closer, tucking his chin against the top of his head with a brief kiss. He melted into fingertips stroking lazy circles against his spine with a sigh.

"H-hannibal…?” A feeble prayer fell from Will’s mouth.

_Hannibal… I…_

Fingers stilled against his skin as the older man’s body stiffened, muscles a collecting armor to shield him. “Yes, Will?”

_…I can’t lose him._

A tear streaked down his face as Will buried each one beneath shaking fingertips, choking out, “N-nothing, Hannibal.” He trembled inside strong arms, fading into warm skin and breathing. “I-it was just a bad dream…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in morning, sailor's warning! 
> 
> I hope we are all stock piling images of Will Graham and puppy piles... Just sayin... D :


	20. Chapter 20

Cold choked air struggled to reach Will’s lungs. He dragged a black helmet off his head, desperate to escape its confined space. The kitchen side door swung quietly closed. It clicked shut. He shivered, glancing out a window at a half moon, jagged teeth, hanging in the night sky. A black leather jacket peeled down his arms, landing on an island counter with a crinkle. Thick tension snaked around his feet, wound up his legs, and coiled against his torso. He laid the helmet on top of leather with a shake of his head.

Eyes slid over to a corner, lingering on a wooden block. _One, two, three… four. Wait. Where’s the fourth?_ He drifted over to the sink, resting an unsteady hand on the counter. A knife gleamed back. _All accounted for. A good sign… I think._ _Did I leave dirty towels on the floor again?_ Hair bristled on the back of his neck. He swallowed hard, eyes drifting towards a dark hall. _No... this feels different…_

Legs moved on their own accord, drawing closer and closer towards the library with each step. A moth drawn to the flame. Will struggled to stop, to regain control over his limbs and march them in the opposite direction. _Something is wrong_. _Turn around._ It crawled against his skin. _Just stop and…_ He winced as a door creaked open with a swing, jerking a hand back to his side.

Flames licked burning red and grey shadows against Hannibal’s face. His head was angled to the side, temple leaning into two poised fingers. He stared into a stone fireplace, lost, absorbed in each spitting spark and crackle. A dark red wine swirled in a fine stem glass. He brought it to his nose, breathing in. He sipped the liquid down, savoring its rich body. It stained his lips a glittering crimson. Will shivered again, trapped beneath the doorframe, unwilling to move forward and unable to retreat. If he turned now, if he quietly backed out…

“Where have you been?” A dark, cold sound rang out, echoing against spines of books and carefully arranged furniture.

“O-out.” Will stumbled blindly in, feet magnetized, drifting towards Fate. “I… went for a walk to clear my head.”

A hand tugged at a flannel collar, unbearably tight against his throat. _I must have lost track of time…_ Will glanced at a black and silver Armani watch strapped to his wrist. Spots of blood clung to its glass face. 10:30 pm. _It’s a little difficult to do that when some guy is swinging his fists at your face. How terribly rude…Who knew someone could be so insulted by losing a poker game, even after I offered him the winnings…_

Black eyes drifted over to his figure, dragging up his boots, following the length of his body, and resting a moment on his face, before flicking away. He winced, a cold seeping into his skin with a shiver.

“You were gone for seven hours and twenty-one minutes, Will.” Dark liquid shot between Hannibal’s mouth, thrown back, swallowed whole. “I imagine that is the longest recorded ‘walk’ in history.” The eyes slid back over, shadows clinging to the corner of a hard mouth. “Did you get lost?”

“Metaphorically?” _Shit, Graham what are you doing_. “Or literally?”

“You may wish to refrain from being clever.” Dark eyes slid up his face. They narrowed, a clear warning, tone placid as a still, murky lake. “I will not ask you again.”

“Hannibal, you cannot know every part of me, every second, of every day!” Will shot back with a jerk of his shoulders, fingers curling into fists.

The wine glass stem snapped in half. “Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, William.” It shattered against the fireplace, glass popping as flames licked at its remains. “It is _detrimental_ to your health.”

“That’s absurd, we have to have—“

 _Boundaries._ Will’s eyes darted to the side, sucking in a breath and holding it. _Oh fuck… me…_ Stacks of neatly bound bills lined an oak desk from edge to edge, white wrappers flickering with firelight. A vinyl duffle bag lay crumpled at its legs _. If I… goddammit, it was on the roof! How the hell…? How…_ His eyes drifted back over to Hannibal with a grimace.

“ _Kneel._ ” Hannibal growled, pointing at a space besides his chair, leg uncrossing.

“A-are you joking?” Will drew back, head shaking slowly, stepping away.

Hannibal rose stiffly, locking his eyes on Will. A navy suit jacket sighed, sliding down his arms. It fell against the back of a chair with a shudder. The older man stalked forward, head twisting to the side. His eyes were cold, unseeing. Will closed his eyes to hide, stumbling back. Fingers curled into his shirt, dragging forward, balancing him. Two fingers pressed against Will’s collarbone.

“ _Kneel_.”

“I’m not…”

Trembles traveled from Will’s fingertips, up his wrists, settling in. His chest shook, muscles twitching, resisting. Light pressure increased to a bruising strength. Murky eyes glittered down. Silent. Will’s legs buckled, crumpling against the floor with a loud curse.

“You can’t…” His fingers tangled in rough wool carpet. He blinked back to keep stinging tears at bay. Anger whipped against his lungs. “I am _not_ staying down here.”

“I am not forcing you, William.” Hannibal stared down the bridge of his nose as if balancing a blade on his arcing cheeks. “You are at my feet because you unconsciously long for submission.”

“I do not long for defeat, Doctor Lecter!” Will snapped, struggling to bring feeling back into his legs, to pull back from an invisible force trapping him in place. “Nor do I desire to be controlled.”

“Submission is not necessarily inclusive of defeat or restraint, Will.” His eyes closed against the plodding, rhythm of a familiar voice speaking from behind its mask. “It is often considered a strength, of blindly accepting nothing less than an over arching acceptance, a loss of control. Where you rely on nothing but faith.” A finger hooked beneath a dark grey tie at Hannibal’s throat. It loosened, wound in a tight circle, before perching on top a mountain of currency. “It is _a gift_ of embracing pain and pleasure that unfurls from kneeling at another’s feet, to accept something other worldly.”

“Feeling nostalgic for God again, are we?” Will sneered up, fingers jerking against the carpet with another sharp twist of rage. “Or just playing in his stead? I do not need faith to know I am constantly beneath your watchful eye and pressed tight into the palms of your ruling hands, Hannibal.”

“If you allow yourself to be ruled, William, it is because you wish me to do so.”

“Well, I’m not allowing anything tonight. I am getting up. You can’t just bark a command and expect me to follow like one of my dogs.”

Will made no motion to move, sinking further into an ache seeping up his knees and rooting his body to the floor. His lip curled in a snarling internal command. His body stayed where it was.

“Are you waiting for my forgiveness, Will, or my permission?”

“What the hell do I need to be forgiven for, Hannibal?” His eyes flashed up with a gritting of teeth, another curse uncurling on his tongue. “Because I sure as hell don’t need your permission! You are not God. And you are not my priest.”

“Answering a question with a question, Will. Classic deflection.” An index finger wound down his cheek, forcing his mouth open. “Is there something you wish to confess?”

Will’s fingers curled against his jeans with a silent glare and a snap of teeth. “Not a thing.”

A small, predatory smile flashed against Hannibal’s teeth. He leaned back against the desk, running a hand over stacked bills. He picked one up, turning it with his wrist to examine each edge.

“Have you determined what gave you away yet? Is it burning in the back of your mind?”

“Not really, Do-ct-or Lec-ter,” Will bit back, sharp tongue emphasizing each staccato of his formal name. It dripped with a bitter taste. “But you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

“Oh darling boy…” The endearment was ice cold, blocking out its intended sentiment. “Mother nature betrayed you.” Hannibal crumpled a stack of bills in his fist, tossing it at Will’s feet. “A simple leak.” Harsh laughter rang out. “Actually, I was waiting until you returned to ask about it, but when you didn’t appear for dinner, well… I imagine you are clever enough to surmise the rest.”

“Shit,” Will groused quietly, nails biting into his palm, eyes downcast to stare at Hannibal’s shoes as they moved in.

Fingertips trailed down to tip his chin up. “The cash.” They stroked against a swallow working down his throat. “Whom does it belong to, William?”

“Mine,” Will hissed between clenched teeth, pulling away. “You’re not the first person in the world to consider stashing cash in drop locations in case of emergency, Hannibal.”

Hands slammed down on either side of Will’s face, jerking forward. A cool mouth welded with Will’s lips, smothering each breath from his lungs. A kiss of death. He crushed wrists holding him. Too strong. He couldn’t pull away. Would he want to if he could? Teeth bit at his flailing tongue, drawing blood. Hannibal pulled back, mouth dripping red, an unnatural smile pulling at his cheeks.

“How handsome your mouth looks when full of deception. How generous of you to allow me to drink in each one, while staring deep into your unwavering eyes. A far cry from the days when you would simply stab me in the back without looking at all.”

“I… I’m not lying...”

His tongue ached, swallowing mouthfuls of blood.

_What am I doing? Just tell him. Just tell him the damn truth!_

The older man pulled back, inhaling deep. “Why do you smell of blood…William?”

“Not exactly rocket science, Hannibal, given you just fucking bit me!”

“Is it…” Fingers tensed at Will’s throat. “Is there someone else?” A snarl of jagged teeth.

A barking laugh escaped Will’s lungs as he shoved the hand away. “I am unstable, not mentally deranged.” He smiled up. “Even I know better than to write my own eulogy.”

“What is it you had to do to acquire it?”

“ _Worked_.” A scathing look fell on Will’s face. “Nothing like that, Jesus! It was a joke. It is _still_ a joke, for Christ sake, let it go.”

“There’s over $5,000 dollars of unmarked bills lying on my desk, William.”

“And?” Will growled, biting back another scathing quip: _Stating the obvious now are we, Doctor?_

“There is no need…” Hannibal leaned in, mouth curled against his cheek. “…to put yourself unnecessarily at risk when I am perfectly capable of providing a life of comfort. Just as I promised. As you have surely come to understand.”

Will snorted. “I am not a 1960s housewife, Hannibal. I am not just going to lie back and let you shower me with gifts without being able to provide for you in return.” He tossed curls back out of his eyes. His wristwatch glinted in the firelight. “It creates a dynamic in our relationship which I am no longer willing to tolerate.” He winced, a dull ache throbbing in his knees. “If you’re looking for an example of that dynamic, I would like to present you with Exhibit A.”

The sudden outburst freed Will from a spell binding him to the floor, struggling to his feet, swaying. A hand ensnared his wrist, dragging back. His boots skid against the carpet. Arms came down on either side of him, trapped between stacks of money and a wall of Hannibal’s chest.

“Have you always considered my protection intolerable?” Fingers trailed down the nape of his neck, eyes glittering stones. “Or is this merely an act of defiance?”

“I… I don’t have to listen to this,” Will replied, trying to breathe fire into each word while straining to lean into his touch. “I don’t…”

“And yet, you remain.” Fingers circled the base of his skull, a threat pinching against it. “You put yourself in harms away against my explicit request for you to allow me to care for you.”

“You can stop trying to make me feel guilty any time now, Doctor Lecter, it’s not going to work. I am not going to apologize.”

“Is there something you feel a deep desire to apologize for, Will?” Another hand settled at his throat, caressing his racing pulse, tightening with each second.

Guilt twitched against his cheek, eyes boring back into dark ones. “ _No_.”

_I did it for you. For us. To save us. I didn’t want to lose you!_

“I would like to gently remind you of the hand wrapped around your throat.” Will struggled to breathe, biting down on his bottom lip. “I believe you are intimately acquainted with what I do to those that cross me.”

“Then do it! _Do it already_!” Will tried to untangle from a cage of limbs, skin burning, rubbed raw with each twist. “Fuck off. You’re _not_ going to hurt me, Hannibal, so just let go.”

“I said my compassion for you was inconvenient, Will, not that it came with an endless abundance of restraint that would absolve you of all trespassing.”

“Get your hands off my fucking throat!” Will snarled, starting forward with gnashing teeth, clawing at the older man collar, wrapping it tight.

Red crept into curves of Hannibal’s cheeks. “Is that a demand?” The hand held him in place with ease, crushing his windpipe.

“Y-yes.” A sputtering hiss.

“Rude.”

Pressure released. Hannibal swung away. His arms shook, braced against a wingback chair. He stared into the fire, breathing hard. Will rubbed at bruises forming on his throat with a whimper. A different kind of pain settled into his chest. The space between them was unbearably painful.

_Why can’t I just apologize?_

A hoarse growl addressed him. “Do not return to me until you are willing and able to speak absolute truths.”

Will’s knees buckled, grabbing at the desk for support. “…Are you asking me to leave?”

“I am dismissing your offensive presence for both our sakes.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Will’s mouth hung open, tears springing into his eyes. “We’re having a fight, Hannibal, not…not….”

_Breaking up... Oh god…_

“Go. We will talk about this later after an inner calm has returned to your mind. Perhaps then we might discuss this like adults.”

“Calm? Calm!” Will rose, slamming a hand against the desk as a frenzied rage and panic erupted out of his lungs. “I am calm! I… I’m _not_ leaving.”

_I’m not… leaving you…_

“Aren’t you?” Glowing eyes trailed after his retreating figure, pressed into bookshelves, instinctively feeling his way towards a door as a shadow trailed after.

“Jesus Christ, Hannibal, you’re overreacting!” His hand settled on a cold knob. “This is _utte_ r bullshit!”

The shadowy figure blurred with inhuman speed, fingers lashing out. Something snapped inside his chest. Will’s fist rammed against the older man’s skull with a sickening crack. Hannibal sprawled back, landing with another clamoring thud. A chair bounced against the floor, tumbling, then rolling to a halt. Hannibal’s eyes rose slowly, inch by inch, from the floor. A violent sound seeped out of his mouth, face contorting with dark angles. Blood gushed between spaces of his fingers.

“Oh s-shit, Hannibal, I’m sorry! I-I—“ Will stared at flesh peeling back on his knuckles then back to Hannibal, sputtering. “Please, I didn’t…” He stumbled forward, reaching out. “I didn’t mean to…”

Eyes burned red. A hand clamped around his throat, squeezing. He struggled, feet lifted from the floor, dangling. “ _Get out, Will_.” Another squeeze choked out a ragged breath. His nails sunk into the wrist with gurgling pleas. Will kicked out, tips of his boots dragging against carpet. “Before I do something we both regret.”

With crumbling limbs, Will began coughing, spitting up bile rising in his stomach on the floor. “F-fine,” The words fell out between choking, sound of gravel scraping against glass. “Y-you don’t want me here. Consider me gone.”

Will glanced at the duffel. His eyes dragged across cash sprawled against gleaming oak, littering the carpet. He would have to go through Hannibal to get it. A low growl vibrated against his back. He spun on his heel without a word, slamming a door behind him.

Hands snatched the leather jacket off the kitchen counter, pulling it on. The side door banged in protest. He glanced at a black motorcycle shining with moonlight. He turned a collar up. He was wearing it to keep warm, not because Hannibal’s scent clung to its supple skin. With a curse, he squared his shoulders and stalked down the dirt path into an unforgiving night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the fic where everything goes horribly wrong between our dear sweet Murder Husbands! These halves truths are surely not going to drag us through pain and suffering in the future, not at all. Right? Right. 
> 
> To all of you continuing to read! Bless! You are the light of my life. <3 Your comments always make me smile.


	21. Chapter 21

It had been four days since Hannibal had laid eyes on Will Graham. His fingers drummed against a ledge. It had been four days since he had slept. He curled a knee up against his chest, settling back into a bay window. He stared without seeing down a winding dirt path leading up to the villa. Nothing. Not a single word. Hannibal dragged a hand down his face, rubbing at creases settling at his mouth. A constant grimace of pain sprang back upon release.

He glanced down at a matte black phone cradled in his grasp. He looked out to the path once more. It remained empty. Ghosts of fog drifted across its surface. With a press of his thumb, lights flickered as the phone came to life. Hannibal swiped to his contacts. A single name stared up. _William._ A flinch fluttered against his cheek. He glanced up at the top of the screen. _0 missed calls._ With a flick of his finger, he stared at his inbox of texts. _Inbox: 0._ What needed to be said was far too substantial to be written. It would corrode against a blinking cursor of text. It would vanish entirely between a crackling receiver.

Placing a hand against the side of his neck, Hannibal rolled his head to the side, stretching to ease an ache. He wanted to believe it was simply a physical pain, a crick in his neck, from waiting beside and within various open windows. How many years would he wait this time? He placed his head gently back against a drape covered wall and sighed softly. It wasn’t a mere physical pain. An undefinable ache seeped through his bones. His brain burned, throbbed, screaming with flashing lights and loud bangs in an attempt to get Hannibal to do something, anything. Waiting was a dead man’s game.

With another swipe, Hannibal brought up various brightly colored icons littering the app section of his phone. A blue wing tipped hawk hovered above a green sonar disk. _PREY 1.3.6._ His index finger hovered over the icon. He had quietly installed tracking software on Will’s phone in Marseilles before his first job. A reasurrement  that even in moments of his possible death, he would know Will had reached the villa safely. It hadn’t seemed practical to remove it when they had arrived together. Hannibal argued with himself that it was more prudent for it to remain. The younger man’s habit of wandering away from it in moments of half sleep and complaining about being unable to find it later had plagued their domestic life.

 _It would be terribly rude to use it to track Will’s location…_ Hannibal clenched down on his back teeth, staring hard at the phone. _An invasion of privacy._ _He will return with a cool head on his own. He always comes back_. A desolate dirt road wound down and away from his sight. _What if Will has decided to follow another path? A path separated from my own…_ A seething hot breath hissed out between teeth. _What if it returns him to a live of inclusion, of plodding smiles, one where I am simply a reflection behind glass?_

An index finger stabbed at shimmering glass. The app opened with a chirping sound. With a hurried swipe, Hannibal entered his information and tapped hurriedly on a log in button. A small map popped up on the screen. He rose from the bay window with a distressed noise, glancing once more outside. A blue arrow flashed with pleased strobes. It was positioned over a stretch of road a few minutes from the villa’s location.

Was it possible Will was injured? Had he been so reckless, so careless with Will’s life and now…? A black streak scuffed along hardwood as Hannibal broke into a run, skidding through a dining room, and throwing himself out the front door. Stone and dirt flew behind his heels in a trail of dust clouds.

“Will!” Hannibal’s eyes darted side to side, scanning tall grass and wildflowers as he hurtled down a path. “William? Will! Say something if you can hear me!” A wild heart beating drummed between his ears. “Will? Can you—” His heels ground to a halt, nostrils flaring with hot air. The blue arrow blinked with happy, insistent chirps. He looked to his right. “Will?”

With a stoop, Hannibal began to wade through thickets of prickly juniper and white buds of asphodel. A weathered looking stone began to rise on a lush green horizon. His ankle wobbled, losing footing with a cascade of dirt. Hannibal righted with a jerk of his left leg and stepped forward, hand outstretched. A small silver phone winked up beneath a warm sun.

“ _William_.” A snarl leapt from Hannibal’s lungs, crushing the phone in his fist.

His feet whipped around. Long strides carried him back towards the villa with seething breath. Heels ground against dirt with unforgiving twists. A door shuddered closed in his wake. With a snap of his wrist, both their phones slid across the length of a polished mahogany dining table. They slowed to a stop in front of an empty chair at the table’s corner, placed carefully next to the head of the table, a place of honor. _Dextera Domini._ A place Will no longer wanted.

Rage slashed through Hannibal’s chest. He allowed it to burn bright behind his eyes for a moment. By the time he had snatched up his phone once more, it was gone. A familiar pressure of nothing peacefully blanketed his soul. He stared down at its screen. His fingertip swiped across, punching at a glowing number. It rang twice. A click.

“Bonjour, Hôpital de Pertuis. Comment puis-je diriger votre appel?“ A tinny, melody crackled through the speaker.

“Oui. Pouvez-vous ... ?" He pinched his nose, far too tired to dig around his brain for soft flutters of foreign language. "Parlez-vous anglais?“ 

“…Ah a bit, monsieur.” An older woman’s voice, pausing to form each word, thickened with a provincial cadence. “How may I… assist you?”

A tooth snagged against Hannibal’s bottom lip. “I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, Miss…?”

“Viola.”

“ _Miss Viola_.” He struggled to imbue her name with tones of lavender and sunlight. “You see, my husband has not returned for several days…” Abrupt demand clawed inside his throat. “…and perhaps it is newlywed jitters…” His hand tightened around the phone, pacing back and forth. “…but I must admit I am beginning to worry.” A clucking sound answered. “Would it be a terrible imposition for you to see if a patient has been admitted under the name—“ _~~Will. William Lecter. Will Graham~~_. Hannibal swallowed a curse slithering down his tongue. “ **Liam Bergstrom**?”

“A moment please, monsieur.”

_And if he is not currently a patient, madam, would it be too much trouble to ask you to a reserve a bed? I fear we are going to need to admit him. What for? Well, you may need to piece him back together. Why? I have a deep desire to grind his skeleton into a fine bone char to add him to my lovely collection of charcoals. Ah yes, I thought you might understand. How very obliging of you._

“Sir?”

“Yes.” Hannibal’s heart slowed his chest.

"I am afraid..."

A hand clutched at the table.

"I must inform you..."

Nails scraped against wood.

“There is no patient… at this hospital by that name.” A fluttering smile warmed each speckle of static. “Ah, perhaps your husband is… how do you say, sleeping off a drink?”

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed, forcing a calm into his words. “Perhaps you are right, Miss Viola. Terribly sorry to have troubled you.”

“Au revoir, monsieur. Beaucoup de bénédictions.”

A dial tone buzzed. “Many blessings indeed.” The phone slammed against the table.

With a spin on his heel, Hannibal strode back towards the library. He landed in a leather chair with a grinding creak. A thin lipped line began to ripple. He stared down at Will’s gentle sleeping face tucked beneath a thin blanket, murky, fading with wispy light lines and hatching brush strokes. An illustrative deception. Clouds blotted against his eyes. It rustled with a cry as it balled up inside a shaking fist.

 _Where are you, William?_ A tightness tugged at his lungs. _What kind of man looks out from behind your eyes in this moment?_ He carefully began to unwind the crumpled mess. It was covered in cracking, jagged lines. _Are you gazing up at the heavens trying to determine which stars will lead you home?_ He smoothed fingertips over a shadowed jaw _. Or are you searching for ones that will bring a physical world between us?_ Hannibal’s eyes misted, blinking it away. _Do you long to find out if I will remain, haunted by your presence drifting through the halls of my mind? Or do you look forward to discovering if I will survive our separation?_

He pushed the illustration away. Dim chords thrummed at trembling valves of his heart. Hannibal turned his gaze to a drawer. He plucked a small ornate key from his waistcoat pocket. A lock ticked open. His fingertips pushed aside hazing shapes of blue and red leather, emblazoned with gold stamping. Their pages were filled with open doors. Each a different country. A different life. A different man. Intertwined veins splitting off with different paths. Imagined variables of time and space. A vast echoing dark without Will’s light to guide him.

An ivory laden hunting knife glinted within. A reminder of family values. Bruising circles clung beneath tired eyes, reflected in the blade’s surface. White sterile bandages covered a swollen, battered nose. Hannibal touched it lightly, wincing. His eyes were drawn to a farthest corner in the back. A velvet shadow nestled in darkness. A perfect square of unnecessary human emotion. An embodiment of death joined in union. A painful reminder of what would never be.

Hannibal’s eyes slid from the corner back towards the knife, lifting it. It twanged with a hum. Red rims of his eyes grew smaller and smaller in its mirrored surface. Black swallowed remaining bits of glowing crimson flame.

“Perhaps this is all I am able to offer you in this life, William…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I be offering up a soothing cup of tea at this point? 
> 
> Brief Translations: (or another series of things I probably translated incorrectly?)
> 
> dextera Domini: the right hand of God/the Lord
> 
> “Bonjour, Maternité de Pertuis. Comment puis-je diriger votre appel?“ : Hello (name of the hospital), how may I direct your call? 
> 
> “Oui. Pouvez-vous... ? Parlez-vous anglais?“ : Yes. Can you...? Do you speak English? 
> 
> "Au revoir, monsieur." Good bye, sir. "beaucoup de bénédictions" Many blessings.
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO. I am very curious to see if anyone picks up very, very subtle hints here...


	22. Chapter 22

Damp sheets clung to Will’s skin as he rolled onto his side. A cloudy starless sky was framed between loud, tattered paisley curtains. There were no constellations to guide his drifting soul tonight. He glanced down at tanned outlines where a watch used to be. A final remaining sign of Hannibal’s possession had disappeared into muddy brown crushed velvet beneath a glass case. Time meant nothing now. Rolled bills and jangling coins had melted his skin between layers of a hidden breast coat pocket. He had been unwilling to part with his second skin. The older man’s scent had faded with each setting sun. A week had passed. Fragments of home clung to the collar’s underside, settled beneath fine stitching and textured flesh. The leather jacket was clutched to Will’s chest. His only companion disappearing with every passing minute. His bones cracked beneath its weight.

With a rustling of his head, Will buried his face into the jacket. It was easier to suffocate beneath its heat than bear an overwhelming odor of mold crawling along the ceiling. It muffled sounds of exoskeletons and spindly feet skittering across a linoleum floor in search of standing water and crumbs. _False advertising._ His eyes squeezed shut as if it would quiet shouts vibrating through floorboards above his head. _Can it really be called a hostel if most of your tenants are of the insect or fungi variety?_ Will was fairly certain that even the shells of physical bodies he had seen drifting through halls would easily fall under either category. _Plagues on society. The lot of them._ He exhaled a shaking breath. _It can hardly be called homey. Cheap. Barely livable, maybe._

_But we’ve slept in worst places._

Will dragged a rough hand across his face. He pushed it into an eye to blot out a stinging sensation of tears. _Is this home?_ Was he looking into his future? Was it filled with cramped spaces, lumpy futons, and an empty chest reverberating with a morbid desire to keep him alive? _This is Hannibal’s fault._ Heat bubbled in the farthest fleshy lobes of Will’s lungs. A sensory response to his own weakness.

_What the hell was I thinking coming here?_

_To this place, or to this hostel in general? Not a whole lot. You allowed yourself to be pushed over. You pushed yourself out._

_What possessed me to leave behind my life?_

It boiled up winding bronchus tubes.

_It’s more likely clouded emotion this time, rather than an overactive imagination._

_Why do I keep letting him walk around in my head? Do I care for him, or does he want me to believe I do?_

Heat spread.

_Familiarity of learned dynamics, I suspect. You've always found routine comforting. And do you? It depends. Who is mirroring whom?_

Flames crawled up his trachea.

 _If he cared for me, would I be here right now?_ A bitter laugh heated insides of his cheeks. _If he understood me at all, wouldn’t he have allowed me to remain, knowing my intentions were good?_

_At his feet perhaps. If you had been willing to actually tell him the truth. You left on your own, Will. Who’s running from whom this time?_

Fire burst of Will’s mouth. “COULD YOU QUIET THE FUCK DOWN ALREADY?!”

Yelling voices lowered to muffled reverberations. A fog moved through his mind as silence settled back into its original spaces. A dull throbbing ache resurfaced one layer at a time through muscle. His body longed for touch. It crawled against his flesh with trailing bumps rising beneath phantom fingertips. A wrenching cry rattled inside Will’s ribcage. He could feel dim heat of the older man’s chest curled against his back. He rolled perilously close to an edge of the futon to escape. He pressed a broken noise into a sweating palm, eyelids fluttering shut.

_I want to go home…_

_…Where is home?_

_Where are you, Hannibal?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please get this poor man a dog, stat. And yes, we are still playing: Where in the World is Will Graham. ; )


	23. Chapter 23

An odometer jumped along a sleek black dash. It climbed. 50. A stick jammed into fourth gear. 68. An engine roared in protest. 75. Then into fifth. 82. Wheels slid around a winding path. 97. Gravel spit and flailed across ground. A black automobile fishtailed suddenly in the distance, spinning towards an unguarded mountain ledge. Dress shoes slammed on brakes, hand jerking against an emergency break. It drifted sideways, sliding to a stop with a grinding sound, several feet from an unfortunate fall.

A fist slammed against a steering wheel. A hoarse scream scraped along crackling insides of Hannibal’s lungs, held tight in his chest, begging for release. A glistening Ipad clattered with a passenger side window, screen cracking upon impact. He stepped unsteadily out of an Aston Martin. A door closed with a violent swing. Its sound bounced against towering mountains.

Hannibal breathed fire with each ragged breath, chest rising and falling with labored effort. Red hazed his vision. Sharp keys dripped with blood inside his fist. He stared out across an expanse of trees littered in miniature against a valley, grey glistening rivers winding through. He closed eyes to push out a feeling of gentle arms wrapping around his frame, a nuzzling head pressed against his chest, before giving into adoring Death as it pulled him over the edge. He touched an aching arm of knotted, healing skin. What more could he have given? If not his life, than the very sustenance of his flesh? How many more times would he willingly suffer by another's human frailty? A denial of knowing. Denied the opportunity to be known. Will had turned away, without following, unable to face their becoming, a denial of omission. 

His palm throbbed. Hannibal pulled keys from glittering red and tucked them neatly in a wool coat pocket. He had been driving for days, without fully knowing his purpose, without being able to define the reason that drove him to do so. He pushed hair back from his eyes. A setting sun glowed golden against his cheeks. Two weeks without a single sound of recognition, of death or life. Will had left him. He was certain of it.

Had he been driving all over the country to find Will and bring him safely home? A medical bag lay in the back seat. Or had he been hunting? An ivory knife rested in his trouser pocket. Was there a line separating the two? He growled, fist clenching. Was he a trophy? A possession? Handcuffs drifted in the confines of a glove box. Or a shadow drifting behind his eyes, a flattened texture of flayed open skin? Hannibal’s heart beat painfully slow in his chest. Was Will the very fibers of his physical being? An embodiment of purpose?

Hannibal sunk against a heated hood of his car, vision dimming with each slump. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, smearing grey strands with red. A tongue darted out to wet his lips. He had called every hospital in the country. Had he decided to remain in France? He had carefully stalked through airports and local bars just in hopes to get a glimpse of Will’s face. A risk to them both. Had he returned to the States? Every new article posted to Tattle Crime pinged directly to his inbox. A strangled sound left his throat. Wasted hours. Useless.

With a crinkle of leather, Hannibal slid back into the car as wavering rays of sunlight sunk below ragged leviathans of rock and earth. His eyes closed as light skimmed down the angles of his face. A shadow filtered over his skin. He reached within to suture bleeding arteries, to mend broken bones, to cut off each wavering, feeble surfacing emotion, one by one.

Will had no desire to be found. He desired separation. A cruel smile flickered across Hannibal’s hard mouth. A gift he could willingly give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal clearly needs a stiff, bodied drink... 
> 
> And as always... Iconic religious imagery: betrayal and denial. 
> 
> The Denial of Peter:  
> Peter replied, "Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will." "I tell you the truth," Jesus answered, "This very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times." But Peter declared, "Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you." And all the other disciples said the same


	24. Chapter 24

Glazed eyes stared up from a polished counter’s surface. They vanished beneath a crisp white napkin and a glass filled with two fingers of amber liquid sloshing inside its confines. Will raised his eyes as a young bearded bartender with thick brown frames stared back at him expectantly. A low growl left his throat as an empty glass was pried from his frigid fingertips. It was blotted out by a wailing saxophone.

“A drink from the gentleman at the other side of the bar, sir.”

Will stared down at beaded water droplets sliding down etched crystal. His palm slid towards it. Radiating heat fogged the glass. Liquor winked up as fingers curled around its cool surface _. This probably isn’t laced with poison._ He tilted the glass tumbler in a general direction the bartender had pointed with thanks. _Let’s find out if it’s mixed with anything else, shall we? This day can’t possibly get any worse._ The liquid slung to the back of Will’s throat. He grimaced. It burned.

“I do not believe I have ever seen another man down a five hundred dollar glass of scotch before,” A mouth of curling smoke addressed him, thickened with a French drawling accent of a highborn aristocrat.

“F-fuck—“ Will choked, slamming a hand against his chest and the glass down on the bar. It echoed beneath a twanging guitar. He stared down at it, drained of its contents. “Fuck,” He mumbled a bit softer, unable to raise his eyes more than a few inches.

A fair haired man leaned casually against the bar, all lean muscle and fine stitching. A smile widened across perfectly smooth skin. A mouth full of white pearly teeth glittering. _Young._ A cigarette perched between forefinger and thumb. _Younger_. A glass of scotch was held in his other hand, raised briefly to moisten lips in a brief toast. _Charming._ A black and silver Longines watch peeked out beneath a starched white cuff. Light green eyes studied Will as his gaze drifted over a black tailored jacket clinging gracefully to his frame. Satin lapels accented a crisp dress shirt beneath. _Rich._

Will felt brows rising on his forehead, mind flipping through photographic images of fashion magazines strewn across various waiting rooms. It stopped on a wide eyed boy, captured in passive grey tones, staring back against a blinding white background. Tufts of hair flung forward on his head, leaning in with angled arms and twisted shoulders. His eyes narrowed to bring a caption in focus. _Dior Homme. Fall 2008._ His eyes wandered back up the younger man’s face. _Obscenely rich._

“American?” A puff of smoke trailed from fine, thin lips.

“Mortified more like.” Will’s eyes snapped down. He concentrated on studying lines etched into wood. “I-I’m sorry did you say that was…” A strained sound left him. “…how much?”

Another blinding smile. “My good man.” A commanding wrist immediately received the bartender’s attention.

The bearded man bounded over, wringing his hands against a linen towel nervously, glasses flashing. “Y-yes, sir?”

“Another here of the same for my friend, Mr. …?” A hand settled against Will’s shoulder, a steady pressure.

“W—Liam.” Will shook his head trying to clear a fog setting in. He forced himself not to shrug away. He looked sideways at the younger man still smiling back. His chin was pointed up, eyes gazing down, an angle of superiority. “Liam, and no I couldn’t. Thank you.”

The younger man moved closer, dismissing the bartender with a nod and a motion of his hand. An air of a man used to being obeyed. “It is not often that I display my generosity to another man in quite such a public manner, Mr. Liam,” He replied, encroaching, leaning down to force Will to look directly back.

“I…I’m flattered but…”

A hand settled over Will’s. “You aren’t interested in men?”

“Interested is not quite the word…” Words stuck in his throat.

“What brings you to Martigues, Mr. Liam?” Fingers skimmed his knuckles.

“Just Liam, please.” Will pulled away, swiveling the bar stool to keep a shoulder between him and the other man. “Convenience of traveling cars. Or the kindness of strangers. Or the lack there of from the familiar.” He ran a hand back through his hair nervously. “Whichever you prefer.” He glanced out of the corners of his eyes. A frown turned back up into a charming smile. “You?”

“Business.” The younger man pulled a glass from the bartender without looking, refusing to acknowledge his presence entirely. His eyes focused solely on Will. “Here.” He motioned for Will to rise. He stayed, ankles wound tight around legs of the stool for support. “Come.”

A gentle hand pushed Will from his seat and out into the open. He suddenly felt exposed, ducking a head to hide from gazes trailing after them. It guided him around tables and scattered bodies. It pressed him into a dark corner booth. Relief flooded his face, willingly hid from mouthfuls of gossip whispering at the nape of his neck. A quiet panic rattled his fingertips along a tables edge. Will slid in obediently with a shake of his head. _What am I doing?_ Fingers cupped his wrist, placing a dripping glass in his hand. The younger man glided in next him with another smile, flicking cigarette ash against the table. His very presence a command.

“I sometimes forget that your country is not quite as…” A cigarette burned bright, smoke exhaled through curling lips. “…open as other areas of the world.” Will carefully slipped slowly on the contents of his drink, blinking hard. “Entanglements with the flesh are more considered an honor rather than a disturbance here in France, regardless of gender, preference, or particular inclinations.”

“Where I come from, saying something like that would inevitably get you punched in the face.”

“An unwise decision if the opponent had any idea who I am.”

The younger man’s voice cooled in response, gaze traveling to rest on Will’s mouth. An open ended question, an opportunity to put a name to a face. Will refused the offer entirely. _There's only one man's name I want on my lips. It isn't yours._ A flush crept up his cheeks, looking away.

“Are you currently entangled with a partner, Liam?”

Will choked, setting the glass down with a shaking hand. “Right to the point, aren’t you?”

“I am used to receiving expeditious responses of information…” A finger tilted Will’s face back to him. Green eyes flashed, none of the warmth of his smile filling them. “A simple exchange.”

“I am… uncertain of how to answer that question at the moment,” Will let out between aching breaths, sipping the rest of amber liquid down. His face felt warmer than just a blush. “Yes.” He instinctively touched an invisible watch then an empty ring finger. “And no.”

“Would allow me to buy you another drink…” Two fingers motioned towards the bar without looking away. “… knowing that I find you both physically…” Fingertips curled behind Will’s head. “…and aesthetically pleasing?”

Will pulled back from a mouth leaning in with wide eyes, a hand pushing against the man’s chest. “C-christ.”

“Was the phrasing of my question too direct, Liam?” The younger man lifted a cigarette to his mouth instead with a languid lean. It glowed with orange embers. “Are you not used to an open dialogue in the relationship you may or may not currently be in?”

“N-no. He is often more direct than that…” Will answered, raking a shaking hand through his hand as another drink pressed into his palm. “Just in a way that requires a lot more words…” Hannibal’s red glowing eyes flashed in the back of his mind. He struggled to form a complete thought. “He is…tolerant of me…” He unconsciously rubbed at his throat. “…used to perhaps…though no, not yet, probably never will be...”

Amusement brushed across the younger man’s mouth as Will slung the drink back, blatantly disregarding the high price attached to it. He wondered if it was attached to a monetary value or something much different. He wasn’t sure he cared.

His gaze drifted over unsteadily. “Actually… you sound quite a bit like him.” A fine brow arched on the younger man’s face. “Which is… mildly unnerving.”

_And it hurts. I miss him._

“You look a little pale, Liam,” The younger man leaned in with a soft tone, running fingertips along Will’s jaw. He let out a breath, realizing he was leaning in to feel the pressure. Dim lighting glowed against fair skin, voice a tenor pushed out between beats of a heart as the younger man began to rise slowly. “Perhaps I ought to take you outside.”

“Y-y-yeah…” His speech slurred out an agreement.

_Fuck, no. Don’t say yes._

“S-sure.”

“This way, Liam, if you so please.” A poised hand, palm up, hovered before Will’s eyes. He took it with a bite of his tongue. Warm. He stumbled forward. A lean arm curved around his waist. Inviting. “You appear to be a bit unsteady on your feet.”

_God, I have no business being here. Am I really this drunk?_

“T-the scotch,” He slurred, cheek flinching with embarrassment. “Sorry.” He stared at the floor.

Another smile melted over Will’s face with hues of orange as an arm guided him out the door. “Three successive pony shots of one hundred eighty four year old Macallan scotch will do that to a man.”

A cool breeze rustled over Will’s face. He closed his eyes to focus on it. To focus on anything except the hands steadying him. Fingers drifted against his hip with tight circles. The back of his neck prickled. Will looked back over his shoulder. Dark figures trailed after them on a blackened horizon.

“Are... you aware you have a few extra shadows?”

“I am most impressed you are aware of your surroundings. Particularly given how much you are slurring your speech, Liam.” The younger man glanced over, eyes shining. “Are you always aware of the world around you?”

“A-always.” They rounded a corner into an even darker alleyway.

“Pay them no mind.” The younger man admonished, with another dismissing flick of his wrist. The shadows melted into the background. “They are mirror images trailing in my wake.” A cigarette sputtered sparks against the ground. Will swayed as hands tugged him to a stop. “They know when to look and when to turn away.”

“Yours then?” He blinked hard in another attempt to concentrate.

_For your protection… or mine?_

“Quite,” He answered, eyes locked on Will’s mouth, fingers winding up his jacket’s collar.

Breath pushed out of Will’s lungs as he landed against a brick wall. “…And which o-o-one of those situations is t-this?” He stammered out, blood heating as the younger man stepped in.

“The latter if you would do me the pleasure and honor of kissing me.” Fingers trailed down his throat, green glowing against shadows.

“A-alright…”

_What am I…_

A mouth caressed the side of his throat, light, teasing. Will suddenly felt as if he was on fire, blood burning in his veins. His arms shook at his sides. A hand shot out. He yanked the younger man forward with an unsteady sway. He pressed their lips together. A hot heat. A satisfied moan rippled against his tongue. The younger man tasted of menthol and money. His shoulder ached, shoved against the wall once more. He was as intoxicating as the lingering scotch between them. Will licked at a tongue searching his mouth, leaning into fingers winding knots in his hair. Hands pushed up his t-shirt, running down shivering sides. Will groaned as need throbbed inside his jeans.

 _This isn’t what I want…_ He pushed away, turning his face. _He isn’t what I want…_

The younger man took a step back, breathless, voice a purring seduction. “May I take you home, Liam?”

_N...no…_

“Y-yours… or mine?”

_It's not mine. It's Hannibal's._

“Whichever you find suits your taste.” He enunciated the last word, running a tongue along his teeth.

“Mine then.” He shook his head hard. “No, wait.” Will stumbled against hands pulling him in another direction. “S-sorry. I can’t… it’s not near here.”

_I have officially lost my goddamn mind…_

“It’s no matter.”

“Lourmarin is o-v-vver an hour away.” Will’s eyes flashed at the younger man’s back, paying his slurring speech no mind with a wave of his hand. “Isn’t that a little inconvenient for a stranger you just met in a bar?”

_Shit… did I just tell him where I lived? Where I live? Where I… used… to live?_

The younger man stopped in his tracks, resting a firm hand against Will’s chest, voice dipping low. “Not terribly, no.” A hand ghosted up the side of his face. “Though it may be troubling if you are unable to recall the location of your home.” A glittering flash of teeth. “Perhaps more so for you, and less so for me, depending on your inclinations… should you willingly forget the address.”

“Is t-t-this something you do often?” Will swallowed down a lump of curiosity.

_Am I taking him home as a partner? Or bait?_

“I am used to those bending at knee in blinding agreement.” The younger man took another step forward, tugging a zipper up. Leather enclosed Will’s skin in warmth. Hannibal’s warmth. “And it would be extremely disagreeable to leave you here, Liam, without properly seeing you home. A gentleman’s honor first.” The younger man brushed a mouth across Will’s trembling hand. Shadows began to weave darker webs, blurring into shapes. “Though at this rate, I doubt you’ll remember me saying I would prefer to flatten you against this wall while slipping my hands beneath your tattered jeans.”

_Suicide. This is…_

A hot breath stuck in his throat. “S-sorry.” Will’s unsteady hands pushed back, forcing feet to drag across concrete. “… not…”

_He’s not Hannibal._

“Oh Liam.” A reprimanding tone. “Not that way. Here. Please let me guide you…” A firm arm wrapped around, tugging down another dimly lit street with even, plodding tones. “I must say I would love to become intimately familiar with the curvature of your arms around my waist.”

“C-can’t.” Will stumbled away only to be pulled back in. “I’ll c-catch a cab…” His eyes scanned an empty street, filled with parked cars, and nothing else. “Or… something?”

 _Anything. I need to be doing anything but this. Anything…_ Fingers lingered at his waist, brushing across a hint of skin. Will closed his eyes. _God, he’s so warm._

“You are in no state to make that decision.” The younger man shot him a warning look, slowing to a stop. “Come.” A helmet thrust into his hands. “Put this on if you would be so kind.”

Crimson red shapes settled against gleaming chrome. Fierce bolts and pipes twisted against an exposed frame of jagged sweeping lines. It was a beast of dripping blood and monstrously sleek angles.

“I-is that a Midual Type 1?” Will asked, looking up between dilating pupils.

“Brand new. You know your motorcycles, Mr. Liam?” Perfect white teeth filled a broad smile as the younger man tilted his chin back approvingly. “I am mildly surprised you can recall your own name at this point.”

“I know… sommme… things.”

_The luxuries of the rich._

“Recalling my name has never been the issue... recalling who I am…”

_Who am I? Liam? Liam Bergstrom? Will? William? Mr. Lecter? Will Graham?_

“…or what I’m doing has…though.”

_Like now…_

“Oh?” Long fingers pulled him forward. “Come.” A hand stroked the seat lovingly. “Sit here, please.”

_If fear makes me rude… alcohol makes me very, very dim witted…_

“A… loooong… story,” Will managed with wobbling syllables, settling against it with trembling limbs.

“It is a rather long drive.” The younger man leaned down, wielding their mouths together with various strokes of his tongue, guiding Will’s leg to straddle the motorcycle.

“J-jesus…” A helmet settled over Will’s head, fingers digging into the seat. The younger man unbuttoned his suit jacket before swinging a leg across. He melded into the machine, raw wielding command and danger. “This is…can’t…” Will’s voice came out in a weak protest, green eyes glancing back between blonde wisps of hair. “Is it r-rude for me to black out in this moment as an escape?”

 _Has this always been how I would meet my imminent death…?_ His thighs tightened around the motorcycle’s body on their own. 

An engine started with a roar. “Only if it is offensive for me to put your hands here while you do so,” The younger man replied with a flashing smile, placing Will’s hands at his hips with unblinking eye contact. “How liquor flushes your face such an exquisite shade of pink, Liam.” An iridescent grey visor flipped over Will’s already dimming eyes. “Do hold on.” Fingers curled around his own, pressing them in. “Tight.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And when I said your wish is my command... I meant possibly after this chapter. D : 
> 
> Who does this remind you of? 
> 
> We are all in so much trouble right now....... So much. Quick! I recommend we take a quick exit over that cliff! (And I know even that might not save us.)
> 
> To answer our question of: Where in the World Is Will Graham:  
> Martigues is a port city in the Southern part of France. It is approximately an one hour + from Lourmarin. So if you were to look at a map, Lourmarin, Martigues, and Marseilles make a kind of triangle. (If that's not an allusion to current events happening then I don't know what is, hahaha. Oh wait....)
> 
> Honestly, you end up doing the most innocuous research to make sure all the details are just right. : > Like hour long research on types of native flowers, birds, scenery, etc. 
> 
> Or in this instance describing my love of couture fashion.


	25. Chapter 25

Hannibal lifted his head by a degree. A distant rumble of an engine filtered through a cracked window. A boning knife palmed into his hand. It was cool pressed against his skin. It grew louder. His eyes flickered up from a flayed salmon stretched against a wood chopping block. Its dead eyes stared back, white bones exposed and glistening. Whatever it was idled just outside for a few minutes before roaring off with a spin of tires.

_An unexpected guest at this hour?_

He inhaled sharply with a roll of his shoulders. A scent of stale menthol cigarettes filled the kitchen. Danger trilled down his spine. Hannibal’s fingers flexed along the blade, stretching and tightening, exhaling slowly, breath hot against his nostrils. A sharp hint of sweat and damp leather filled the air as rumbling faded.

_Where are my manners?_

Corners of his mouth twitched. A curl of teeth if allowed. He never indulged. His teeth remained hidden. His muscles tensed against a crisp cotton dress shirt, flexing against material rolled up his elbows, as he slid around smooth corners of a marble island.

_It would be terribly impolite to turn away company._

Hannibal felt a sharp spark of desire. An opportunity to hunt, flesh scraping along his blade, pooling copper running down his lips. He flattened silently against the wall between a steel refrigerator and a side door. It hummed with approval. His fingers swept across a light switch, dousing the room in darkness. A sliver of moonlight touched its corners.

Crunching footsteps trailed somewhere in the garden. Shuffling, weaving, scraping across stone. Hannibal blinked slowly, mouth watering. How long had it been? How long since he had last truly killed? He remembered Dolarhyde’s pulse slamming against his mouth before his teeth had sunk in and ripped. How hot flesh had slipped down his mouth, blood trickling down his chin. Hot and heady.

Hannibal’s eyes slipped closed to savor each recalled sensation. He took in three deep breaths to steady the beating of his own heart. He had to remain in control. He felt something coiling inside, tightening his lungs. It had been too long. Too long since they had crashed into a dark cold of the Atlantic’s embrace and fled across its engulfing blue. Four long months.

Will had once asked if he would be able to resist with hopeful eyes, to abstain from the hunt of human flesh. Hannibal hadn’t lied. Not exactly. He found himself incapable of it. He was uncertain if it was the up turn of Will’s face, soft and innocent, or the sweep of deep blue eyes between thick lashes like a knife slipping through ribs to his heart that undid him. A sense of being out of control had been itching beneath his skin for some time, fracturing along faults of bones, a deep hunger stirring his blood. He hadn’t been able to deny Will anything. It made him ache. The younger man’s eyes haunted, wound around his heart, and squeezed tight. He had lied by omission.

He refused to speak the answer aloud, to douse remaining light in those eyes. He knew Will was unwilling to fully surrender to darkness, and Hannibal failed to remind him he was the darkness. He was the nightmares that lurked under his bed, the shadows pressing in, crushed inside Will’s skull. To save them both, he had smiled with warm tones and changed the subject. It wasn’t what Will wanted to hear. It wasn’t a promise. It was merely a bargain for borrowed time. A blackening shadow strumming the back of his mind. A monster of gentle pulling lips and teeth.

Footsteps scraped on an outside stoop. Salt and leather wafted with overwhelming waves. A gnawing hunger beat at his insides with a bright red fury. He had tried. _Will isn't here._ His tongue ran over his teeth before snapping them shut. A flash of anger heated his eyes before it flickered away, inky black remaining. Fingers fumbled against the door’s handle, scratching across wood. He felt weight of the blade pressed firmly against his palm, steady and comforting. The teacup had shattered long ago. Why had he thought it would come back together now after all these years?

During the darkest hours, silence had prowled, whispering in hushed tones to step out into the night and hunt, to reclaim Will in the only way Hannibal knew how. Why should he remain beholden to a man only present in dreams? He choked on a rush of desire. To have his hands wrapped around Will’s neck and crush the life out him, to run his mouth along a bared throat with sinking teeth. To lick, to bite, to fuck, until Will was his, only his till they both met their end. Control slipped with a widening cavern of hunger. Rage boiled in his blood. In the end, Will had denied him his life after all.

With a rattle, the door swung open. A shadowy figure stooped beneath its frame. It stilled, breathing in. With a flick of his wrist, Hannibal crushed leather in his hands, dragging forward before slamming a body against the wall with his full weight. Blood hummed in his ears, senses overwhelmed with a stench of scotch and stale cigarettes. A man cried out. A sharp edged blade rested against tensed muscles of a straining throat.

“J-jesus Christ, H-hannibal! It’s me!” A slurring voice stuttered out in darkness.

Hannibal’s eyes adjusted. Grey corners of a tensed jaw came into focus shadowed by a light beard. Wide eyes flashed up from his face then down to the blade. His fingers uncurled slightly, material crinkling. His heart slowed to a near stop. His jaw clenched with snapping teeth. Fingertips brushed lightly against a mop of brown curls. They trailed down a flinching cheek and curled at a swallowing throat, tightening slightly. The blade stayed where it was.

“William…” Hannibal breathed out.

Will swallowed hard, a flittering pulse of a sparrow’s wings beneath his thumb. “D-do you… can you please put the knife down, Hannibal?”

Hannibal let the blade fall away. He gripped Will’s throat in one hand and held the knife steadily in the other, undecided. The younger man’s body relaxed slightly with a tremble of limbs. Will closed his eyes, instinctively pressing against the fingers wrapped around his neck. He let out a feeble sigh of distress, of comfort. Faint heat of his body seeped through damp leather. Hannibal inhaled a scent of fearful longing, holding it in his lungs. His eyelids sank as adrenaline waned and his stomach tightened, cock jerking in response. Will was solid, real, stretched taut, tense and coiled, ready to attack.

_How sweet would your fear taste rolling across my tongue, Will?_

“Why are you here.” Hannibal forced his voice to remain detached, fingers curling tight.

_Would your cries burn down my throat as I swallowed each whole?_

“Where the hell else would I go?”

_Would your cracking bones fill my soul with a sickening, sweet symphony?_

“Would you care to tell me where you have been?”

_Would you taste warm, bloodied between my teeth?_

Will blinked, swaying slightly as he tried to push out from beneath Hannibal’s grip. A high pitch whine of annoyance crept out of inviting lips. He pushed again with shaking hands, shoving at Hannibal’s ribs. His grip tightened on the younger man’s throat, shoving back with violent force. A strangled sound followed.

“Goddammit, Hannibal!” Will’s voice was hoarse, hands fisting pristine cotton, twisting around his bicep. Tattered flesh burned beneath each scrape. “ _You’re hurting me_.”

 _Good. I want it to hurt._ Hannibal bit down the words. Even in his head they sounded petty, wounded, unrefined, human. A hot tremor pulled at his chest, fingers tensing in response. He flattened Will against the wall. The younger man was trapped beneath a blade, pinned by a caged throat.

“Please, let go…” Will’s hollow voice drifted across Hannibal’s skin, fluttering with exhaustion. “I just want to sleep in my own bed. I don’t want to do this with you right now.”

“Are you still running, Will? From this moment of conversation or a foreshadowing of death?”

“I... don’t want to fight with you right now.” The younger man rolled a shoulder back against the wall. A corner of his mouth pulled up in a wince. “Not again.”

“It has been three weeks, Will. Have you considered that now might be the only time you have?” Hannibal’s voice darkened with warning, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Or do you still imagine my compassion would release you back into the world now that I have you? Have you given—“

Will swayed again, tipping his head back, eyes closed, baring his throat. An unconscious act of submission. Hannibal mouth twitched, biting back an urge to claim soft flesh with his mouth, with his teeth. He inhaled again, eyes narrowing. Rain. Leather. Cigarettes. Something else. Something sharper. Liquor? _Macallan scotch._

“What are the chances you have been drinking, William?”

The younger man shrugged slowly, eyes still closed. “P-rob-able.”

“If you will not tell me where you have been…” He tried to force in steadying breaths. He tried to ease his grip on a fragile throat. It would snap with such ease. “Would you indulge me with how you managed to make it home?”

“A motorcycle.”

His eyes strayed to the side door, listening. “Not yours…" His eyes snapped back to Will. “ _Whose motorcycle_?”

“Just… someone.” Will stilled, eyes open and staring back, blank and glassy. “It’s irrelevant.”

A knife clattered to the floor. In one deft move, Hannibal spun Will around, yanking the jacket down his forearms. The younger man stared back with wide eyes, arms caged to his side in makeshift leather shackles. Hannibal pressed forward with a measured step and then another. Will was completely at his mercy, pinned to the wall, forearm digging into his chest. Will’s eyes glittered in faint light, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. With a lungful of air, Hannibal breathed in, nosing against an exposed cotton v-neck.

Something lurked beneath a lingering scent of smoke _. Insignia cigarettes_. He brushed a cheek against Will’s throat, barely registering a low vibrating sound, a growl escaping deep inside his chest. Then another sound. Will’s low moan. Will never smoked. He hadn’t since he was a boy. A mere distraction. Bitter, woody cologne filled his lungs, burning through. _Dior Homme_. A corner of his mouth twitched. He inhaled once more. A thick scent. Salty. Briny… A black snarl filtered between Hannibal’s teeth, eyes snapping up to bore into Will’s. _Arousal._

Will rolled his shoulders back, looking down the bridge of his nose. Hannibal’s lip curled letting out breath bit by bit, forcing his hands to remain still as a tremor shook though. The younger man reeked of another man’s cologne, dried cum clinging to the inside of his jeans. His lean body stretched in a languid motion. Muscles rippled beneath his t-shirt, flaunting. Defiant anger shadowed the hollows of his cheeks with a slight up turn of his mouth. A goading gesture. _Reckless boy._ Hannibal felt the gesture mirror on his own lips with a flash of teeth. Will’s smirk faltered with a hitching breath. _It would be impolite not to oblige you._

“ _Rude_ ,” Lips curled with a hiss, wiping a closed fist across a smug mouth.

A mouth slammed over Will’s violently, teeth clashing with scrapes of soft flesh. Hannibal fisted the leather jacket, each twist a crushing restraint of struggling arms. The younger man writhed with huffs of breath, expensive scotch filling Hannibal’s mouth. His cock jerked again, straining against his trousers, caught between a haze of blood lust and desire.

Salt and blood filled his mouth before pulling away, licking each away with a feral growl, “In which order would you prefer that I fuck and kill you, William?”

Will cursed with jerking shoulders, breaking free with a lunge. Pain exploded across Hannibal’s shoulder as teeth sank deep with a ripping of fabric. Pleasure trailed with each burn and throb. Will’s shoulder drove into his chest with a strangled yelp of a wounded animal. Air rushed out of his lungs as a bony knee connected with his stomach.

Hannibal’s lip curled with a snarl, stumbling, skidding back into a counter. He fisted leather brushing passed, dragging back with a hard jerk. With a swift snap of an arm, Will’s knees buckled, folding in half. He fell on all fours against the kitchen tile with a short, sharp cry. Hannibal limped up from the floor, towering over the younger man. He dragged one wrist up behind Will’s back with precision, twisting ever so slightly. An injured rotary cuff was a shame to waste.

“ _Fucking Christ_!” A hoarse scream answered, shoulder rolling into the motion, eyes screwed shut.

“ _Now_ I am hurting you,” Hannibal growled darkly, lips pressed tight on a curving of ear.

A ragged breath answered. Will struggled to get up, unsteady from whiskey, cursing between short mouthfuls of air.

“You _will_ kneel.”

The younger man strained with a feeble whimper as the grip tightened, jerking back.

“ _William_.” A heel of his shoe ground down, rooting the other flailing hand against the floor.

A strangled scream escaped the younger man’s lips, head bowed, sinking.

Hannibal’s mouth twisted in a smirk, voice dropping an octave. “I gave you a command, William.” He tipped Will’s chin and holding it lightly in his palm, releasing an injured arm. “I suggest you heed it.” The younger man visibly grimaced, palms flattening submissively, body shaking. “You will kneel until I allow you to rise.” Will’s eyes drifted, flashing up, hair yanked up in attention. “Is that understood?”

“ _Yes._ ” Will hissed, lip rising to reveal sharp red stained teeth.

Blood heated and pooled, rushing through Hannibal’s veins. “ _Who_ was he?” He growled, teeth clenching down tendrils of arousal and burning darkness.

“Just some guy I met at a bar.” Eyes flicked up his face. “It was nothing.”

A harsh shadow fell across Hannibal's face, straining still each bone in his body, one by one.

“You allowed a _stranger_ to take you home?”

_Endangering your life._

Fingernails raked down the side of the younger man’s throat. “To take you to _our_ home, William.”

_Endangering both our lives._

“Where _I_ would be waiting.”

_Reckless. Foolish. Detrimental._

An unsteady, bitter laugh rang out. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

_Were you simply curious to see which one of us would make it out alive?_

A hissing breath snaked down a bitten tongue. “Would a knife twisting between your ribs have been a proper incentive for mindful thought?” Hannibal jerked the younger man’s head towards a blade gleaming in moonlight, forcing him to stare down at the floor. “Perhaps you would have given it even greater consideration had I _fed him to you in pieces_.”

Will glared up, lips pressing into a thin line. “You may be many things, Hannibal, but a jealous lover is not one of them.” A smirk curled up. “It hardly suits you.”

“Am I not?” He scratched fingers against the younger man’s scalp with a seething, low growl. “Have you not come to intimately understand what I am willing to do to keep you?”

A derisive snort answered. Hannibal twisted the heel of his shoe against a wrist in reply.

Will winced, mouth twitching with a low hiss, “Cruelty drives you, not petty clouding emotion.”

“Yes, William, a cruel man.” Hannibal released his wrist. "Unforgiving." He knelt to press an open mouth kiss of teeth along his torso, where he knew a scarring smile rested. “I would have hoped you would never forget such a fundamental fact.”

Will threw his head back, fingers curling into fists. “Is that what you want me to say, Hannibal?” The younger man shivered beneath each touch, eyes following each movement as he rose. “To agree with you? That I did it to test you or goad you or to…” Will’s eyes gazed up, darkening, smoldering. “…To teach me a lesson?” They drifted away with a slow blink, dousing flames, following a line of white buttons along a wrinkled shirt. “You told me to leave,” A bitter answer dripped across his tongue. “So I got the hell out.”  
  
“I did _not_ give you permission to leave this house, William.” Hannibal pressed a palm against the younger man’s throat, tracing his windpipe. “When have I ever sanction anyone's hands to be upon you besides my own?”

"You never were terribly good at sharing your possessions, Doctor."

He stepped close, positioned behind the younger man, dragging his throat up, exposed, rolled against the back of his knee. “Have you a deep desire not to live beyond this night?”

“…I had a lot to drink, alright?" The younger man shrugged. "Three shots of Macallan. And several more before that.” Fingers tensed along a swallowing throat. "It would seem I am a commodity worthy of being bought." Blood heated as Will’s gaze drifted, curled around his chest, and lingered on his mouth. "And honestly, who's fault is that?"

An abacus clattered in Hannibal’s mind _. $500 dollars a glass. Three shots. $1,500 dollars._ Another growl ripped out his chest. _What kind of a man has the audacity to try to claim what belongs to me?_ His nails sunk into warm skin. _What kind of lovely sonnets would such a man scream, tied to our dining room table, while I serve up dinner for two beneath candlelight and sharpened knives?_

"You may wish to choose your next words with care, William..."

“I wanted what I wanted." Will looked up. "I wasn’t thinking.” Deep blue eyes flickered black, resting at a corner of his cheek. “And frankly, I didn’t care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Murder Husbands, we missed you! Thank you for reuniting for all our sakes!
> 
> (Though if we're all being honest, this could all go very well, or end very badly!)


	26. Chapter 26

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Will ground teeth together, dipping his head down from Hannibal’s ever watching gaze. An aching wrist was the least of his worries. He knew better than to bait the Devil. The truth was he had chosen them, each word a scripted scene playing in his head, uncensored and raw. He knew they would dig at Hannibal. He wanted him to feel every precise stab. A pricking sensation tingled across his scalp, the weight of his head hanging by hair. _Why did I say that?_ He braced, eyes traveling up to meet Hannibal’s face. It had rearranged and stilled, placid, a mask rigid and unfeeling. Will winced.

“You wanted what you wanted, Will?” An unsteady breath escaped Hannibal’s lips, grip tightening, polite air fragmenting. “Would you care to clarify? Did you want _him_?” The last word spat out, dripping with disgust.

Will’s palms began to sweat against cool tile. The leather jacket was suddenly restricting, coiling around his body, cutting off circulation. He knew better than to lie. They had slipped into a relationship of truths the moment they had met. Will had found it refreshing. It was unlike mundane human interaction of half truths and vulgar, idle chatter that had plagued him. It was an intoxication of looking at and through the other. Crystal clear glassy lakes lain bare, exposed, accepting. All consuming.

“ _Yes_.” Will felt the words tumble from his mouth on instinct.

“And did you…” Dark eyes flashed in dim light.

“We… He kissed me. I kissed him.” Will swore again, head jerked back by his hair. “ _We kissed_ ,” He growled the correction, grimacing, biting back an urge to slur a long list of choice vulgarities.

Will’s breath slammed out. Both Hannibal’s hands wrapped around his throat, dragging him up on the balls of his feet. Tips of his boots scraped across the tile with black marks as the older man yanked forward with tightening fingers. His eyes bright red glowing coals in the darkness. A low snarl snapped between his teeth. A mouth crushed down, forcing open his rigid lips. Hannibal sucked in his cries, swallowing each down. His fingers curled around the wrists holding tight, pulling until their chests pressed together. Will’s lungs tightened, burning, gasping for air with each devouring, smothering crush. His eyes watered, squeezing shut. A tongue forcefully pushed in, hot and cruel, swirling.

_Please… don’t… let go._

Teeth scraped against his bottom lip, tongue licking along a bloodied fleshy path of broken skin. Red bursts of light filtered behind closed eyelids, drooping as a dark stillness crept in. Will swayed with Hannibal’s full weight crushed around and through him, slipping away as blackness filled his mind with licking flames, tipping back. He sucked in a lungful of air with a cry, jerked upright by his hair once more, dragged back from an edge Hannibal was pushing him towards. He was trapped between the older man and a marble island, weakened limbs splayed on its surface. A divine offering. An exquisite meal.

One of Hannibal’s hands fisted in his hair, pulling hard, flattening him on the counter. Will groaned, pleasure blurring with pain. _Please don’t…_ A thumb pressed down, nail biting into flesh against Will’s windpipe. _…stop._ He stilled. Hannibal was a coiling serpent, holding him with ease, a predator waiting to sink in its teeth. What would Will give for a final, deafening strike of his mouth? His pulse raced, beads of come dripping down his thighs. _God, it’s wrong to want this._

Hannibal stepped between his thighs, hand readjusting to tighten on his throat, leaning in until their chests touched. Will’s heart raced, eyes fluttering closed. Fear beat against the walls of his lungs with each breath. A hard line of the older man’s cock was digging into his thigh, mirroring his own. Desire rushed though his blood with each slamming heartbeat. Moonlight filtered through drifting clouds, casting shadows across the older man’s face, bringing out the white of his teeth. Hannibal drew close with dark, searching eyes and flaring nostrils. His fair hair glowed, a halo around his forehead with wisps of light and dark. A blissful irony.

“You _taste of him_ , Will. You _smell like him_. You can’t…” A rough voice drifted off. “Have you any idea…”

The older man cupped his cheek with an unsteady hand, fluttering restraint coursing through his fingertips. Will leaned in with a silent plea, eyes closed. Will never felt more grounded than with the feeling of Hannibal’s touch pressed against his flesh; a promise of entwining limbs, of rushing air, of meeting death. His cheeks flushed with desire and shame of wanting it. His pulse crawled, staring up, entranced.

“ _I could crush every single bone in your body.”_

Will pressed a cheek into a dry, warm palm, eyes slipping closed once more. It sent shivers down his spine. “Is that what you want?” He asked quietly.

Hannibal tilted his head in consideration, eyes clouding with shadow. “ _Yes_.”

_I would let you._

“Do you believe it will give you back the control you’ve lost?” Will smirked in spite of himself, pleased with the turn of phrase, projecting Hannibal’s masked psychiatrist voice for a change. “Over me?”

Nails raked against his scalp. “You come home after weeks of deafening silence, after disobeying me on _numerous accounts_ , and believe it is _your_ place to lecture _me_ on control, Will?” Hannibal hissed, eyes burning, hand winding up, settling at his throat, an unspoken threat. “Do you believe this is a wise course of action?”

“Control is born out of a desire to bend the world around us, to shape what DNA could not, to tangle our hands in the ever changing strings of our Fate.” Will paused for effect, fixing Hannibal with a blank, unaffected gaze, one he had seen so many times before. It pleased him, tingling along his nerves. “Do you believe that you could still control those strings as they wrapped around your throat, after you’ve wrapped your hands around mine, until breath no longer remained?”

A dark chuckle answered. “An attempt at being clever, Will? Do you not recall what happens to clever boys in my kitchen?”  

Will closed his eyes against inky black ones drawing close, narrowing. _What am I doing?_ He turned his head away, cheek pressing into cold marble. _Jesus, Graham, you’re practically begging him to kill you._ His blood surged at the thought.

“Do you wish for me to hunt you? For the caress of a sharp blade?”

_Yes._

“No…” Will whispered, breath fogging stone, mirrored with images of Hannibal dripping red in blood, pursued through a wooded night.

“Then it would be behoove you to explain, dear Will, as I can think of no other reason for you to test the constraints of my compassion in this way.”

“I…”

_Wanted you to find me. To bring me back fighting where I belong._

An unbidden smile of a stranger flashed in his mind. Will tried to convince himself it was fine scotch that had heated his lungs and not soft lines of a young man’s mouth, arms and legs entwined in an alley. A reckless, deliberate haze of action to fill Hannibal’s body, inside and out, with visible battle scars to mirror his own. Their own design.

“I want you here with me, Will!” A growled warning.

Hannibal claimed his mouth, dragging off the leather jacket and hurling it to the floor. Will groaned as sharp teeth sunk into his lower lip, drawing blood. He pulled the older man closer, shuddering as burning warmth settled over his torso. The kitchen was thick with copper, sweat, and cigarettes.

“ _Here_ ,” Hannibal insisted, voice rough, fingers tunneling in his hair to keep Will present.

Red trickles of blood dripped down Will’s chin, following curves of his neck, pooling against a hollow of his throat. His arms ached, stretching palms against Hannibal’s biceps. A sharp incisor pressed down into a bottom lip as a hot, wet tongue swirled along trails of blood. Once. Will gasped, eyes squeezing shut. Twice. _Please don’t…_ The older man caged him in, arms and legs pressing in and down. Red blossomed along his heaving chest, seeping and spreading along jersey. Will’s fingers twisted against white fabric, pulling at the older man’s arms with a soft sound. His cock jerked, tight and biting against the zipper of his jeans, a reminder of how much he reveled in the darkest parts of Hannibal.

_What you need is a way out of dark places…_

_I need you, Hannibal._

“Lie still, William, or I will restrain you.” Hannibal warned darkly, tongue circling his pulse. “You will not get away from me so easily this time.”

Will groaned, stilling, baring his throat. “God, Hannibal, why would I want to?”

Silver flashed in the moonlight. Will froze, gasping as a flat edge of a blade dragged across his flesh from navel to collarbone. White jersey fell apart from a trembling chest in tatters. He shivered against sudden cold. He licked his lips, gazing up at Hannibal in a silent prayer for touch, to reclaim the space between them.

_Please…_

Hannibal set the knife out of arm’s length, resting a palm flat across exposed skin, running it up and down his body. Will lifted into each stroke, eyes fluttering closed with a bitten down moan. Fingers splayed across his chest. Breath slammed out of his lungs as they pressed down. Will struggled to breath, heart hammering against his rib cage. He locked eyes with Hannibal as fingers flicked across his nipples. His head clattered on the counter with another shove, pain blotting white behind closed eyes.

Teeth replaced twisting fingers with a sharp bite. “ _Please_!” He cried out, desperation grating his voice, a tongue swirling to soothe each ache.

Will arced up into a burning mouth with fistfuls of light hair, crushing soft strands. Moist heat slicked across his chest with slow, faint flicks. The older man raised his head to admire each pant falling out ragged on his lips. He bent his head down, breath fluttering on his cheek. A slick tongue dipped between his lips to claim, warm blood, his blood, trickling in. It licked off the last remaining traces of another, cutting off his moan. Will hadn’t even asked his name. He hadn’t cared enough to ask. He had wanted it to be Hannibal. His bones ached, the darkness of his mind swallowing whole in the absence of Hannibal’s embrace. It was always Hannibal, even when it wasn’t. It had always been him and no one else.

A strong hand slipped around his cock, freeing it. Will gasped eyes snapping open. “Oh god… _Hannnnibal_ ….” A drawling beg filled the kitchen. Smooth fingers closed around the head, thumb drifting across beads of pre come, swirling in circles.

The older man’s eyes glittered hungrily, a feast spread before him. He began sliding fingers up and down a throbbing shaft, slowly, steadily. Will thrust his hips to meet each aching pull. Deep moans spilled from his throat. _God. Only you can do this to me._ The hand sliding around his cock squeezed tighter in response, jerking fast until Will’s eyes squeezed shut, breathes sharp and shallow. His thighs tightened, body rigid, nearly there. It stopped. Fingers vanishing.

“ _Hannibal_!” Will’s eyes blinked open with a cry of frustration.

Legs jerked around Hannibal’s waist, nails digging into broad shoulders, mouth frantic and sucking against his pulse. Will’s mouth filled with salt, lapping and sucking hard. It would leave a mark. His mark. Two light fingertips pushed him back with an ease of indifference. The older man eyed him coolly with a tilt of his head, hand tightening around his cock again, gliding faster. Will bucked shamelessly against Hannibal, growling and moaning his name.

“P-please, Hannibal…”

The older man’s eyes remained passive. A burning head was digging into his thighs. Will moved his mouth over an indelicate tear in the shoulder of Hannibal’s dress shirt. He covered a red angry mark, where his teeth had been, with a lapping tongue, swirling against it. Bangs slung harshly across the darkened shadows of his face. He whipped forward, teeth sinking into Will’s neck, drawing blood to leave a mark of his own. He clawed at his shoulder blades with a drowning cry. He nearly came with the throbbing sensation that followed, pain unfurling against his skin.

“Nnn please, Hannibal, please,” He begged hoarsely, breath stuttering out as the motion slowed, grip loosening again.

““Is this what you wanted?” Hannibal locked eyes with him, voice tinged red with shadow. His stare was dark and relentless, breath evenly paced. “Do you think he could have had you like this, spread out in the kitchen, begging?”

Will shook his head slowly, breathing hard, aching for release. His neck throbbed, claimed, a possession. What he wanted only Hannibal could give him. He belonged to Hannibal.

“God, Hannibal,” Will pressed a needy mouth at his throat, slurring gently, “I just want you. Only you.”

Nails scraped down his torso. There would be welts in the morning, a predator marking its prey. _More._ Fingers clamped down on his hips. It would bruise. He wanted it to bruise. A flicking tongue licked up his cock then down.

“H-hannn—oh god.” Wet heat enveloped him, sinking down, dragging up.

Hannibal looked up, spit trailing down his chin. Will clenched his jaw, moaning, gripping the edge of the marble to keep from shaking, to keep from yanking at his hair, to keep from thrusting in, to obediently submit. A tongue followed the base of his head, dipping in and out of its slit, hot and teasing.

A low, desperate moan escaped. “Hannibal, _please_!”

Breath fluttered across his head, teeth scraping gently. “Please, _what_ , William? I want to hear you say it.”

“I…”

Sharp fingers dug into his hips, piercing soft flesh, tongue swirling smooth then rough. A tortuously slow drag. Will grabbed the back of Hannibal’s neck, forcing his mouth away. He felt the lost connection with a crashing intensity. A cry of pain welled inside his chest. Hannibal’s lips were red, wet, and swollen. Streaks of blood glistened black in moonlight with cruel lines and curves, spit suspended in the air between them. _God_. Will’s cock jerked, images of Hannibal, head thrown back in a feral roar, drenched in blood of the Dragon flooding his senses.

“ _Please_ , Hannibal, _I need you_. Only you. No one else.”

Will drew a shuddering breath, stroking hard angles of the older man’s face. An emotion twisted across Hannibal’s face. Wounded. Betrayed. Wanting. It stilled, each one vanishing one by one. Will ran a thumb slowly across blood clinging to his mouth. Will raised it to his lips, licking it off to taste. A tongue flicked out of the older man’s mouth, eyes smoldering, following each movement.

With a hard swallow, Will leaned into Hannibal’s chest, fingers following a trail of buttons. “I want your mouth on me.” Lips parted in anticipation. His hand slipping beneath a trouser’s waistband. They locked eyes. He palmed Hannibal’s ball sack, squeezing. _God._ His fingers wrapped around a hot, hard cock in his hand. He was thick, heavy, perfect. “I want you inside me.” A low growl rumbled in the older man’s chest, thrusting against his hand as Will began to pull with a slow, even rhythm. “I just want you.”

“…Will.” A breathless warning.

“I want…” Hannibal’s breath fell out in ragged gasps. He loved undoing Hannibal, watching every ounce of control slip away. “… to suck you…” His fingertips trailing over sticky liquid on his head. “…hard and fast…” Breath slammed in and out of the older man’s lips mouth, unable to look away from curling movements of Will’s mouth. The rise and fall of his chest was mesmerizing. “I want you…” A red tongue flicked out, eyes burning. “…to say my name…” Hannibal’s jaw twitched, tensed from clenching and unclenching, short growls escaping. “I want you slamming into the back of my throat.”

Will pulled his hand free, dragging hot liquid from his fingers with a curl of his tongue. Salty sweet. “I want…” He leaned in, lips hovering above Hannibal’s, a mere space between then, nearly touching. “…to do that to you so badly…” Will licked at corners of his mouth, breathing in low shadowed hues. “But I am begging you.” He pressed his lips against the older man’s ear. “Will you please fuck me, Hannibal?”

A primal snarl answered. Hannibal plunged his mouth on Will’s cock, sucking hard with hollowed cheeks. Will threw his head back, teeth snapping together, fingers twisting in his hair. Dark eyes gazed up, swirling with sheer lust. He wanted to watch what it did to Will. He wanted to study each moan crawling out of his throat. What he did to Will that no one else could. His heels dug into the older man’s spine with another drag, moaning. Hannibal wanted to own him, to possess him, and he would give it all: mind, heart, body. Will would have sold his soul to feel the warmth of Hannibal’s skin pressed into his own. To find shelter inside sturdiness of his unyielding arms. To sink beneath a poison of ruling fingertips. To quietly break beneath his crushing mouth.

Will’s ankles hooked tighter around his waist, dragging the older man’s cock against his thighs. His fingers curled around it, jerking up. He thrust desperately into a hot enveloping mouth, listening to a voice, his voice, crying out Hannibal’s name, begging, pleading. The older man’s mouth and lips tightened as Will began to hit the back of his throat, dragging them closer, faster. Blinding heat flashed behind his eyes, nails raking across a shaking back.

“Please, oh god, please, please, don’t stop!" His mouth wavered with pleas and forceful curses. "Oh, f-f-fuck!”

Hannibal set a ferocious pace, swallowing to the base, nails crushed against his hips to hold him still, to keep him there for eternity. His. Only his. Will felt burning waves of pleasure building, thrusting harder, rutting shamelessly into his mouth.

“God, yes! _Fuck_ _Hannibal_ , please!”

Hannibal swallowed down, teeth scraping lightly at the base of his cock, the vibrations of his growls sending Will over the edge, head thrown back yelling out as he came hard, shaking.

Hands cupped the back of Hannibal’s neck, pulling close as Will breathed in the older man’s scent of warm skin, letting it fill his lungs, linger and seep through every fiber of his being. He trembled, riding hot white heat to the rhythm of their hips seeking each other. His eyes closed, dragging fingers lazily across a rigid back, murmuring words of soft, incoherent noises. He felt Hannibal drag a sleeve across his mouth with a satisfied snarl. An arm snaked around, caging Will against his chest. He felt safe here, always safe in the constant pressuring threat of Hannibal’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updating! Things have been not going well over here, but I promise to get back to this for you again. 
> 
> The good news is, they haven't killed each other, yet! 
> 
> It's funny, I actually started this with Chapter One as you know, and then had the previous chapter and this one written. From there, I worked backwards and forwards in time trying to piece together how and why Hannibal and Will had reached this point, drawing all the strings together and looping closed plot holes.


	27. Chapter 27

Hannibal shackled squirming wrists in a single fist, each long stride drawing closer and closer to the master bathroom. The younger man’s protests followed not far behind. Without a word, he flung a glass shower door open and slammed a hand against a silver handle. Anger glowed just beneath the round texture of his fingertips. A shower head hissed and spit, cold water rushing out across an ivory speckled stone tile. Wide blue eyes stared back, mouth gaping, before Will was shoved under a freezing deluge of water.

“What the fuck?!”

“Language!” Hannibal snapped, grip crushing shivering shoulders.

Will lunged. Hannibal pushed back and held him firmly in place, teeth grinding together. The cologne of the other man clung to his skin. A grayish purple bruise was buried beneath an angry bite mark bloodied from Hannibal’s teeth. The mark of another trying to claim him, as if it had permeated Will’s skin, seeped in, and settled into his bones. He would cut it out. Every last trace. A tearing sensation filtered behind a cold gaze, scraping and gnawing as Hannibal hissed at an unbidden image of a mouth other than his pressed into Will skin, tasting, savoring him.

_You belong only to me, William._

Tattered remnants of a jersey t-shirt clung against a lean, bare chest. Hannibal’s eyes fell across red welts and bruises on soft flesh, licking his lips, a sense of heat stirring. Water mingled with white and red fluid streaking up a ravaged torso before washing it away. Faded jeans hung deliciously open, gaping, against peaked hips, plastered against trembling thighs. It was only a small sound that drew Hannibal’s attention away from admiring his work at reclaiming every inch of the younger man’s skin.

Will’s eyes, a stormy blue, flashed up, mouth pressed tight. Edges of a tattered shirt were drawn tight across his chest, knuckles white, hugging it against his body as if suddenly aware of his nakedness. Vulnerability and hurt clung to his skin, slipping away with each bead of trailing water. He trembled, teeth faintly chattering. He stood obediently beneath a frigid cascade without another sound. His eyes flashed with light and shadows of haunting ghosts veiled behind his eyes. He turned away, head bent to focus on an edge of the shower floor.

Hands fell away to his sides, water droplets sliding down tensing fingers. Hannibal's jaw clenched. Pin pricks of emotion shot through his veins. What was it about Will that sent unknown sensations jarring through? Abruptly, he stepped into the shower. A door rattled closed. His clothes would be ruined, unsalvageable now, smeared with blood, torn from Will’s teeth, and now drenched in water, a second skin. His arms tangled around a smaller body, gathering up uncoordinated limbs against him. He pressed carefully forward until Will was embraced between a shower wall and his chest. The younger man whimpered softly with each twist in a fragile attempt to break free.

“Hold still, William.”

 _Have you always considered my protection intolerable?_ He held the younger man tighter until he trembled from head to toe. _Would you allow my protection had I told you the stars of your eyes filled my wandering soul with purpose? Without it, I drifted, lost at sea, willing to die in its murky waters .  
_

"C-can’t…” Will crumbled, melting in, hanging in Hannibal’s arms, unsteady.

Sucking in a breath, Hannibal stared up at the ceiling, sliding on hot water. It hissed disapprovingly. Will’s skin and clothes were damp with cold. The younger man shivered violently between each ragged breath held and released.

_Will there ever be a moment of clarity where flames do not lick against my skin with the absence of yours pressed tight inside my arms?_

Hannibal held tighter, unable and unwilling, to see a tortured face he knew was looking up. It was too painful to be mirrored in the younger man’s gaze, a reflection of sins, of human frailty, twin stars flickering back. A warm open mouth trembled along his collarbone. A phantom shudder ran from Hannibal’s shoulders to the tips of his toes. With a soft nudge, he gently guided Will back under streaming hot water, brushing fingers against dripping curls clinging to pale skin. Dark circles rimmed the underside of the younger man’s eyes. He ran pads of his thumbs against a quavering mouth, lingering against the split he had put there.

An expression loomed on Will's flinching cheeks. As if no one else in the world mattered. As if what he had just done to him didn’t matter. A crushing darkness of each others looming shadows entwined, tangled, beyond separation. It killed him. Hannibal had flung him across the kitchen, bruised and battered his flesh with hands and teeth alike. His hands had wrapped around his throat for a second time and delighted in strangled sounds of cutting off his air. He had made Will beg at his feet, made him beg against his mouth. Yet Will’s gaze remained unchanged, face open, eyes searching. He bit down on his tongue hard enough to break skin, a coppery taste of blood filling his senses. What was battering against the insides of his chest trying to break free?

_If I had lost you, Will, there is not a corner of this world that would be safe._

Shaking fingers slipped deftly down buttons of his shirt. He bit down hard on his tongue again. He fought a rising urge to swat them away, to twist the wrists attached to them until they popped with a sweet, sickening sound. Cold hands slipped beneath his shirt, splaying across his ribs with a trail of kisses and murmurs as Will revered every inch of flesh he could reach. A blotting bruise spread across the back of younger man’s arching shoulder. It wasn’t his mark.

Hannibal hated each rising trill of darkness, pushing through muscles, skittering along his tendons with each flexing finger. Each violent tremble was met with tender ministrations. Soft. Gentle. Sweet. Rage simmered just below the surface, a sense of pure, deadly jealousy mixed with open wounds bubbling up with a sickening taste in his mouth. It was dark and thick and intoxicating.

A wet, hot mouth sunk down on Hannibal’s heavy cock. His hands automatically clenched into strands of dripping hair. Will bent down on his knees, hands wrapped around the front of his thighs, curling against twill trousers, as if in prayer, making needy, whimpering noises while licking and sucking. The younger man was so eager, so wet, burning, and willing. A scar inside his cheek dragged along an aching shaft. Hannibal threw his head back, blood pounding in his ears. A tongue prodded his thick head, dipping in and out, swirling and sucking. Hannibal let out a hot, shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. A haze of red heat filtered behind his eyes. He could still smell the other man on Will. It was hateful. Nauseating.

A sickening emotion snapped. Hannibal shoved hard, stumbling back. His force sent the younger man skidding back against wet tile, crashing into a corner with cracking bones and a blur of limbs. Hannibal’s lips parted, staring down at his upturned palms as if the sudden violence had come from some outside being.

“Will, I—“

Will curled in, body shaking silently, forearms pressed against his face, knees pushed against his chest. Pallid skin paled further as if sinking to become part of textured stone, melting into its design. Water slipped down curves of a trembling body, rising and snaking against its hollows, as if washing away sins of a fallen angel.

Hannibal choked back bile rising in his throat with an unfamiliar strangled sound, biting down on a fist to contain it. _What have I done?_ He reached Will in one long stride, stooping and then falling to his knees, hand outstretched. At this rate, Will would lose his life to dark impulses of unrelenting hands. They would lose each other with a tangle of their limbs and sharp teeth. _What have I done?_

Will shrank back, curling further into safe confines of his body. Hannibal winced, a hand ghosting motions of stroking and caressing inches above trembling limbs. He tentatively lay a forefinger and thumb against the man’s wrist. It twitched in response. A pulse slammed against skin, fluttering at the sudden contact. Another small, muffled cry echoed. Pressing his lips together firmly, Hannibal gently pried forearms burying Will’s face away, a shield of sinewy muscle and bone, a fleshy armor.

Breath stole out. A Lithuanian swear tumbled from his mouth. Tears streaked down Will’s face, tangling in long lashes, running into an open mouth. White teeth clenched to keep silent as sobs wracked his body. A burning shame and then anger flushed Hannibal’s face as if claws had ripped open, ribs splayed wide, wrenching against his heart and squeezing. Hannibal’s hands curled into fists against the floor. A sudden urge to slam them into the shower wall over and over again, until his knuckles were bloodied and the tile crumbled beneath roiled with each tensing muscle. Sensing his rage, Will made a small cry, drawing back with wide eyes, sinew of muscles tensing in preparation for fight or flight.

“William… I…”

“N-n-no,” A broken cry muffled behind a shielded face. "D-don't."

With one deft motion, Hannibal scooped him up, folding shaking limbs one by one into a tight space between his arms and legs. With a ragged breath, he sank heavily against the wall, legs giving away in a quiver. Each empty, sleepless night crashed around him. He suddenly felt breathless, weak, exhausted. Will struggled for a moment with a curse. His head collapsed into the curve of Hannibal’s neck. Aching cries broke the silence. The younger man was sobbing openly now, the sound becoming louder and louder, pitching into broken wails that wracked his smaller body.

Hannibal screwed eyes closed as if to shut out the sound. With a jerk, he slammed his head back into stone. Pain blotted red against the back of his eyes, spreading down his neck and burning through his skull. _Good._ He did it again. _Pain is good._ Cries of a wounded animal continued to rise. He clung to the body shaking in his arms with a half twisting mouth of prayer. His grip tightened around a frail spine and splayed out against his front. A ribcage heaved with every choked sob rising in intensity. He desperately wanted to end it.

_Would you have preferred gentle suffocation of a lungful of salt water, Will, than my mouth breathing life back into you?_

Fingers tunneled through Will’s mop of curls, pressing a shaking head tighter against his chest, tucking in his chin to envelope the younger man entirely in the frame of his body. He swallowed hard, a crushing pain spreading, driving his head back again. Will’s limp hands seized against his chest with flailing motions occasionally clinging to plackets of soaked cotton, scraping at his throat with weakening rakes.

The sound Will was making now was unbearable. It was deafening. It was utter agony, a harsh kind of scream choked back and down as he gasped for breath, sucking it in, only to claw its way back out. Hannibal opened his eyes, staring blankly at an opposite wall. Slitting his throat to quiet the sound would be a mercy to them both.

 _Have I taken away all you have ever known, William? Has the absence of your familiar routines and faces containing your frail skin begun to split? Are you fracturing from the inside out beneath my watchful eye and steady care?_ Fingernails clawed at his chest. _Have you felt my presence lurking and moving to sink into the depths of your mind, an unwelcome resident?_ Fingertips stroked carefully down a flinching cheek. _Would you pull away knowing the years between us I tried to change you, to mold you, to draw you into the darkness... I longed for you to fall into my arms?_

Hannibal had not once considered what it might mean for the younger man, of how he might ache, adrift against the unknown, even with Hannibal filling the spaces of his mind, filling his body with his own flesh. Will’s mind was a constant fascination. He never considered peeling it back to see what was happening beneath in the aftermath. It was selfish and cruel, but he needed Will, an ever steady presence, a guiding compass to navigate behind Hades gates.

The lines of separation had blurred, one indistinguishable from the other. And he gave in, lost to the arms around him as they had tumbled head long off a cliff and into each others lives. And at the first sign of what Hannibal had determined was a sting of familiar betrayal and dishonesty rearing its ugly head, Will had turned away. Hannibal had sunk into the depths of familiar, hands at the younger man’s throat with intent to end them both, to preserve that moment with his last breath.

_Will there ever be a time when touching you will not break your body and soul, William? Will there ever be a time when I am not curious to do so?_

Hannibal’s entire body was rigid with pain, none of it his own, all of it sinking into his skin from Will. He was drowning, emotions seeping out with radiating warmth of the younger man and filling each empty cavern of his soul. He slammed his head back, eyes sinking low with throbbing pain. Hot liquid trickled down the back of his neck. The sensation brought him back, a numbing calm of control settled in. The younger man was shaking so hard now that he wondered briefly if he was seizing. If he reached down to touch Will’s forehead would be hot with fever?

His tongue was heavy, molten with lead, unable to move. He tried desperately to loosen it, to force words, any words, to come out. They stuck in the back of his throat, choking, cutting off air until his lungs burned from an effort to keep breathing. _Is this what it would feel like to burn from the inside out with all of our atoms straining against the other, William?_   He was unable to speak and so the only sound that filled the space between them were Will’s wretched sobs and hoarse screams. Water pattered steadily with gentle care along the tile.

Will lifted his head weakly. He steeled himself, looking down. The planes of the soft face, darkening hollow of his eyes, glint of clenched teeth were pure torture. He truly looked broken. The younger man tried to push away, shoving at the wall of his chest, limbs flailing with strangled sobs. Fists battered down, sending jagged blots of pain through Hannibal’s chest. He closed his eyes against it, savoring it, deserving far worse punishment

_How will your knife feel resting at my throat when you truly see what I am, Will? What I have done to keep you here with me? Will it be cold and merciless? Or hot and quick?_

Hannibal drew knees tighter in, arms wrapping Will’s body in a crushing trap of angled bone. He tried to drown out each wailing sound that rose, another scream uncoiling silently within his own chest. With another soft swear, he pressed trembling lips against Will’s cold forehead and felt the body suddenly still, screams eking out with an even louder silence.

A sense of calm washed over. Will had passed out. Shallow breath fluttered hot against his collarbone. Hannibal’s ears rang, echoing sobs refusing to fade with his dimming mind. With a grimace, Hannibal’s chin dropped against his chest, eyes sliding closed. He rammed his skull once more into stone. Darkness engulfed, agonizing screams chasing close after.

 


	28. Chapter 28

Will woke with a start and a choking cough, spitting water and gasping for air. He shook his head, squeezing eyes shut tight then blinking them open in an attempt to refocus their blurring state. _Where am I?_ His entire body ached, pulsating and throbbing inside his bones, spurts of heat tangled inside his brain. His skin felt stretched and heavy filled with stones from a disquieted stream, unable to move a single muscle without hissing. Sea salt and gritting sand drifted across his face with phantom strokes.

Fingers of his right hand flexed, struggling beneath a gripping weight. Will forced himself to focus, staring intently at blurred shapes with a pressing insistence. His eyes swept across plastered white cotton curled around his torso, holding him in, strong hands tangled in his own, pressed tight against his chest. With a steadying breath, Will rolled his shoulders against a larger frame. His lips twisted into a sour grimace. _Not the ocean..._ A stale scent of skin and damp musty clothes filled his nostrils. He stretched, kicking his limbs out. His blue jeans squelched against the tile, spattered by the spray from the shower overhead. He squinted, looking up.

_What the hell. Did I lose time?_

Will twisted, dragging jeans then boxers down his body with short tugs and jerks. The fabric dragged rough like sand paper against his raw, wrinkled skin. He rocked forward, crouching low on his knees, flinging them to the corner. With a sway, the shower began to spin. He wobbled, latching hold of smooth, polished leather and sopping shoelaces.

“The fuck…?” Will was surprised at the voice that answered, hoarse and cracking, .

 _Hannibal’s shoes in the shower? Am I hallucinating men’s footwear now? That’s different._ Amusement brushed the corners of his mind then froze. _Wait…_

Tile scraped against Will’s knees as he jerked around, heels catching on outstretched legs, nearly crashing right into the wall of the older man’s chest. Hannibal almost looked like he was resting, head rolled forward, chin tucked against his chest. He was still. Absolutely still. A white dress shirt gaped open, soaked against the curves of his arms hanging limply on his thighs, palms up turned, fully dressed and sopping wet. They clung to his body like a snake shedding its skin.

Will swallowed hard. “H-hannibal…?”

He reached out a tentative hand, fingers tracing angles of the older man’s jaw line. The head flopped down with a clank of teeth. Will snatched his hand back as if scalded, a strangled cry working its way out of his lungs. He stuffed it back down with a deep breath and held it. It burned from the inside out. His eyes trailed across the crumpled figure, following stains of red streaking down white tiles.

 _Am I responsible for this… is he…?_ Echoes of hushed voices trailed after his eyes, growing louder, more insistent. _Unstable. Unstable. Unstable._

Will felt his body moving on its own, propelled forward, a state of panic strangled and tying his arteries into twisting knots. Somewhere in the distance a voice was screaming Hannibal’s name. His arms hooked under the unmoving figure, shaking hard, staggering beneath the weight as he dragged in an upward motion. His shoulder rolled forward with a stagger, head ramming against Hannibal’s chest with a sickening crack, lurching forward to pin the heavy body against the wall.

 _When was the last time…_ Pounding ocean waves flooded the back of his mind.

With a slap of his palm, icy water from the shower hissed off. Pain blotted against his bones, spreading. Each throb focused his scattering thoughts, steadying his breathing to its aching rhythm. A far away groan reached his ears just beneath the sound of his own heart slamming against his ribcage, wild, frantic.

With a forceful swear, Will dragged Hannibal’s arm across his shoulders, crushing the other around the older man’s waist. “Stay with me, Hannibal. I’ve got you…”

A ripping sound of belt loops greeted him. _Great, another piece of Hannibal’s clothing I’ve ruined._ He dragged a foot forward, then another. Expensive Italian leather scraped across tiles, echoing each movement. Will bit down his lip, yanking on Hannibal’s waist, heaving slightly, to readjust his grip. His mind raced. His skin crawled, a cracked voice repeating one phrase over and over again. Will wasn’t sure if the whispers were on his lips or inside his own head. _Please, please, please. God. Please be alive._ One foot forward, then the other. One foot. Then the other. _Don’t you dare leave me here, Hannibal._

Will’s limbs trembled, giving way beneath the weight as Hannibal’s body collided into his frame, pressing them both into a soft pillowing mattress. He closed his eyes, breath pushed out in one short gasp. Beads of water pooled against his torso, streaking down his limbs pinned by the limp body crushing down. Wet fabric chaffed against his naked skin, belt buckle digging into his thigh. Will heard a muffled sound vibrate against his chest, sinking further into the mattress.

“W-will…”

Will sucked in a deep breath, hands tangling forcefully around Hannibal’s frame, sinking with the weight above. He could feel a light rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest, constricting his air further, lungs burning. Will smiled as his lungs cried out, red pinpricks blurring his gaze. He imagined each breath dragged from his lungs filled Hannibal’s. It was enough to sustain them both.

With one leg curled around the older man’s waist, Will leveraged his weight and flipped the older man in a dizzying spin. He stilled, crouched over Hannibal’s body, shoving a hand through jagged hair clinging to his forehead. Will was breathless from more than just lack of oxygen. Hannibal was the very essence of a fallen god painted in broad brush strokes and muted tones.

The older man’s face was almost peaceful, all sharp angles and planes, lips parted slightly, slack jawed. Flesh gaped bright red, puckered, hanging loosely in a disarray of fair hair. Will touched the back of Hannibal’s head gingerly, brushing at drying blood, swearing softly. He lifted, rubbing the substance between his forefinger and thumb.

_Did I…_

A splitting pain sliced through Will’s head and he cried out, fists pressed against his temples. He leaned into the pain, doubled over Hannibal’s body as the events of the night rushed back with the swing of the pendulum. Thick cologne and cigarettes filled his lungs, warmth burning his lips. The cold blade of a knife and then hands squeezing, cutting off his air. A blur of heat and limbs. Desire pooled in him. Then hollow screams caged against a stronger frame.

A rough murmur brought him back to consciousness. Will blinked. Hannibal’s face was flushed pink, naked body tucked beneath silk sheets, arm slightly jerking. Will leaned forward in a creaking chair, pressing his face into trembling hands, thumbs gouging the corners of his eyes. He listened to the murmur grow stronger, becoming a loud, insistent whisper. Will strained to listen against the back of his eyelids. It wasn’t English, he was certain of that. Not that he would know the difference at this point. He’d lost time again.

“Mischa…” The voice was a low sound, barely audible as Hannibal’s body tensed, arm jerking, fingers twisting sheets.

Will pressed a palm against the older man’s forehead. He was burning up. He glanced at the gash on the back of his head, still raw and open, brows furrowing. Had he even bothered to try to clean the wound? Had he done anything of any use to anyone in his blacked out state?

_What good am I except fine china scattered on the floor hoping someone else will pick up my pieces?_

With a start, Will nearly knocked over the chair, fists clenching at his side. He leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss against Hannibal’s warm forehead. Each fierce stride led him to the safety of the adjoining bathroom. He leaned against cool marble, glowering back into the mirrored reflection. Dark circles hung throughout bloodshot eyes, lips upturned in a loathing half smile. His eyes were stormy, wild, cold. His chest was a canvas covered in red welts, bruises blooming fresh and bright against his skin. His face was shadowed with demons lurking within, caressing the corners of his mind.

 

He snapped a small towel off the rack, wetting it and ringing tightly with fists, squeezing, twisting, wishing his lungs would stop twisting in unison with half noises and unspoken words. Stalking back to the room, Will ran the cloth across Hannibal’s forehead, following a peaked point of his noise, dabbing at corners of his mouth. Will felt his entire body soften, closing his eyes against the warmth of skin. He breathed out slowly. Simply touching Hannibal soothed him.

He cradled Hannibal’s head in his palm. It was heavy, reassuring. He ran the washcloth across gaping flesh, dabbing at the area with ginger flicks. He breathed Hannibal in, a hint of lemon and sweat. Will’s gaze drifted to the soft mouth murmuring, slurring with an exotic accent. He pressed his mouth against them, gently, softly, in hopes to quiet shadows he suspected drifted through Hannibal’s unconscious state. Surely even predators feared something lurking in the dark?

Fingers curled in soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling. Will closed his eyes, licking his lips as they hovered just above Hannibal’s. He leaned into the pressure until a hand flattened, resting with light pressure against his neck, squeezing. An ache reverberated through his bones for Hannibal’s touch. For the weight of his arms. The burn of his mouth. The soft or harsh even sound of his voice drawling with reassuring threats of comfort.

“If you would be so kind as to desist pawing at my wounds, Will, I would be most appreciative.”

Will’s eyes fluttered open. Hannibal was looking back, black eyes half lidded, staring down the bridge of his noise. It would have been a look of annoyance had it been on anyone else’s face. The face was a still void, unmoving. A lump rose in his throat. He resisted an urge to bury his face in the crook of angular shoulders beckoning, to trail kisses down every single rib to reassure they were still there. To taste skin to prove the older man was real.

“I…I’m sorry…” He breathed, flicking the washcloth away, voice hitching against a lump he swallowed down.

_I’m sorry for everything._

Hannibal looked away, adjusting gingerly. The silence stung. Will felt something crawling beneath his skin like sand paper rubbing valves of his heart raw. Eyes flicked back to study his face. He shrank back, swinging legs over the side of the bed, ready to bolt. Darkening eyes followed every movement, trailed down the stiff and straightened posture of his spine, noticing every muscle straining with the effort to stay still, to be seen, to be watched with a curious, clinical expression. The silence was too much. It was deafening.

_Don’t leave it like this. Tell him something, anything._

“You may want to avoid the kitchen for awhile…” Will interjected abruptly, eyes flashing up and then away from Hannibal’s face to focus on the dip and curve of sheets clinging to the knee beneath. He wanted to stroke his fingertips across it.

The stench of rotting flesh unwillingly berated his senses. He vaguely recalled a blurring haze of cleaning up messy frail bones of fish. “It was unpleasant.”

“Unsalvageable then?” The tone was cool, indifferent.

_Are we talking about ruined dinner preparations…? Or us…_

“Rotted to the bone, I’m afraid.” Will guessed with a half murmur and stinging eyes. He barely could recall anything but the smell. He could barely think above the sound of his own pounding heart. He winced. “Utterly ruined.”

_Will we end in wisps of black ash of our souls mingling in the after life, Hannibal? Or will you deny me the hope of knowing you even then?_

Another pause of unbearable silence. Will felt the curl of his fingers, forcing them to still with a steadying breath. He raised his eyes. Something flickered across the older man’s face, thrumming unspoken on lips, casting his gaze away once more. Will felt his heart wrench, fingers moving instinctively across hard planes of Hannibal’s face, searching, as if trying to memorize every line, unable to meet the empty stare.

“Are we…?” _Ruined?_ Will breathed softly with a fluttering hand, longing for the older man’s to curl around it.

A dry hand flicked his away. Another stinging sensation panged his heart. Will bit down on his tongue, folding hands tightly against the mattress, between his thighs to keep them still, rooted there to face his punishment.

“A rotted corpse can easily be swept away and removed, all traces disappearing from existence.” Hannibal’s voice dipped low and dark, an offended fingertip tracing the curve of his spine. Will closed his eyes against the sensation, breath shuddering from his lungs. “Are you comparing my compassion for you to that of something so fleeting and easily disposed of? Or is it you who wishes to disappear from our existence in this life?” Nails ticked down each vertebra one by one with increasing pressure. “Were you testing the waters of your freedom when you walked out of our life and back into your own, Will?”

 _Yes. No..._ Will shifted, shuffling his bare feet against the hardwood floor, tracing its grooves with each movement, tongue tied in his choking throat. _God, I’ve missed you._ Fingertips vanished. His eyes flickered over then away from the older man’s passive face. _Please touch me, Hannibal._ A hand fluttered at his own throat, trying to pry away invisible fingers. _I can’t breathe._

“William…” His name hissed hot across his ear.

Hannibal’s dark eyes glowered down, two fingers turning Will’s chin to meet his gaze, falling into murky depths. Their lips nearly touched. Sheets had fallen from hips, tangled around knees, as Hannibal rose, towering, stretched to his full height. Will’s breath hitched. He was raw power, a sculpted Botticelli painting of a lean built frame, strong thighs framing a thick cock hanging against them. _Beautiful._ A vulgar description. Will’s knuckles were skimming against tight clefts of Hannibal’s ass without thinking, need uncoiling in his chest, tongue flicking out to lean in for a taste. A jerk on Will’s hair yanked back, chin thrusting up, a hiss of frustration on his lips.

“William, you are testing my patience,” Hannibal growled, thumb pressing against the pulse at his throat.

“Yes.”

“As fond as I am of your eloquent, one worded answers, dear Will…” A vein throbbed against Hannibal’s temple, fingers tightening, settling into throbbing, strained tendons in Will’s neck. “Would it pain you to elaborate further on this statement?”

“Yes. I feel like I am disappearing, fading again…” Will turned his head against the strong grip, fixing a peaked collarbone with a reverential stare, voice barely a whisper. “…that perhaps I would want to…”

_To disappear in to you. To lose myself within the faith of your soul._

Another jerk on his hair, eyes flashing. He bit down a curse to meet Hannibal’s steady, calculating stare. Hard lines of his mouth pressed tightly together, jaw clenched. _Goddammit._ Will wanted to reach up and pry it open with his tongue and devour every unspoken word he knew hung upon the older man’s lips, savoring each and every one of them.

A watch dragged across the bedside table, Will’s head jerking after the motion, straining against a fist that held him with ease. “It is eleven thirty-one at night, you’re name is Will Graham, and you are here in a small villa of Lourmarin, France, on the outskirts of the Luberon Massif’s southern pass.”

A familiar phrase grounded him, seeping beneath his eyelids, settling firmly inside his mind and rooting there. A weak smile hung on his mouth, turning into a grimace, head lifted up by roots of his hair with an insistent tug, waiting for an answer.

“ _I know who I am, Doctor Lecter_.” Will replied bitterly as his fingers curled around a flexing forearm above, looking up between the empty spaces between their flesh. “I know where I am.”

“Why is it you feel as if you are fading?”

“I am not sure if I can remain here with you without fading,” He let out a slow ragged breath of confession. Will strummed a thumb softly against the rhythm of the pulse beneath, wishing he could press his lips against it instead. “And I am uncertain if by leaving if I would not fade away all the sooner, for good this time, away from you, from this life.”

A fist released his hair. Will tumbled back against the mattress, arms flailing. He fell flat on his back, staring up with a skittering heartbeat. His gaze trailed up tensing muscles of strong legs pressing in on either side him. His eyes lingered at the apex of the older man’s thighs, tracing their way up every curve and hollow until they locked with the dark eyes glittering above. Controlled anger simmered in a maroon glow. His tongue flicked out, breath caught between desire and fear. He reached for Hannibal. His hands were pushed away with a dismissive flick.

“My black medical bag. Go retrieve it." The command was short, abrupt. 

Will scrambled into a sitting position, heaving his body from the bed, shoulders hunched against eyes he knew were following, burning into the back of his skull. He pressed into a relief of sweet darkness that enveloped in the walk in closet, fingers strumming on the fine material, trailing down buttons, and silk. He suffocated beneath each silky stroke and glinting skin.

“ _Now._ ”

The growl sent shivers down the curve of his spine. Will’s feet tangling as his hands blindly stretched out, fumbling and clinging at anything, everything, to find level ground. His fingers curled, latching around rough leather handles. _The bag._

“William.”

His head jerked up at the sound, staring at corners of light outlining a frame of a door. Will lifted the bag with a shaking hand. He stumbled back into the bedroom, shielding his eyes from bright light, from what waited there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever noticed how the two them have conversations about things they aren't actually talking about? They both struggle with being direct. 
> 
> If you are reading into the tone as this chapter goes on, it may become a little dark. As an obligatory warning, the next two chapters (I believe) have been ghosted out and contain quite a bit of BDSM, so if that is not your cup of a tea you may want to take the nearest exit. No, not that cliff! 
> 
> As always, thank you for everyone reading and commenting. Things have been a little rough lately, and hearing from you and your support means a lot. So thank you!


	29. Chapter 29

“Stand here,” Hannibal ordered without looking, pointing to a spot behind the chair where he was seated. He readjusted with lithe movements, teeth grating each word with a tensile strength of restraint. “Remove the smallest curved needle, nylon suture thread, and rubbing alcohol.” With a wave of his hand, Hannibal rattled off supplies, emphasizing each one with a staccato.

Utensils and glass clattered insides a leather bag, rattling with a frenzied search. Hannibal imagined the younger man's hands were trembling. He eased shoulders against a wooden bite, stretching his naked body against it, taut and poised. A jar bounced against the wooden floor. It rolled to a deadening stop just inside the corners of Hannibal’s peripheral vision. His arm jerked against his thigh, restrained from lashing out.

“ _Carefully!_ ” Hannibal hissed, uncrossing a leg at the sound, head tilting up to glare at glittering stones of a small chandelier suspended on the ceiling.

_Patience. Haven't you done enough?_

“S-sorry.” The rattling instruments stilled. “Do you want anything… for the pain?”

“You know perfectly well I have a high level of tolerance for physical pain.”

“Yes, but don’t you think—“ The words stuttered out, a sorry attempt to stall. A futile one at that. “I… don’t want to hurt you.”

Hannibal reached behind blindly, looping a thumb in a pocket of rough denim jeans, pulling a staggering figure to his knees. “If you hadn’t wanted to hurt me, William, you would have been merciful and killed me in my sleep instead of burying your fingers in my wounds.”

_Inside my broken chest._

“I…” A man on bent knee with a millstone strapped around his neck gazed up with aching eyes.

He inclined his head, eyes searching Will’s wide, misty blue ones returning his gaze, bottles and surgical instruments clutched to his chest like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Perhaps…” A hand settled along Will’s cheek for a moment before pulling away. “…consider taking a deep breath to calm yourself while you sterilize each of one.” Blue eyes misted, looking away. “And butterfly bandage strips if you would be so kind.”

Hannibal absently reached back to run tips of fingers against a jagged gash at the back of his head. _You deserve far worse for your crimes against, Will Graham, Doctor._ An acidic smell of rubbing alcohol flared against his nostrils, stinging against the wound. He motioned Will behind, gaze trailing after a flashing needle in the younger man’s hand brandished like a knife.

“Stitch up the gash, Will.” A hand fluttered at the back of his neck uncertainly. "Carefully." Hannibal caught it in one of his own. He pressed lips against the back of it gently, releasing. A soft sound answered. “Simply pretend I am one of your wounded strays.”

Eyes closed _. Reckless._ A sharp point pulled through jagged flesh before slipping out. _Out of control._ His mouth hung slightly open, soundless. _A superficial wound._ It would heal with little to no scarring, a brief, fading echo of a madness of two. _Forever would I wear your scars if it was you who caused them, Will._ Bandages pressed down with twinging pain. A quiet click of scissors filled the space between them, final, resounding.

“The red silk tie in the top left drawer, Will… get it out.” The words slipped off Hannibal’s tongue in a rough drawl, lingering thick with tension in the air. “You will remove your clothing and fold them neatly, placing them on the dresser.” He paused, feeling his cock hardening at the thought of the younger’s naked body laid out, a sacrificial offering. “Then you will kneel on the bed, hands behind your back.”

Metal scissors clamored quietly against glass, settling against the dresser with another tremor before quieting.

“Facing towards… or away from you?” The voice was soft, tense.

Hannibal lifted his hand, considering dried flakes beneath his nails. Will’s blood. His flesh. As one. A zipper creaked in silence, denim rustling, a snap of elastic as boxers were peeled off. His cock jerked, pleased with the symphony of submission.

_Do you give yourself willingly knowing each movement tightens your possession over me, Will? Knowing I am at your mercy. Without escape._

“Away.”

A drawer slid open. A pause. It closed in succession with a gentle thud. A ragged breath followed. The mattress creaked unsteadily, giving way beneath knees pressing into them.

“Close your eyes. You may open them when I give you permission to do so.”

Hannibal eyes flicked up, nostrils flaring at the sight. Will’s back was to him, rigid, arms stretched behind his back. A red silk tie wound loosely around his wrists, stretched in his fists, shackles of his own making. Hannibal ran a tongue across sharp edges of teeth, rising slowly, purposefully. Legs of a chair scraped across the floor, slow and unhurried. It rocked against a wall then wobbled into silence.

_In a room full of paintings, William, would I only stare at your form beneath faint starlight and outlined pin pricks of settling dust._

Will stared straight ahead with closed eyes. Pressure was building in the younger man, the need for touch, for his touch, crying out with every flex of sinew and straining tendon. Hannibal reached into depths of a medical bag, palming stainless steel of a long handled instrument with a fine wheel of evenly spaced, sharp radiating points, a Wartenberg wheel.

“Would you allow me test the constraints of your strength, Will?”

The wheel spun with a flick of Hannibal’s forefinger, flashing in light. Will’s body shuddered with anticipation. It traced across the width of his shoulders. A breath hitched with flushing pink skin. Hannibal increased the pressure with a flick of his wrist, points pricking into sensitive divots between arched ribs, curling around a pointed hip, snaking down outer curves of flexing thighs.

“H-hann…”

“Quiet. How very sensitive you have become during our separation…” Hannibal breathed, trailing the wheel deftly in a swirling motion on the inside of his right thigh. The younger man jerked unsteadily, letting out a low groan. “Do you ache for the imprint of my fingerprints upon your skin, Will?”

Hannibal’s eyes swept down the length of a bony spine, lingering on bright red silk that hung just above the tight curve of Will’s ass, taut with the effort to stay upright, to stay just the way Hannibal had told him to stay, to wait, to submit. Will’s briny scent of arousal clung to every curve. He breathed it in with a long swallow of air. He nudged a knee between Will’s feet, pushing them apart. The younger man swayed from effort to stay balanced, desperate to give Hannibal a better view. His ball sack shadowed insides of his thighs, velvety and begging to be cupped. He rounded the younger man, dragging fingers along an edge of the bed.

Will’s face was upturned, throat bared and pulsing from each hard swallow of concentration. _What prayer rests upon your lips, Will?_ The wheel dug across a hollowing throat, sweeping down lines of a lean chest. It heaved with each ragged breath. Hannibal knew Will could feel burning eyes roaming every inch of skin where sharp edges of the instrument traced. He relished each short gasp. A pink tongue flicked out, cock arched, heavy and bobbing just below the indentation of Will’s stomach, hitching at the feel of Hannibal’s lingering gaze.

A wolfish smile curved upon his lips. “Such a remarkable boy.” Hannibal practically purred, eyelids drooping low, flipping the instrument carelessly onto the mattress. “Are you able to make your way off the bed and to the chair without sight to guide you?”

The younger man’s head pitched forward in a quick nod, fists tightening against silk, crushing it.

Hannibal made a sound of disapproval, trailing back towards the chair. “That is a three hundred dollar Armani silk tie, my dear William.”

_How beautiful it looks wrapped around your wrists, Will, red silken blood clinging to your exquisite skin._

“I might advise you to treat it with more care.” His voice dipped low, rough, hand slapping against Will’s ass in a light reprimand.

_Burn all my possessions if you would like..._

Skin tinged pink, a soft cry stuck in the younger man’s throat.

_...if it gives you pleasure._

Will’s grip simultaneously tightened around silk before fingers flexed, to loosen, trembling.

“Or do you feel perhaps you have not cost me quite enough where my wardrobe is concerned?”

_For what other skin would cling as tight against my frame than your arms wrapped around my chest, William?_

Hannibal pulled silk with a tug, breath hot against the back of the younger man’s neck. “Tell me, Will, would you rather the tie wound around your wrists were instead wound tight at my throat, with you on the other side, choking the life out of me?”

_Do you believe you could steal away my breath with your mouth without tasting each part of me lying beneath your bones? A twisting, hateful gift of my compassion to keep you breathing by my side._

Will snapped the tie with a flexing motion, wrists jerking in a silent resounding yes. Both their cocks throbbed at the sound. Hannibal’s cock stirred, running fingertips down its length, imagining a building pressure of the tie tight at his throat. A shiver of gratification ran down his spine, spiking an intense arousal coiling within. Hannibal stepped back, wishing to sink teeth into a curving of shoulder, to savor every inch of skin with nips of reverence breathed out between parted lips.

“The chair, Will.”

One foot felt its way to the floor, and then the other. A lithe body moved with nimble motions. Will’s chin turned up in a defiant gesture, cheeks flushed, toes brushing near legs of a chair. A slight smirk lingered on the younger man’s lips, thick lashes fluttering with amusement. A low growling warning interrupted.

Hannibal crushed the body beneath his, one hand looping beneath a straining arm, curving up to grip the base of Will’s skull. _Oh what a single sickening twist would do to your fragile neck_. The other fisted tightly against Will’s ass, kneading the flesh until it was raw. _How lovely the compartments of your mind rattle inside by hands._

Will was pinned, hanging against the wall, brows drawn low across his face, tips of his toes barely touching the floor. Red silk began slipping from his wrist with a moan. _What my mouth would do pressed against your fleeting pulse_. Hannibal found his mouth, claiming it with thrusts of his tongue inside wet heat, bringing another hand along sensitive skin of Will’s ass with a harder smack, a reminder. _Would you continue to deny my darkest desires knowing how much I ache for you in return?_

“Fu—“

Will groaned between tongue and teeth claiming his bottom lip, heat swelling over an aching split. He leaned in, hard, tongue tangling and swirling, wrapping the tie tight again to please. Hannibal took a desperate, searching tongue between his teeth, nipping, then sucking slowly. Will tasted of ambrosia. _Would drinking daily from your lips also give the gift of immortality?_

The younger man’s torso trembled beneath the effort to keep upright, arms straining, edge of the chair digging into his thighs. Hannibal pulled his body forward, pressed into the wall of his chest, tongue licking a path up the side of a stretched neck. A long, shuddering moan answered. With a firm shove, he pushed Will down into a chair below.

“Open your eyes.”

Breathing hard with a heaving chest, the younger man’s eyes swirled with hunger. Hannibal plucked the tie from the younger man’s grasp, looking pointedly at armrests of the chair. Will placed his wrists there obediently, focus fixed at the apex of Hannibal’s thighs, mouth hanging slightly open. Hannibal throbbed, aching, painfully hard, growing harder beneath a burning stare. Silk snaked around both wrists with slow motions to allow the younger man’s eyes to travel without the threat of being seen.

“Is there something you want, Will?” The tie tied off with a curt tug.

“ _You_.” The voice was rough with want, Louisiana accent blurring edges like a warm tide dipping against a shoreline.

Hannibal leaned down, caging Will in with arms on either side of him, biceps flexing. The younger man leaned back simultaneously, pressing into wooden confines, eyes slipping closed, inhaling deeply. The muscles of his throat tightened with a deep steadying, swallow.

“Would you like me to touch you?”

_Would you allow me the honor to reclaim you?_

“Yes.”

A single index finger slipped gently down lines of a struggling torso. It shivered beneath it touch. His fingers hovered just above a dark head bobbing, straining to be touched, curling around a trimmed trail of hair leading to it, tugging slightly. Will’s hips jerked upward.

“How was that, Will? Is it what you wanted?”

“N-no.”

His tongue slipped out swirling against a nipple, teeth nipping. The younger man’s fingers dug into the wood, breath caught, trembling.

“Do you want more?” Hannibal breathed the words along Will’s ear, pausing to take his pulse with the tip of his tongue, sucking on a lobe of his ear, and continued down his neck, focused once more on covering the other man’s mark with his own.

“Nnnn… yeah.”

He swirled a tongue across imprints of his own teeth. Will let out a low moan, jaw clenching tight. A tongue flicked out of Hannibal’s mouth, eager to taste. He began to suck flesh, scraping with teeth, baring down as the younger man pushed back into his mouth with a cry. Pin pricks of warm blood greeted him, pooling upon his lips. He jerked back to keep from biting to the bone with a snap of teeth, to remove the offending mark of another entirely with a rip of flesh.

“Promise you will only ever allow my hands upon your skin, Will…” A rough want flooded each word as a tongue wrapped around an aching head.

“Ah… H-hannibal…it has always been you…”

Hannibal leaned back to admire his work, another purplish bruise blooming in its place, a tessellating claim. “It gives me great pleasure to hear you say so, Will…”

Blue eyes were blown wide with black, mouth pressed tight, every muscle straining, rigid. “Are you sufficently done marking me?” The younger man hissed between clenched teeth. “If so, I would really like to get to the part where you actually touch me.”

A flash of teeth. “Oh dear William.” A dark smile. “I will never be done marking you.”

Hannibal dragged the younger man’s head forward in a blurred motion, hands fisting silky curls. His hands cupped the sides of Will's face, stroking, before thrusting his cock deep inside a hot, open mouth.

“Will—iam.”

With a gag, the younger man began swallowing hard, choking, tight, wet, burning. Hannibal threw his head back, growling low and deep, thrusting in and out, slower this time. He felt Will’s tongue circling, lips pressing and kneading, sucking on his head, bobbing fast with a hum. Each vibration had fingers twisting along a clever skull, groan of approval rumbling in his chest.

“If any other man so much as…” Hannibal closed his eyes, breath hitching, cock hitting the back of Will’s throat with forceful thrusts. “…touches you again, Will, I promise, I will _gut_ him…” He bit down a moan, tongue licking along his shaft. “… _crack_ open his ribs, spread them blood eagle…” Teeth dragged along his head, breath hitching. “…and force feed you _every single organ,_ one by one.”

_We are each others cracking mirrors, William. Will mine remain unwavering beneath your gaze?_

A guttural growl replied, vibrating against Hannibal’s cock. Will’s head rocked against the wall, clattering in time with the chair, taking every inch thrusting in. White knuckles clung to the chair. He glowered up between thick lashes, eyes flashing, sucking hard, swallowing to the base.

“Moan for me, Will,” Hannibal demanded, breath slamming from his lungs with each tug, pull, and swirl of tongue. “I want to hear it. I want to know you understand.” Lips pulled at his head with gushing spit. “Tell me, Will, tell me.”

_Tell me, I am yours._

A steely glare. A small act of defiance in reply. With a knee, Hannibal began to rub against Will’s cock. The younger man's eyes flashed, desperate for friction, to be allowed to reach release.

A low moan vibrated against the length of Hannibal’s cock, a promise. “Vi… prego.”

“Nnn, William..,” Tunneling hands held tight thick, brown curls. “Bel ragazzo...” A forehead nuzzled against his navel, sinking down. “Tue hai rapito il mio cuore e la mia anima…”

A needy sound begged, cheeks drawn in as Will sucked harder, spit plastering lips and mouth. Hannibal’s breath caught in his throat. _Beautiful._

“Ahh…il mio cuore…sanguina per… te…nnn.”

Will’s eyes squeezed shut with a gagging moan, lost in each rhythmic pull of soft words and violent thrusts. The younger man’s hips rolled with aching pressure, jerking at restraints.

“W-would you like to touch yourself, William?”

Another pleading moan, grinding shamelessly into his rubbing knee.

“Ah, cazzo!” Hannibal came hard with a skull rattling thrust, spilling down a tight throat, hot and thick.

Hannibal pulled out slowly, sensitive from base to tip, breathing hard with both hands planted against the wall to steady. “Il… mio mondo si… e concluso sensza di te,” He whispered a confession quietly, eyes drifting closed.

Rage clouded Will’s face, staring hard at the floor as dark shadows mingled with bright flashes of painful desire. “If you’re quite finished, I would like to be released.” Wrists yanked at the tie, glaring up, white cum dripping down Will’s chin, teeth snapping like a wild animal. "Now, Hannibal."

Hannibal swept a finger across the substance, tasting slowly with a dark chuckle. “Keep still, William. I did not give you permission for release just yet.”

The younger man’s beautifully aching cock jerked in response, a biting curse on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly noted of course is a small crack in Hannibal's armor: allowing Will for the first time to stitch up his wounds. Self inflicted wounds. But an apology of sorts none the less. A faint reestablished trust. 
> 
> A Wartenberg Wheel: a neurological instrument to measure sensitivity
> 
> “Vi… prego.” (I beg you/please.)
> 
> “Bel ragazzo...” A forehead nuzzled against his navel, sinking down. “Tue hai rapito il mio cuore e la mia anima…” (Beautiful boy. You have ravished my heart and soul.)
> 
>  
> 
> “Ahh…il mio cuore…sanguina per… te…nnn.” (My heart bleeds for you.)
> 
> “O cazzo!” (Fuck.)
> 
> “Il… mio mondo si… e concluso sensza di te,” He whispered a confession quietly, eyes drifting closed.  
> (My world ended without you.)


	30. Chapter 30

Restraints loosened with a deliberately slow wind. A dark chuckle brushed at his cheek before pulling away. Will tore at a tie binding his wrists, nails ripping holes and snags into finely woven silk. He flexed numb fingers, eyes trailing across marks rubbed raw and red along his wrists. His eyes snapped up, a chuckle echoing from between a flash of Hannibal’s teeth. With a clatter, the chair fell to the floor.

In a single, long stalking stride, Will closed the space between them. He glared up into stilling maroon eyes. Silk wound around his fists, one wrap at a time. It snapped taut. A bespoke garrote woven in the spaces of separating flesh. A snarl curled on his tongue. The older man gazed down, head tilted with an air of indifference.

Will’s labored breaths fell hard against his lungs, heart slamming in unison, harsh blunting voice addressing, “What do you want from me, Hannibal? I find myself at a bit of a loss as to what kind of mind of games you’re running on me now.”

“What kind of game do you imagine we are playing, William?” Eyes traced the length of his naked frame. "If we are in fact playing at all, we are well matched opponents."

Silk suspended between Will’s wrist with another twist, growling, “The kind where you are entirely incapable of making up your damn mind, Doctor Lecter.” Dark eyes flicked down with a curiosity flickering in them. “Just because I can’t understand what you’re saying, doesn’t mean that I don’t _feel_ every single intonation you breathe across my skin.”

“And what intonation lingers upon my lips?” A finger hooked around the tie, pulling Will forward, a blatant test. "What reverence would you prefer sink into your skin?"

“Do you ever find yourself confused in which order you would prefer to murder, fuck, or possess me, Doctor?”

“It would be a physical impossibility to do at least two of those things if I were take your life, William,” Hannibal leaned down, a corner of his mouth up turned. “My life is far more interesting with you in it. And far more…” A mouth pressed against his lips. “…delicious.”

Will allowed a hot breath to rush between clenched teeth, yanking away. “I am not a broken toy you can pick up and play with whenever it suits you, Hannibal!”

A head tilted. “Are you angry with me, William?”

“Well, I don’t know, Doctor Le—“ A hand clamped over his mouth.

“For clarification, William… and I will not repeat myself again…” The older man stroked hair across his forehead with warm fingertips. “It was you…” Will closed his eyes, struggling as soothing rhythm wound through his hair, palm suffocating his mouth, voice growing quiet. “…who chose to leave the protection of this home.”  

_From the protection of my arms. From my open heart beating in your palms._

A cracking sound exploded along Will’s temple. His eyes flew open. With a snap, red silk dug behind the nape of the older man’s neck, winding tight around the front. In a single motion, he crossed his wrists until the tie dug against Hannibal’s windpipe. A surprised choke filled the room. The older man stumbled forward with the force, balancing on the balls of his feet as Will began to lift.

“I didn’t _leave you_ , Hannibal!” Will shouted with trembling arms, forearms locking, straining until the older man hung above the floor. “I fucking—“ _Care for you_. “—begged you to let me stay! You just couldn’t get out of your own damn way to allow it.” A choking sound replied, short gurgles cut off with snapping wrists. “You elevated good intention to a level of betrayal, without once considering how much it _killed_ me to lie to you. How much…”

_It hurt._

Darkening eyes fluttered closed, arms swinging loosely at the older man’s sides. The entire weight of Hannibal’s body hung limp with compliance, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

_Don’t look at me…_

“Why aren’t you fighting back, Doctor Lecter?” His wrists trembled with another pull and a biting curse. “Aren’t you going to tell me how wrong I am? Put me in place!” An angular face flushed a deep shade of scarlet. “What am I to you?” Lids fell across dark eyes flashing with something for a moment before disappearing. A plea for forgiveness? Will squeezed his eyes tight to block out the after image shimmering in his mind. “God, what do you want from me?”

With a growl, arms gave way with a violent shake, stumbling back. Hannibal dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. Lifeless limbs sprawled across hardwood. Will’s breath hitched. A clamor of panic rose as chalk outlines filtered out of thin air. A choking gasp for air rang out. The older man jerked up right, hands flying to his throat. He gasped in another lungful of air with a sway. Trembling fingers unwrapped thin silken ribbons of blood from around his neck.

Flashing eyes looked up with an upturned mouth. “You had…” The older man’s voice rasped, knee bending in an attempt to sit upright. “…always promised… with your hands…” A choking chuckle shook his chest. “A tie is hardly… a decent… substitute.”

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking smirk at me right now, Hannibal!” Will snarled back with a sudden twist of red flooding the corners of his eyes.

A half strangled laugh answered. A choking sound followed.

Hannibal’s knees scraped across hardwood, limp palms skittering after. Will’s eyes trailed along a red path leading from his hands to knotting wrists pulling along the older man’s clavicle.

“Get up.”

A slow blink replied.

“On your feet.”

Black eyes burned bright.

“Hannibal, I swear to God!”

With another blink, Hannibal rose unsteadily to his feet. With a growl, he pulled forward. The older man pushed hair back from his face with squared shoulders. Will’s eyes fell to a thick bobbing cock pressed against his thigh. Hot breath flared inside his lungs. A corner of his mouth curled. Hannibal was staring down the bridge of his nose, chin tilted by a degree, arms fastened to his sides with curling fists.

“Fuck!” Will snarled with snapping teeth and shoving hands, pain tugging along his shaft.

The older man sprawled on the bed, looking up with an open mouth, onyx eyes shot through with red ravenous sparks. Muscles tightened and released along a strong torso as Will climbed onto the bed. Lack of oxygen blazed with clenching lungs. His knees jammed into biceps beneath, pinning them into sinking sheets. Tipping forward, Will adjusted, crouching, until the physical weight of his body ensured Hannibal struggled to breath, sucking in another gasp for air. A chest heaved beneath his thighs, shaking. The older man was laughing. _Laughing._

Will gritted teeth, nails sinking into a strong jaw line. “God fucking dammit, you’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

Another smirk. “My... apologies, William.” Hannibal’s eyes moved over his face, studying, analyzing. “The darkness of rage bathes your skin in such an exquisite blossom of heat.”

“D-don’t you dare…”

Frenzied fingers dragged the silk tie around the older man’s neck, looped into a sloppy Windsor knot. A sideways glance looked on disapprovingly. With a rough tug, Will guided the knot against Hannibal’s throat, tugging harder, tighter.

“This isn't a game! Stop laughing! I could choke the life out of you!”

A fluttering smile. “L-love-ly…”

“ _Why are you still smiling?_ ” A jerk on the tie, a strangled sound.

The hard line of Hannibal’s cock pressed tight beneath his thigh with each movement, throbbing as pressure increased along vocal cords humming out vulgar compliments. Red hazed Will’s vision. He pulled tight to feel the jerk of Hannibal’s cock, his own jerking in unison. His cheeks burned red. Half strangled moans reached his ears between curving lips.

“Is this amusing you, Doctor Lecter?” He reached down, fingers curling along his shaft, stroking. “Do you get some deep sadistic pleasure knowing that I can’t decide whether or not I want to fuck or kill you? Not knowing if I want it. Or if you want me to. Knowing there is no longer a distinguishable difference…” A bitter laugh escaped him. “I thought I knew what kind of crazy I was, but this… this…” The words trailed off.

_This is wrong._

Another hum choked out, a purring of Will’s name, an approval. He rocked back on heels, twisting the tie around a single fist, dragging the older man’s head forward with unrelenting pressure. Every strangled sound was a sigh of acceptance, of pleasure. Rage and lust skittered down his skin in fleshy bumps. Will fisted his other hand around Hannibal’s heavy cock. It pulsed harder with every curling finger. He began to slide a hand up and down the shaft with an iron grip, working it fast and hard.

He blinked hard. Shapes blurred, room spinning, dizzy from adrenaline. Drowning in tendrils of power. Delirious with the strangled moans filling the room, heavy, erratic. Will’s vision began to blur, yanking hard as Hannibal’s hips thrust into his grip, eyes screwed tight, short gasps petering out. The older man’s face burned bright. Cum dripped down Will’s fingers, squeezing tight at a dark gaze locked with his, challenging.

“Even with this tie choking out every breath you try to take…” Will resisted the urge to bring a back hand across the face looking back. “… and my hand wrapped tight around your cock…” He squeezed below a pulsing head, forcibly delaying climax. “You believe you’re still in control, don’t you, Doctor Lecter?”

The eyes darkened. _Always._ Hannibal’s silent laughter brushed the corners of his mind.

Will hissed, eyes narrowing. He yanked hard on the tie. A succession of choked sounds stringing one after the other. Hannibal was trying to speak.

“Are you ready to beg for your release?”

Pressure eased, raw, red flesh bleeding into silken edges, deepening with hues of purpling constraint.

“You are… suffering needlessly, Will…” Fingertips brushed against his arousal, snaking along the head with one long pull. “Particularly when your greatest challenge…” A mouth burned along his shoulder. Will threw his head back, aching for release. “…happens to be control over yourself…” The tie tightened around Hannibal’s throat instinctively, remaining words strained as pressure returned. “A man… without self control… is a city under siege, ravaged, and torn apart without the protection of its walls.”

_Fucking Christ. Half strangled and choking, you still manage to sound fucking eloquent and pretentious, bordering on formal condescension, Hannibal._

“Fuck you, Doctor Lecter.” A hand hit the older man’s away as fire burned through Will’s mouth, hands shaking. “ _Fuck. You._ ”

Hannibal’s eyebrows lifted slightly, unable to speak. _Is that something you would enjoy, Will?_

“You are such a fucking manipulative ass!”

A low guttural sound, eyes darkening dangerously to slits.

_Language. Or shall I remind you how you shall speak to me in this house while washing your mouth out with a bar of soap?_

Will’s mind swirled, imagined voice grating along crimson stained temporal lobes, shadowed by darkness, radiating with heat. “Shut up, Hannibal, just shut up!” Blood simmered inside his veins, tie pulling up. “Even now, you can’t keep quiet! Is now really the best time to find offense at a few dirty words?”

Another growl dark with promise. _Enough._

“Shut up,” Will snarled, yanking Hannibal’s head back by the hair. "Knees up." Eyes blown black snapped up with a flinching cheek and a ragged gasp. “Against your chest.”

Beads of glistening sweat spread dark stains across red silk as Will loosened the tie, tip swaying dangerously down the curve of Hannibal’s chest. The older man sucked in a mouthful of air and held it, knees lifting. Long fingers curled around his shins, flexing along bone one by one. Dark eyes dilated with pinpricks of red as Will leaned in, running a tongue along his perineum, lapping down and around to return to the base of a thick, obediently presented cock.

A hand clamped down his wrist, two fingers stilling at a red rimmed entrance. _Show me the radiance of your wrath, William…_ Hannibal shook his head with a curt jerking motion, pushing the fingers away. _Cruelty at the hands of all I hold dear is a just punishment…_

“ _You_ are _not_ in control right now, Doctor Lecter,” Will growled, choking on pain mirrored in the older man’s eyes, aching with unspoken violence, fixing his gaze on the tie. “You will do as _I_ say.” A hand reached for his. He slapped it away, pulling lightly on the tie. “Until I give you permission to do otherwise.”

Hannibal’s lips twisted slightly. Another half smirk. Metal clinked as Will popped open a bottle of lube, squirting its thick substance his fingers, glaring down.

“Will—“

Rocking forward, Will crushed his mouth on Hannibal. “Quiet…” He commanded with a muffle of burning lips and clashing tongues.

An index finger swirled between cheeks. Once. Twice. A choking moan filled his mouth. Will slid in one slicked finger, pushing until another uncontrolled groan burned along his teeth. Then two. A low growl rumbling deep within his chest, pleased as a steely glint faded from Hannibal’s eyes, breath scattering, ragged.

He pushed in a third finger, leaning in as the older man struggled to choke down a hungry, drawling moan. “There is truly nothing more beautiful than watching you lose all control…”

Will scissored fingers unbearably wide, stroking deep against Hannibal’s prostrate with a slow, unhurried rocking motion, reveling in bitten back half growls rising to primal snarls, jagged teeth clenching with a snapping sound.

“Can you feel it, Hannibal? Can you feel my fingers fucking you?” Will hissed, dangerously low. “Is that filthy enough for your fucking uptight sensibilities? Does foreign poetry flood your mouth now or just the salt of my tongue?” His fingers swirled with another stroke. "Have you longed for me to bring you to your knees, Hannibal, knowing I could destroy you with my mere absence?"

Sheets twisted beneath fingers tremoring violently, clenching tight and releasing. A snarl flinched on Hannibal’s cheek. Will smiled down, vaguely aware of grinding his hips to heat swirling through them. He pressed in, stroking fast and hard, pressed deep, up to his knuckles. Breath hissed out. The older man threw his head back, rocking hips into the rhythm of a hand driving him to pieces.

“Should I see how tight you really are?” Will growled, slipping his fingers out, smiling down at glittering eyes staring up, swirling slick liquid over his aching cock. “See you…” His eyes fluttered closed, stroking, phantom heat of the older man’s mouth on him. “…take me? Swallowing me whole for a change?” Will fisted hips in a bruising grip, looking down. “Would you like me to devour you, Doctor Lecter?”

A roaring cry ripped from Hannibal’s throat, nails digging into Will’s hips, forcefully driving his cock inside Hannibal in a single motion, buried deep to the hilt. Hannibal cried out, nails digging deep into flesh. His cock drove through tight folds, relentlessly battering insides of the older man. Will slowed the thrust of his hips as grimaces pinched Hannibal’s face as he hissed between clenched teeth, sensing a wave of pain.

Black eyes shot up. An open palm came down in a violent smack against Will’s ass. It stung. “ _Move, William!_ ” Hannibal hissed, eyes glowing against darkness, lust and violence colliding. Another smack nearly sent Will reeling, cock jerking in response. “Now.”

Will slammed back in, a wild moan clawing out of his chest, deepening the penetration with each thrust, movements brutal, flesh smacking against flesh. He angled his hips, ramming against the hard nut of the older man’s prostrate. A cry ripped from Hannibal’s throat, Will nearly keened as sharp heels dragged tight at the small of his back.

“God, it’s not right…”

Hannibal’s heels set an agonizing pace, bodies crashing together, cock pummeling from base to tip, balls slapping against the back of the older man’s thighs.

“We aren’t… right… for each nnn… other.”

Will’s fingers clenched down on peaking hips beneath his grip, burying his cock deep, nearly coming from the scene unfurling below. With a blur of limbs and a single jerking motion, Hannibal yanked backwards, red silk tightening at his throat, edges wound around his fist, cutting off his own air with a satisfied strangled moan.

“ _JesusfuckingChristDoctorLecter_ …” Will groaned, nails sinking deep, dragging the tie away, fisting its knot against straining tendons of the older man’s neck.

Hannibal’s eyes shot black with lust, voice raw and hoarse. “Tight, William, I want it tight.”

“Are you seeking redemption or my forgiveness, Hannibal?” Will’s voice cracked, fingers instinctively winding around silky bloody ribbons.

A hand snapped out, dragging Will’s head into the curve of the older man’s shoulder, cheek brushing along his face with hot breath. “ _Fuck me hard, William.”_

“G-god…” The crude swear echoed thick with Hannibal’s accent, ringing in Will’s ears, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his cock, tortuously hard again inside a hot, tight sheath.

 "Until I reach the edge, until the last breath is struggling from my body…” Dark need dropped perilously a few octaves. “…and then, I want you to keep going.”  

_So wrong, so wrong. So very right._

Will rammed in, thrusting wildly, rutting, desperate, head thrown back. “D-don’t you dare…” Each slam brought out a cacophony of guttural moans and cursing. “Let me walk out that door… ever ahh… again.” Red silk cut deep into skin of the older man’s throat. “D-don’t…” Will tipped his head up, mouth trembling. “Please… don’t…”

A strangled vibration replied. _Never._ A hand fluttered to tangle in the back of his hair, pulling with insistence. _Never again._ Hannibal locked eyes with Will, a silent whisper. _How beautiful._

Will struggled to breathe, gasping, air burning lungs, driving against Hannibal’s prostrate, teeth grinding to refocus each movement.

“D-does it feel… good? Do y-you…nnn want me to…? Are you… are you…? Am I...?”

His vision blurred red. The older man’s hand settled over his, forcing them to yank the tie tighter in unison. White hot heat pooled inside him, pressure building violently.

“Oh god, Doctor Lecter.”

With each jagged thrust, Hannibal rocked his hips up, willingly impaled, eyes snapping open as Will dragged the other fist through wisps of hair, yanking to attention. “L-look at me… only me…”

_Please god, never look anywhere else with desire, Hannibal._

Deep hues of lavender and shades of purple filtered across the older man’s face, eyes slightly bulging, tears streaming down cheeks, strangled moans escaping. He couldn’t tell if the moans were of pleasure or pain, or if one blurred into the other, or if he even cared.

A voice, Will’s voice, was moaning helplessly, stuck on a repetitive loop, “God, this is so wrong.”

Will crushed an open mouth, swallowing remnants of air in their lungs, needlessly, carelessly, as if the tie wasn’t choking the life out of Hannibal fast enough. He slammed in. Trickling lines of hot liquid dripped down his chest. Hannibal’s body thrashed with the force of release, eyes rolling back in his head. A silken noose choked out last bits of breath. Will’s vision went black, nothing but his screams filling the air, climax consuming every nerve ending. His body seized violently with burning heat of release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine any form of suggested couple's counseling would go something like:
> 
> Dear Hannibal, Please give consideration to attending this next session with me. Enclosed is the name and address of a recommended therapist. Yours, Will
> 
> Dear Will, Enclosed is the recipe for boeuf bourguignon. Respectfully yours, Hannibal 
> 
> Obligatory warning: Always remember to practice safety in all play, with the use of safe words, and an experienced partner, and a mind numbing amount of informed research. Asphyxia, or breath control play, is absolutely life threatening with or without skill, and/or damaging over long periods of time, as it cuts off blood to the brain.


	31. Chapter 31

An open palm and choked gasp for breath brought Hannibal racing back from engulfing darkness. Another breath. Another smack of skin. And then another. Red and black receded from his vision, spinning and hazy. His cheek burned. His neck throbbed with a sharp ache. Hannibal’s eyes blinked open. His hand shot out, crushing a wrist hurtling towards him in a single fist.

“ _Desist_!” A raw, demonic voice snarled out of Hannibal’s throat, grip threatening to snap the wrist in half.

Will crouched over him, brown curls damp and clinging to eyes wild with desperation. He reeked of fear. His breath came out in short, rasping gasps for air, choking each one down between clenched teeth. Sweat rolled down curves of his torso, thighs quivering in a devastating embrace against Hannibal’s ribcage. His white knuckled fists crushed sheets on either side of his head. His skin was the pallor of moonlight drifting behind a wisp of grey clouds. His mouth was drawn low in a grimace, trying to free his wrist from the grasp.

“You know very well… there are rules in place about hitting above the chest, Will,” Hannibal growled, fingers flexing, pressed into a racing pulse, licking his lips with sudden thirst, glass shards scraping insides of his throat.

Will pulled at the hand shackling his wrists, eyes glittering, shouting, “I wouldn’t have had to hit you had you not asked me to nearly choke you to death!”

Hannibal’s other hand twined around the base of the younger man’s occipital bone, fingers stroking gently across tensed vertebrae. He lifted his head slightly. Throbbing radiated around his neck with sharp bursts of crackling heat. He propped up on one elbow, balancing precariously to look up into a devastating storm crashing across Will’s shaking face.

“Were you really so unwilling, Will, if it was your own hands that placed the noose at my throat?” Hannibal countered, hooking a finger in silk at his throat and tearing it away. “If I recall, you were quite in control of the situation when you attacked me. Quite aroused by the sounds I was making as you choked me.”

“Please… “ The younger man’s voice shook, barely above a hoarse whisper. “Stop.”

Glistening tears sprang into corners of Will’s eyes, long lashes fluttering along pale cheeks. He jerked his head away, gaze fixed on a wall behind Hannibal, unseeing. Fingers slid off the younger man’s body, releasing the wrist in his grip abruptly, fingertips trailing an apology across shivering skin.

Lines of his mouth tensed, drawing down, as Hannibal reached to apply a light steadying pressure of his palm above Will’s heart. The younger man flinched away, rocking back just out of reach. Will put knees firmly between them, arms curling around his legs, face buried against his knees.

_Please don’t look at me._

Hannibal pressed a fist against his forehead as if it would relieve the pressure or quiet screams trailing in the corners of his mind. _Am I completely incapable of restraint where you are concerned, dear Will? Or does my fascination simply outweigh your own? Will my fascination with testing the tensile strength of your body fade with sounds of your soul bending, humming, pliant with resignation?_ Two fingers pinched at the bridge, eyes tilting up. _Only my words are capable of breaking you, William._

A sigh. _What is this feeling crawling up, beating against my chest for release?_ Tentatively, he reached forward. Wary eyes followed the movement of his hand, closing briefly as it neared. Hannibal tangled hands in a hap hazardous mop of brown curls, caressing gently, tracing small circles. Will trembled with flashing eyes. When he leaned down to press lips where his hands were, the figure shrank back with a soft cry. Hannibal’s teeth snapped inside his mouth, gritting together.

With a thrash of his fist, Hannibal flung the tie then a metal instrument from the bed. He dragged the body close, curling his larger frame around a smaller one, trapping them both beneath a flutter of sheets. He pressed a mouth into the back of Will’s neck, placing another against his shoulder, arms tangled across the front of a heaving chest. The younger man struggled, writhing, crying out. Hannibal coiled his limbs tighter against ones flailing out, caging them in flesh and soft silk. A hum of disapproval echoed in his throat. With a violent shudder, Will melted into his embrace stilling, quiet.

“Better?” Hannibal asked quietly, stroking a firm hand down the younger man’s spine.

A shuddering breath answered. “Y-yes…”

“You continue to fight my efforts to bring you comfort, William. Why?”

A face buried into their entwined fingers, tears hot and wet. “Probably for the same reason a mongoose struggles against death’s embrace offered by the cobra swallowing him whole.”

Gentle, soothing fingertips glided down the curled body seeking to hide, corners of his mouth pulling down with them. “By slipping into my embrace, do you feel you are slipping into that of the Reaper’s as well, to be swallowed whole, to lose your very existence by submission?”

_Have you willingly lost yourself within my palace walls, Will?_

A bitter chuckle. “Submitting to death would be a much easier endeavor than fighting against dark cravings that rise inside of me at your touch, Hannibal, at your very command.”

“There are many types of deviation in this world, Will, sexual or otherwise that simply do not fit what is deemed socially acceptable among mass consensus of ignorance.” Hannibal forced his voice to remain even, imbuing edges with warm tones of reassurance, of comfort. Each sound was laced with a sense of clinical curiosity. “The definition of deviation literally means a measurable value or quantifiable sum.” He paused. “Do you think those individuals would consider their desire for unusual sexual stimulation and urges quantifiable by a standard set of rules or means?”

The younger man shuddered, twisting, silent.

“Do you consider your base sexual urges abnormal, or wrong, because they go against the ideological norm, William, even if they excite you, arouse you, help you reach the release of orgasm?”

“Well, Doctor Lecter…” Will turned in the embrace with a rustle of sheets and limbs. Pools of rain water gazed up, muddied with tears, rippling with a wave of unspoken emotion. “If you have been told all your life you are considered abnormal, does that make the person’s entire being an undesirable deviation on the whole to be shunned and ostracized by those same measurable rules?” Fingers curled over trembling lips. “A social death penalty.”

Hannibal tilted his head. A dark chuckle bubbled out of the younger man’s mouth, face unmatched with the sound. Lines of his face twisted in agony. Will’s eyes flicked side to side, glassy. The younger man was remembering, adrift, sinking into some darkened corner of his past.

“I think we can both agree by quantifiable measure I have never been considered _normal_ by any standard,” Will breathed out, wincing, sensitive and raw.

Hannibal cupped palms around flinching cheeks to steady shadows drifting across Will’s face, brushing them away with a flick of thumbs, voice rough with a need he was unable to understand, unable to describe. “The world is often cruel to that which they cannot understand,” Hannibal reminded, firmly pressing his mouth against the other, to quiet it.

Tears leaked out of the corners Will’s eyes, dripping down quavering lips. His gaze fragmented, shattering, undone by words accompanied by the pressure of touch. Hannibal followed each one, balancing the quivering drops on his fingertips before placing them in his mouth. They tasted of fragile foaming waves caressing a shoreline .

Brushing three fingers against the side of Will’s face, Hannibal leaned in close, near enough for their lips to almost brush. Glistening blue looked back, cries bitten back. He took in a steadying breath, thoughts tangling as an aching sigh breathed along his mouth. A shudder skittered up from the base of his spine. Another sensation, unfamiliar, unnerving, human.

“You are transcendent beyond quantifiable means, William, you are the embodiment of perfection stitched together with the darkest throws of passion and imagination,” Hannibal spoke softly, gaze falling, running a thumb along a bottom lip, pushing open until the younger man took in a breath.

With a quiver, the younger man’s mouth parted to take in another breath. Warmth tugged inside his chest. Hannibal bent down to drink them in, breathing comfort into the younger man’s lungs. To revel in each foreign sensation on his tongue as limbs trembled and shivered.

“Is that what draws you to me, Hannibal, the idea that you can somehow take over those dark desires and claim them as your own, to fully consume me?” Will’s voice was hushed, searching hands following, seeking an anchor of Hannibal’s sheltering arms and chest.

A low chuckle rumbled. Dipping his head, Hannibal brushed a cheek across a flittering pulse, pressing a smile into a curving shoulder. His arms wrapped around a shivering frame, drawing close, until they were pressed from head to toe in skin. His eyes closed, lost in warmth, heart beating faster, unbidden and uncontrolled.

“In order to fully appreciate your transcendence, I would have to help your body leave the planes of this realm to fully consume you.”  
  
“You mean… eat me?”

“Yes, Will _.”_

 _Would you appreciate the beauty of knowing you would live on inside me even after death, William? One I no longer imagine at my hands._ He tunneled a hand in soft curls, pressing a kiss into a temple. _You are far to precious to lose to Death’s embrace._ Hannibal sucked in a breath, holding. _Is this …?_ No. He wouldn’t finish that thought, it was alien and unbidden, and entirely too close.

Will drew back suddenly, eyes wide and blinking, reply wavering between half jokes, trembling with hints of anxiety. “Great,” He laughed a little, running a shaking hand through his hair.

_Would you allow me an eternity to search for your smile, William? To see its glow at each sunrise. To fall asleep to its soft invitation at sunset._

“I had really hoped we’d gotten past that. Am I going to be looking over my shoulder at dinner time wondering if the buzzing from our kitchen is a blender full of mimosas or you sharpening a blade to carve my skull open?”

 _Our kitchen._ Hannibal temporarily ceased to breathe.

Hannibal wrinkled his nose, an easy smile up ticking a corner of his mouth. His life consisted of a rigid sense of right and wrong, in the kitchen at least, where the only things worthwhile in life remained ones done fully by his hands alone. His only creations worth serving up were ones skillfully crafted with hours of preparation, molded by a refined palate and a distinct sense of taste.

 _And you deserve only the best…_ Hannibal’s mind drifted, fingers following them, clouded by another sensation he couldn’t name.

He tapped a light hand against Will’s nose in reprimand with a shake of his head to clear it. “I might suggest you are losing your grip on reality again, Will, if you entertain for a moment that either of those things could exist in any realm, even imagined. Aside from serving you up as a main course.”

Will smirked. “My mistake.” A pause. “So an electric blender for Christmas is entirely out of the question then?”

Hannibal’s mouth twitched, brow arching slightly. _An undignified suggestion._ Something stirred in his chest at the hint of teasing. _Does your skin glow beneath each violent, bruising touch, William, seeking to match each mark to swirling fingerprints?_

“To answer your previous query, my current fascination with you requires your skull to remain fully in tact.”

Will’s eyes closed as a sweep of fingers ran down the side of his face. “So what you’re saying is you are currently satisfied with possessing my body in a more meta-physical sense?” Long eyelashes fluttered gently. “Or rather, you enjoy playing with your food.”

“If you consider my desire to drink in every inch of you from the inside out, to savor each moment with you daily…” Hannibal’s lips found tears clinging to cheeks, kissing away their quivering remains. “…then yes.”

A wrench of pain clouded by devotion flickered in Will’s eyes, mouth open with a sigh of pain or prayer. Hannibal watched his gaze shimmer, falling deep into depths of pure, blinding acceptance. Another sharp sensation twisted in Hannibal’s heart.

“The purest forms of possession over another human being are ones rising from depths of inner conflict within you, William.” Hannibal’s mouth moved slowly along a collarbone, dipping in at a clavicle. “A desire to control externally that which feels out of control internally.”

With a gentle push, Will fell back into soft pillows, hand locked into fingers twining around his own, stretched above their heads. _Which of us burns brighter with loss of control in this moment, Will? Are either of us capable of being in control at all?_

“And when you are in control, Doctor Lecter, what then?” Will asked with an aching strain, gentle strands of hair brushing against Hannibal’s neck, nuzzling close for safety.

“When you allow me to dominate you in the bedroom or in any other arena, you are surrendering your demons at my feet…” Hannibal lifted his head, fingers tightening around ones in his, steadily gazing back into Will’s eyes with a held breath, murmuring, “You allow me to control each darkening shadow. To posses them is to posses you, so as to free your mind fully for the pain and pleasure it brings you.” His breath stilled, heartbeat thrumming against his chest at the sound of Will’s breath hitching. “For the pleasure I bring you.”

“And when it ceases to bring me pleasure?” The young man lifted his chin, as if to resist melting both into words and embrace.

A small smile pulled at his lips. “If it ceased to bring you pleasure, sweet William…” Hannibal's fingers splayed across his throat unconsciously, stroking a throbbing line of red. “You would resist the urge to respond with such willingness to revel in the violence your hands, mouth, and body brings against mine. You would resist reveling in the pleasure it brings us both.”

Will turned his head away, lashes trembling along cheeks. “I… I don’t revel in it…” His voice cracked.

“Did your curiosity peak with violence even as a boy, Will?” Hannibal asked with a tilt of his head, curiosity spiking in his voice.

_Oh William. How ever will I resist peeling back your layers of armor, stripping away your flesh, to gaze at the dark beauty of what lies beneath?_

“Fuck off, Lecter.” Blue eyes glowed, words terse.

Hannibal sunk against Will’s body, brushing their half hard cocks together, eyelids and voice dipping low. “Later, dear Will, perhaps a bit later.”

“How can you do this to me?” Will writhed, arms straining, chest arching up. “Bring me to full attention like this with just your words, knowing what it is you’re doing to me? Knowing I delight in every punishing strike of your hands, every low blow of your words creeping inside my head?” Will squeezed his eyes shut as Hannibal leaned in to lick a line playfully across a livid suck bruise on his neck. “It’s—It’s _wrong_ , Hannibal.”

The younger man’s voice faltered. Its very tenor heated Hannibal’s blood. He leaned in to drink off each word from the younger man’s lips, savoring each flick of tongues, fingers tangled and curling with each movement of their mouths.

“Do you believe I would be able to do so if I didn’t take such deep satisfaction in those same qualities when you fully control me?” A raw whisper lingered between their lips, locking their gazes. “Are you so completely unaware of the effect you have on me, the power you have always had over me with just a bite of sharp words? A flick of your tongue? A passing glance of your eyes?”

Will’s mouth and body quivered under a thrum of hands searching skin, pressing against his ribcage, tangling in his hair, and returning to outstretched hands. A pang of hunger filled Hannibal’s heart, desperate to know how each bone fit together. How each shadow hugged against muscles inside curving limbs. How every inch of flesh would taste in his mouth. He stuffed down a warning in his head to regain control, to stop before it was too late.

“What I believe is irrelevant,” Will replied sharply, looking away. Hannibal flinched, a crack in his armor widening, a hushed whisper breathed along his throat, “Somewhere during the course of our dark entanglement, you became the only living soul to truly know me, to see me, and not turn away.”

“Why would anyone turn from a mind as beautiful as yours, Will? You are such a fascinating being when you allow yourself to be seen.”

Blue eyes closed suddenly against Hannibal’s searching gaze, sucking in a breath, body going rigid. “You can’t say things like that to me, Hannibal. You cannot glorify the dark impulses inside of me and call them… beautiful.” Will stared up at the ceiling, head thrown back as if struggling to breathe, fragile and bending against the sound of his voice. “You can’t. You just can’t say them.”

_You can’t say them. You’ll break me._

“Are you suggesting our mutual participation in honesty grates on you? Or you simply do not believe the words to be true?”

Will was staring up at him again, brows furrowed in a mixture of pain, caught between asking him to stop and begging him to keep going.

“Only the celestial moon and I have truly seen you bathed in blood, savoring the darkness, embracing your becoming, and I can assure you it was truly breathtaking,” Hannibal replied, running his thumbs across to smooth deepening creases.

“Embracing you is the same as embracing murder and blood spilt nights, wedded to my nightmarish desires to fulfill yours.”

“Would you consider it nightmarish to be wedded to that which accepts you as completely as I do, William?”

Hannibal realized he was holding his breath. His lungs ached. He clenched them tighter closed. He would be unable to breathe again without Will’s answer. He would cease to breathe at all if he couldn’t spend every moment until his last breath, discovering the man before him, burning up both their bodies in heat of violent embrace, in the throws of some unearthly, indescribable desire.

“What I know, is that somewhere between losing my mind, losing all that I’ve known, giving up on what I thought I was, and falling off a cliff into the murky depths of the Atlantic with you in my arms…”

Will twisted free, framing Hannibal’s face with both of his hands, words a hushed whisper. Hannibal lungs were screaming, burning from the inside out. His eyes slipped closed, leaning into searching fingertips, begging Will to tear them out, to end his suffering.

“… is that I have fallen irrevocably in love with you, Hannibal.” Will breathed, forcing air suddenly through Hannibal’s lungs. “I am uncertain if there is way back. And I am uncertain if I would survive separation. Where do my desires to bury myself within you begin and where do yours end? You are twisted somewhere deep, etched into my very bones, blackened against my soul.”

Hannibal opened his eyes with a blink, warm lips pressing in. His hands had tangled in silky curls to steady himself from a different kind of fall.

_How many years has the silence of our mouths built walls around us? To keep each other out. To keep each other in. How long have we fallen into a bittersweet embrace of death?_

“It is _not_ love for me, William.” Raw words rolled off Hannibal’s tongue, harsh, unformulated.

With a punishing shove of his hands, Will pulled away, stealing away into the quiet stream of his mind, gaze boring a hole into sheets. An unforgivable separation.

“Oh yes, I forgot. _Inconvenient compassion_.” Will’s lip curled, spitting out the last word, dripping bitter resentment. “Semantics.”

“Love is a tawdry, played out word in today’s society, a passing enunciation between lips of naked bodies intertwined in rusted out vehicles. A tasteless word to forgive the trespassing of utter debauchery and carnal sin,” Hannibal answered, voice growing steadily louder, strengthened by Will finally meeting his gaze. He drew the face in with both hands, latching in strands of hair, letting out a breath when the younger man allowed it. “What I feel for you is akin to the reverence of worship as you allow your mind and body to unfurl open, bare, naked for only me to see, as you allow me to lie at your feet, an intimate experience of _ana-stauro.”_

The younger man’s nose crinkled, tone slightly mocking. “Did you actually just compare yourself to the fictional Biblical character of Jesus Christ?”

Warmth spread inside Hannibal’s chest, breathing gravely, “A crucifixion I would accept with open arms…” He gathered Will’s hand in his own, pressing it firmly over his heart. How it beat faster, harder, with a stark thrum of more than pounding blood. “… if it was you slamming the rusted blade deep within my heart, if you kept faithful watch as my chest caved in, and you savored the very last breath choking life from me.”

Will fixed his gaze on their hands tangled against Hannibal’s chest, lost in the steady, throbbing sensation. Hannibal saw his face change, still, eyes clouding and he knew the younger man could see it. A bloodied organ of muscle and tissue, hot and sticky, throbbing with a sickening symphony beat slowly his own palms, blood pooling and dripping down his fingers.

_Would you put your lips to it, teeth sinking in, devouring each artery and flesh to sustain your life? Have you starved at my table, William, from the unspoken words gathering between us? Will you forgive me for pressing your mouth to my skin and forcing you to drink?_

Hannibal sucked in a breath, picturing the life sized heart he had left displayed in an Italian cathedral, flayed remnants of a dead man, a literal Valentine of muscle and sinew. A thrill skittered across his chest. It had been the closest declaration of undying love and devotion he had been able to manage to give the younger man.

_My life is yours, William._

The last bits of his armor shattered, falling away with scattered metallic shards. In a single motion, Hannibal scooped a lighter frame into his arms, holding tight against his chest, afraid to let go, afraid to hold too tight. _Fear._ Hannibal closed his eyes as the sensation washed over, breathing Will in, an embodiment of knotted pine trees with hints of fresh fallen snow, gnarled bodies stretched up to worship beneath heaven’s knowing gaze.

Will placed a hand against his cheek, flushed from the gentle gesture, body trembling, voice quavering. “H-hannibal…?”

A breath forced through his lungs, jaw clenching as emotions crashed down, dragging him under in waves with the simple flicker of soft eyes gazing up.

“To keep you safe, I would burn entire cities to the ground.” Hannibal growled roughly, pressing his mouth against Will’s temple. “To find you, I would overturn the very expanse of heaven and earth, tearing apart man and gods alike, leaving a trail of bodies in my wake.” His hands snaked down the torso, pulling Will in, breath quickening at the feel of Will’s heart beginning to slam in his chest. “To keep you as mine alone, I would crush the bones of any man or woman who dared to look upon you with even a hint of desire.”

Hannibal’s grip bore down into soft flesh at the words in a bruising grip, a sudden pang of jealousy and desire ripping through. Hannibal eased shaking hands back to Will’s face, turning to gaze down into wavering pools of blue water, baptizing him with quivering glimpses of adoration, of fear of being seen, of being wanted, of being accepted, desperate to hide, to run.

“To protect you, I would tear apart any man limb to limb who dared bring a hand against you. If an object of your wrath offended you, I would slit their throat at your command.” Hannibal swallowed, pressing his lips against Will’s murmuring, “I would slit my own, if it was what you desired.”

Trembling fingers pressed against his mouth, a choking sound. “Y-you can’t…”

_You can’t say those things to me. You’ll break me._

“I… you don’t have to say it, Hannibal.” A finger pressed against his mouth to silence. “I understand what you’re saying. You don’t have to say it to me,” Will breathed words against his chest, warm and fluttering, hands tightly curled around Hannibal’s neck to hold steady, to push away. “Pointedly plain speech wouldn’t suit you.”

Hannibal sucked in a breath, still, holding it. He let it out slowly, tilting up Will’s face to press a mouth against him with a soft murmur. “Would it suit you, Will, to hear me say it?”

“I know you… feel for me.” A cracking sound, fluttering, aching. “That’s enough.”

“It is not enough, William.” Hannibal replied, voice rough, rasping, flaring every nerve ending with sparks, every tendril screaming to be held back, to remain unspoken, to remain in control, protected, safe, to keep from setting them both ablaze. “It will never be enough…”

Gently, Hannibal pried Will from his chest, heart fluttering at every sigh and soft sigh that filled the air between them. Eyes wide and glistening looked back, open, vulnerable, straining, resisting the heavy weight threatening to close them, to hide from an unwavering gaze.

Hannibal pressed palms, slowly, tenderly along reddening cheeks, holding the face steady, to memorize it. Moonlight filtered in from open windows. He would tuck the moment safely inside the walls of his mind palace. Dark lines of Will’s lips parted with a tortured sigh, another breath, jagged and choking on unspoken emotion etched inside his bones, unfurling the very fiber of his being. Silence stretched between them.

A strangled sound of pain, loosed itself from Will’s throat, head beginning to turn, gaze desperate to focus anywhere but Hannibal’s. “P-please… I can’t.”

Hannibal returned the younger man’s face to his full gaze with a light touch. “You are not fading, William.” A hint of a smile touched his lips, warm and painful. “If you are, please promise you will fade into me, to hold your body until you return, to yourself, to me.”

A wounded sound answered, Will’s hands trembling against wrists that held him, shaking.

"It is not _love_ , William, _it is mutually assured destruction_. It is putting the others heart in outstretched palms of supplication, praying the other will crush it in the most horrifyingly way imaginable.”

Hannibal suffocated on emotions tangling in his throat, liberated from his tongue as tears tangled in Will’s eyes. With both hands, he continued stroking sides of the younger man’s face with forced gentleness, fearful the other might break beneath sensation, that he might break anyway without trying.

“Will you accept me as I am, for what I am, knowing what I could do to you? What I might still do to you? What we might do to each other, until the last of our breath leaves one or both of us?”

A tremor shook bones, tongue threatening to choke, strangled by words shaking loose. _Is this how it would feel to have your hands buried deep within my chest, Will, squeezing tight?_ With a sway, Hannibal held on unsteadily, nearing an utterance of prayer, clutching at the younger man. A glow radiated beneath soft skin and aching eyes, burning. _Set us both ablaze, William, fuse us together for eternity._

Eyes cast down to his chin, a hand reaching up to touch his cheek, trembling. “I cannot exist without you, Hannibal…”

In a blur of motion, Will’s limbs tangled around Hannibal’s frame dragging close mouths crushed together. The younger man sucked in the words with a ragged breath, each one filling his lungs. A tongue slipped inside, reverently swirling. With another inhale, breath pulled out of Hannibal’s lungs, words devoured, settling with charring bones and ash of becoming.

Hannibal pressed the lighter frame down, never parting their mouths, hands, limbs, bodies entwined, lost in burning skin, of falling to his knees at the alter of all he worshiped. Their bodies moved in a steady rhythm, a fall and rise of tide pulled and pushed beneath a guiding moon, gentle, unhurried, reverential; a different kind of silent prayer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue eyes closed suddenly against Hannibal’s searching gaze, sucking in a breath, body going rigid. “You can’t say things like that to me, Hannibal. You cannot glorify the dark impulses inside of me and call them… beautiful.” Will stared up at the ceiling, head thrown back as if struggling to breathe, fragile and bending against the sound of his voice. “You can’t. You just can’t say them.”
> 
> “Only the celestial moon and I have truly seen you bathed in blood, savoring the darkness, embracing your becoming, and I can assure you it was truly breathtaking,” Hannibal replied, running his thumbs across to smooth deepening creases.
> 
> “Embracing you is the same as embracing murder and blood spilt nights, wedded to my nightmarish desires to fulfill yours.”
> 
> “Would you consider it nightmarish to be wedded to that which accepts you as completely as I do, William?”
> 
> * * *  
> And we've finally come full circle to where I initially began writing. <3 
> 
> Please be patient with chapter updates/replies! I am currently traveling.


	32. Chapter 32

With an unsteady hand, Will pushed curls from his eyes as he limped around an open door and closed it quietly with a push. Raising hands to his lips, he blew hot air between palms, rubbing them together to create a heated friction. He pressed a right shoulder into a wall for support, boots dragging mud across hardwood as he clutched his other shoulder in a trembling palm. Warm red trickled between curling fingers. He shuffled forward with a soft sigh, leaning his head against crown molding to rest his eyes for a moment. He blinked them open, gingerly lifting a throbbing ankle to stare quietly into the dining room.

 Grey light cascaded in from an open window, dust particles shimmering and winking in each filtering ray falling across dark oak. White light rimmed around a shadowed figure sitting at the head of the table, melding into even darker surroundings. A glow of faint blue brushed thin outlines of fine stitching as a light colored cup lifted to shadowed lips. Black lettering rustled with each flutter of white paper clutched between long fingers, pinpricks of light darting back and forth to consume each word. It was safe to look. Ink smudged the divot in Hannibal’s arching lips. Will smiled gently, shifting, fingers twitching at his side, wondering how the French language would taste if he were to drink them off the older man’s mouth.

_Without the presence of your moving mouth, you are truly lovely to look at in your undisturbed element, Hannibal._

“Well, the good news is I patched the hole in the roof…” Will spoke softly, head tilting back with a sigh, unprepared to shatter the still quiet image painted in hues of scattering dust. "So. No more leaks."

Dark eyes swung up from a newspaper. It deflated with a crumple along the table’s edge, cup stilling between fingertips.

“The bad news is…” He shuffled a little forward with a limp and a half wincing smile. “We may need to invest in a ladder. Preferably one from _this_ century.”

A cup was carefully placed into its saucer. With a drag of chair legs, Hannibal pushed back from the table and rose slowly. Will felt eyes sweeping from his face, to his hand clutching red stained threads, then down to a boot hovering just above hardwood in a cold, calculated line.

Glancing down, Will realized a trail of muddied partial boot prints trailed after in his wake. “I… will clean that,” He called out, eyes following the path with reddening cheeks. He sucked in a breath and held it. Hard shadowed angles of the older man’s face hovered inches above his own. “I-I’m sorry…”

Will pressed his back into wood, shifting to gulp in a loss of oxygen between them. Fingers curled into the neckline of his shirt with darkening eyes. “Hannibal, what are you—“ Will tumbled back with a light shove, sprawling into a kitchen chair in a crumpling heap. He glanced up, wincing as a blackened glitter filled the older man’s rapt gaze before fading. “Oh…”

Hannibal carefully folded into a chair across from him, white cuffed wrists resting on knees clad in light grey trousers, fingers pressed into tight lines between them. “It’s raining,” A low voice addressed with a sweep of eyes flicking from the window to his face.

“It wasn’t when I started…” Will answered wryly, shifting nimbly in the chair to stretch out an aching ankle.

“A foolish quip.” White cotton rolled up straining muscles, carefully folded above bending elbows reaching out. “Had you let me know of your plans for the afternoon, you may have avoided such an injury.”

“Are you thanking or scolding me right now, Doctor Lecter?” Will eyed hands reaching for his ankle warily, shifting away. “If you’re going for eternally grateful, you may want to rephrase the last bit.”

Ice seeped through Hannibal’s gaze before melting away, reaching back down.

Will quirked his head to the side, carefully watching the older man’s placid face still as eyes slid up to his face. “Are you—“ Fingers curled around a suede boot. _Worried or…?_ A hand lightly yanked his ankle upward. He let out a sharp cry as it settled on corner of the chair. _Angry_. “I’m fine,” He growled, trying to jerk away. “Hey, wait—“ Brown laces unwound with sharp tugs, unleashing a steady throb with each loosening drag. He pulled away. A strong hand jerked back. “No, Hannibal, what are you doing! You’re going to—“

With another pull, Hannibal pressed the boot tight between his hip and thigh with curling fingers, keeping it firmly in place, a low growl following, “Sit… still.”

Brows knitted low on Will’s head, surveying the damage as the boot slipped off. Mud blotted textured creases of fine fabric. He looked away, staring down at a bending knee as the older man lifted his other leg. Softer fingers unlaced the second boot, creating a mirrored inkblot along the other thigh before joining its companion on the floor with a thud.

“It would appear you have twisted your ankle, Will…” He swallowed hard as fingers pulled away thick socks, caressing bare swollen skin.

“I’m fine.”

Breath fluttered along his neck. “Let me have a look at your shoulder.” Will closed his eyes, sucking in a breath, holding on to the wound tighter. Fingers laced in his own with an insistent tug. “Will.”

With another pull, Will melted into the chair, head falling back. He let out a hot breath. Fabric ripped. Cool air caressed with stinging touches along a small gash of rising flesh. Sucking in another steadying lungful of air, Will opened his eyes to gaze back into maroon ones studying his injuries with a hard lined mouth.

“I’ll be alright, Hannibal,” He insisted roughly, mouth twisting in a wince, dragging his foot away. “Just a scratch. I am capable of taking care of myself you know.”

Abruptly, the older man rose to his feet, staring down the bridge of his nose. Something shadowed the hollow of his cheeks for a moment. He spun on his heel. Will tracked slow, long strides as Hannibal disappeared from the room with an aching heart.

“Shit,” He mumbled, pressing a palm into his face. “I didn’t…”

_Mean it like that._

His eyes drifted to an open door leading out to the hallway. Pans rattled in the kitchen. Footsteps shuffled above his head. Hard shoes tapped down stairs. A shadow drifted through the hall with an armful of blurred shapes. It continued without glancing in.

“Hannibal, come on,” Will groaned, gripping an edge of the table to pull up into a standing position. “Seriously. You’re going to make me come to you. This is a stupid kind of punishment, even from you.”

_Stubborn. Unappreciative. And mine._

Will’s toes curled along a small rug, weaving down a hallway with muttered half curses and short bites of breath. He hobbled through an ajar doorframe leading into the library.

“Are you going to sulk every time something doesn’t go your way, Hannibal? Because I need to kn—“

Breath left his lungs, shoved against a closing door. A shredding t-shirt yanked over his head with a yelp. Fingers sank into his shoulders, pinning, twisting around his open wound.

“I thought…” Will ground out with a snap of teeth, glaring back into black unblinking eyes. “Doctors were supposed to do no harm.”

“In this particular case, William…” Hannibal pressed gleaming teeth along his jaw, fingers undoing a button and pushing jeans to the floor. “It is century old heirlooms passed down generation to generation from my Uncle Robertus in need of protection.”

Will flattened a cheek against the door, staring at spattered mud covering the older man’s trousers from peripheral vision. “Sorry,” He mumbled weakly.

Stumbling forward, he fell into Hannibal’s arms hooking under his own, splaying across straining shoulders. “There are a great deal of things I am willing to sacrifice or tolerate, Will…” A hand blotted a dry towel at his bloodied shoulder. Will let his head tilt back, staring up at the ceiling as words and fingertips enclosed, breath catching. “Irreparable damage of that which is dear to me is not one of them.”

_Do I no longer fall into the category of an acceptable loss? Suitable collateral damage._

“Right.” Will curled a hand at his side to keep from reaching up and pulling Hannibal in, aching for closeness, to fill their mouths with warm breathing. “No mud on the expensive, antique furniture. Got it.”

A sharp sideways look glared down. “Place all of your weight on me, Will, unless you would prefer to be carried.”

“ _Very_ funny.” Will snapped back, softening hard lines of the older man’s mouth with a thumb, leaning in with narrowed eyes, expression blank.

Strong arms lowered him carefully into soft cushions lining a velvet chaise lounge. He shivered as warmth left bare skin to be consumed by enveloping cold air. His eyes followed Hannibal’s crouching figure, palming a flickering flame before placing it between rough bodies filling a stone fireplace. They crackled to life with hues of yellow and orange, glowing faint lines along the older man’s face gazing back. Will felt pinned to cushions, sinking in, unable to look away.

_Will you ever allow me behind the veil, Hannibal? To clutch your burdens to my chest, to carry them safely in my heart. To care for you._

A black medical bag tucked under Hannibal’s arm with great care, lifting a steaming silver pan between steady hands. He knelt carefully at Will’s feet, placing it on the floor and sliding a bag between pillows at his side. The older man dipped his head, reaching for a swollen ankle. Glowing light framed his cheeks, outlining harsh lines of his mouth drawing down. Fingers curled around his foot, gently turning to survey deepening violet splotches. Warm steam floated up with each throbbing ache, growing hot as his foot was lowered towards shimmering water.

Will jerked back with a yelp, “Hot!”

Fingers slid across the back of his heel, gripping the arch in a firm palm. Hannibal studied his face briefly with a tilting head. He stilled beneath the sharp gaze. The older man nodded briefly before returning his attention back to the task. He plunged both hands and Will’s ankle into hot water. His fingers dug into velvet with a hiss, toes curling as prickling burns raced up his leg.

“H-hurts…” He let out with gritting teeth, eyes fixed on pink creeping up Hannibal’s forearms as he kept both their limbs fully submerged, gazing up with an unreadable stare.

_Don’t look at me that way. It’s cruel._

Fine grains kneaded against his pulsing ankle with rolling palms, smoothing flesh. His ankle jerked with each pull, teeth clamped together to keep silent.

“You will allow me to decide what course of action is necessary to best suit your needs.”

_Always._

Hannibal looked up as if hearing the thought aloud, caressing a bit softer, fingertips coursing up a bunching calf. “Two minutes of hot water and Epsom salts is considered one of the most effective ways to treat a sprained ankle, William,” He advised, reaching for the other foot and placing it beside the other carefully.

“What is considered the most effective way to treat scald burns then?” Will leaned forward, holding a towel on his clotting wound, eyeing shades of burgundy wine staining the older man’s hands. “For future reference.”

He inhaled sharply as burning warm palms settled on his knees, smoothing up his thighs. “You may very well be the most argumentative and uncooperative patient I have ever had the displeasure of having walk through my open doors, William,” Hannibal answered dryly, placing an injured ankle on a stool, pillow propping up to elevate it.

“It wouldn’t be very challenging for you otherwise. And you like a challenge.” With a half shrug, Will settled back to adjust the angle of his foot to find Hannibal looking at him with something akin to amusement. “Hey, at least I wasn’t the guy who was best friends with a musically inclined serial killer, and at least I didn’t try to…”

_To kill you._

Will’s cheeks flushed red, scooting back into pillows. “Wait. Yeah, I did.” He placed a hand over his eyes with a nervous laugh. “Though to be fair, that’s what you get for walking around in my fever addled brain and flinging open all the doors, Hannibal. You never know what’s lurking behind them.”

A heart fluttered in his chest as hands pulled away, scooting the pan on the other side of the couch. An attempt to keep further uncoordinated injury to a minimal. A half hearted attempt at hiding another emotion creeping into angled cheeks. Will watched a dress shirt stretching across Hannibal’s back, longing to reach out and run hands along the scars beneath. Bumps trailed down Will’s chest, settling around his thighs, and creeping along his legs. He shivered again, eyeing a plush cashmere blanket slung across a wingback chair, achingly cold. He let out a small sigh, gaze following where his hands could not reach to pull Hannibal back.

_Will I ever be able to bear space between us again?_

“Could I have that?” He glanced expectantly between the blanket and older man’s eyes peering over his shoulder, following a pointing index finger.

With a loll of his head, Hannibal studied it for a moment as if considering. “No.”

Rising, Hannibal placed a knee next to Will’s thigh, staring down as a warm palm settled along the length of his spine. He looked up, struggling to breathe as the older man’s face came near with parted lips. His eyes fluttered closed. He waited. Eyes slid open to find darkening ones studying his mouth. With a light push forward, a dress shoe sank down into cushions, followed by another. A leg swung around until the older man was balancing on cushions.

“Thought you wanted to minimize damage?”

Hannibal sank in slowly behind, grey wool scratching softly along his skin as knees and thighs rested on either side of his own. “I am.”

Fingertips curled around his torso, pulling until Will was pressed tight into a chest rising with steady rises and falls. “You'll be crushed..."

"Not your concern."

"C-can't be comfortable.”

"My comfort is unnecessary."

Words shuddered out of his mouth with hitched breaths. “We’ll never be able to separate with my ankle banged up like this.”

_Inside of the frame of your arms, Hannibal, I am home.  
_

“Are you having a difficult time seeing the lines of demarcation blurring between us?” A hot mouth settled along the curve of his neck, pulling the towel away.

“Having… a hard time…” His head fell back into Hannibal’s shoulder with fluttering lashes as finger stroked down the length of his chest in gentle waves, lips moving along the seam of his neck and jaw. “…not blurring them further.”

_Repairing the cracking lines until we are whole once more.  
_

“There is no greater surrender than the demolition of walls and borders giving way to another.” A soft mouth tangled in his hair, pulling, throat exposed for exploration, fingers splaying along its front in a gentle squeeze.

“It is painful to be stripped of all that reigned for years long before its fall,” Will replied quietly, arching his neck up, wincing as teeth sucked along flesh, blossoming with heat. “Hann…” Fingers constricted along his throat, cutting off the long drawl, stroking softly.

“If one were to give in willingly to the demands and terms of surrender it would be less painful for all involved.”

“Are you asking me to hire some pseudo-French carpenter for future house renovation, Hannibal?” He reached back, curling fingers along the nape of warm neck. He turned his head slightly, able to see a chin out of the corner of his eyes. “Or are you simply trying to ask me to be more mindful of my surroundings?”

_To be more careful. With myself. For you?_

A biting scent of alcohol filled Will’s nostrils. “A mere suggestion of standing on a firm, dry surface while I hold the ladder as you climb down.”

“Annoyingly practical, Doctor.” He jerked as stinging liquid pressed into his wound, steadied by fingers wound around his throat.

Fingertips stopped caressing, lingering above his heart, pressing in to count each beat. “Perhaps some walls…” Hannibal drew closer, mouthing each low word along his clavicle to soothe the ache. “…simply should never be climbed.”

With closing eyes, Will settled back into a warm blanket of skin and sheltering bone, twisting until his body melded into the older man’s with a soft sigh of bliss. Fingers stroked through his hair. A hum of sound left his lips.

“You would never be able to resist.” He pressed a gentle kiss into a hand along his chest, imagining a soft smile of Hannibal’s mouth behind his eyes. “Not knowing would kill you.”

“Walls offer safety and protection that sheer curiosity and words cannot.” An imperceptible tremor ran through arms holding him. “Do you trust me, William?”

Will tilted his chin up, stroking fingertips along Hannibal’s cheeks. Maroon eyes faded behind fluttering eyelids, breathing in deep.

“You know I do,” He answered softly.

A warm palm settled over his eyes, firelight flickering between small cracks, shielding them both. “Some secrets are meant to be buried beneath mortar and stone. Undiscovered and forgotten.”

“Is this your way of saying I was right, Hannibal? Because if so I would like it in writing.”

“This…” A mouth settled over his lips in warm, slow kiss before pulling away, palm firmly in place. “…keeps you here in my arms, William, safe from my ever searching gaze to know you.”

“I…” Will’s voice cracked, shrugging close to be buried beneath enclosing arms. “…would like to know you.”

He felt Hannibal’s chest still, ceasing to breathe for a moment. “That’s enough for now, William,” A ragged voice answered, body curling tight along his frame. “You need your strength. Rest here with me a moment.” Will sank further in, pressing his forehead into a crook of the older man’s arm shielding his eyes. “And Will?”

“Yeah?” He answered with a sleepy half yawn.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the slow updates! Still traveling. Though I hope everyone had a lovely holiday weekend! 
> 
> Religious imagery. It just types itself out! What can I say.


	33. Chapter 33

Crimson tips bleeding into golden hues of fragile bodies outlined with a rising sun, rustling gently with a cool breeze. Hannibal adjusted a burgundy jacket draped around broad shoulders, leaning forward to rest his forehead in the palm of his left hand. He stared down at withering white marguerites scattered throughout grass beneath dress shoes. He scooted forward on a stone bench, lifting their delicate drooping heads with hesitant fingertips. With a gentle tug, Hannibal plucked one before tucking it in his breast pocket, accenting a deep red pocket square with delicate petals. He considered for a moment reaching down to sweep a dozen into his hands and fill corners of Will’s bedroom with words he had been unable to speak. They had been living lives filled with entwining moments of intimate separation, trying to find footholds in sinking sand, to place their feet in disappearing tracks leading them back to the other. He left them to wilt at his feet.

With a light brush, Hannibal’s fingers curled around his bicep with a sigh, holding tight to a memory of arms reaching out for him with bloodied lips. He found it strange to long for cramped closed quarters that kept the younger man tucked safely in his arms, swaying to a rhythm of touch and soft breathing across skin. He tried to recall a time before Will. Spaced out moments where he was content to want only what he could provide. When he needed no one. Would they ever be one again, tangled sleeping beneath shared sheets, without the threat of violence in their eyes? Without Death calling out at their backs? Holding close to burn the other up in unspoken trespassing. Was it possible to long for after images of what was, with the presence of who they were becoming firmly rooted in each room?

“What the fuck is this, Hannibal?”

A harsh sound snapped the older man out of reverie. Stacked currency sprawled, jumping out from an open duffle bag landing at his feet. He brushed moisture quickly from blinking eyes before looking up. Hannibal inhaled sharply. A terry robe sprawled open across water droplets clinging to a naked heaving chest. It barely remained closed as its matching belt knotted loosely around hidden hips and thighs. Crashing lightning filled bright blue flashing eyes. Fists trembled at Will’s side, glaring down with a half snarl perched on inviting lips.

“You may wish to rephrase that particular question with something a little more civil, Will,” Hannibal replied with a tilt of his head, placing a hand in his trouser pocket to keep from pulling forward and drinking the younger man blindly in.

“I don’t appreciate being _manipulated_ by you, Doctor Lecter,” Will hissed back, eyes narrowing with a burning rage. “Only to be reminded of my sins stashed away in a safe hidden behind a painting. You cannot hang them above my head to watch over me as I sleep!”

“Does it speak louder to you than former trespassing we have committed against each other over the years?” Hannibal carefully reached forward, gazing up with bated breath, fingers curling around a shaking wrist. “Do you truly believe I would draw you close, press you to my skin, only to wound you with my words, William?”

A barking laugh left the younger man. “You have marked me with your hands. You have cut me with your blade and left me to die.” Will’s brows knitted together, prying the hand from his wrist. Hannibal turned his head, cheek flinching. “You… used to burn me from the inside out for fun, Hannibal. _Why_. Why would I imagine any differently? A change of scenery only implies different disguises for the monsters lurking near by.”

Tears clung to long lashes, staring straight down into Hannibal’s soul and gutting with a soft cry.

“If… you’re going to kill me, god, do it. But please, don’t lie to me.” The older man looked away, fingers clenching along his knee, a pang stuttering his heart to a stop. “Please don’t…” A sob broke loose above him. His eyes snapped closed. “God, don’t tell me you… care.”

Blindly, Hannibal's fists crushed terry cloth and dragged forward with violent force. A light body tumbled into his lap. Pain exploded across his face as a hand struck out with a wounded yelp. His arms encircled tighter until Will was coiled in his embrace, struggling, gasping for air, unable to break free.

“N-no, I don’t want this,” A small voice called out, fingers raking across his cheek. “I don’t want this.” Another ragged sob. “Stop, please, stop. Let me go.” With unseeing eyes, Hannibal curled legs around ones striking out, hooking the tips of his shoes around flailing ankles until they ceased to struggle. “I don’t want this…” A weaker sound. Hot trickles trailed down Hannibal’s forearm. “I don’t want… you.”

Breath choked air out of Hannibal’s lungs in a wounded plea, crumpling against the body held to his chest, a thousand knives ripping in. “ _Will_.”

“L-let me go, Hannibal… I-I can’t…” A fist thumped the wall of his chest with bruising force. “Why…why are you doing this to me?”

“You are asking me…” He breathed out shakily, curling his face into the nape of the younger man’s neck, heart thudding slower with each second inside his chest. “…to embrace my death with open arms, William.”

“Please...” Hot tears seeped through his dress shirt, spreading.

“Will.”

_Choke the life out of me with your hands, Will, but spare me the bite of your mouth._

“Please.”

_Are you asking me to take my life, William…?_

Hannibal’s entire body froze, blood running frigid. “What… are you asking of me, Will?” He asked with a hollow voice, trembling.

“Take it.”

_…or your own? To take back the life I breathed into you?_

“I don’t want it. Take it. _”_

“I…” Hannibal found a shuddering mouth, crushing teeth to teeth with a scrape, mouthing against trembling lips. “…would not survive.”

Fingers raked down his scalp, yanking hard, Will’s voice grating glass. “Look at me, Hannibal.” Biting down on his lower lip, Hannibal blinked eyes open. Blazing blue looked back. “You _can’t_ say that to me.” Unforgiving fingers pulled again until Hannibal panted with each tug, eyes misting. “Did you think I wouldn’t realize what the combination was? That you could lock away our past without another thought to punish me later when it suited you?”

“It was not mine to take, Will,” Hannibal answered, wincing hard, each word shaking painfully out, arm throbbing with its sound. “It was not mine to give.” His eyes slid away. “Not without your consent.”

“I have never taken you to be a man of outward displays of feeling, Doctor, let alone one with whims of sentimentality.” Will’s mouth ground along his cheek, fingers pulling until he was forced to look back. “Terribly unoriginal for a man as clever as you. Your combinations are as obvious as your dull choice of aliases.” The younger man leaned back, arms encircling his neck, nails digging into his pulse. “It was the day we met.”

Breath hitched in Hannibal’s lungs, burning. “Easier to remember.”

“Harder to forget.”

“Will…” Hannibal reached for the younger man’s face, black spreading throughout his chest, aching for the return of gentle eyes and fading flesh, confession longing to escape. “I—“

“Take the goddamn money, Hannibal,” Will growled, cutting him off. “I did it to…” A cheek flinched, pausing for a moment. “It is not yours to give or to take. It’s _mine_. And I am giving it you. To us. It’s _ours_. For once in your life, let someone else provide for you. If we are going to share anything, we should at least share in the guilt of good intention.” The younger man stopped breathing, robe shoved down his arms, exposing his chest to cooling air. “Don’t you dare…”

_Is this your fragile attempt to seek my silence, Will? To protect us both._

With shaking hands, Hannibal gathered legs around his waist until Will was facing him, knees pressed into stone. A dull throbbing ache welled inside his chest, begging to be buried deeper, suffocated by rushing blood and blackened lungs. It rose steadily with each burning breath and flaring nostrils.

“May I…?” His fingers moved deftly across a drawn mouth, voice cracking. Will clenched his jaw with a steely gaze, skin glowing with faint touches of sunlight. He dragged the jacket from around his shoulders, poised in fingertips, prepared to blanket the body he desperately needed to press into the ground. He was unable to breathe with each aching heart beat, suffocating alive with descending dirt, longing to fill the distance between their limbs in a shallow, unmarked grave. “Please…”

“If you ruin one more piece of your wardrobe in a misguided attempt to apologize, Hannibal, I swear to God I am leaving.”

“Will…” He traced a softening mouth, careful to fold the jacket beside their bodies with an unsteady hand, unable to look away.

“Let go.” Hannibal’s fingers unconsciously curled into fabric clinging to the younger man’s skin. “Just let go…” A gentle hum of light filled the voice pressing into his temple.

With downcast eyes, Hannibal released, limbs vanishing one by one. With a turn of his head, he stared off into the distance, clawing within to clamp down a desperate longing, of loneliness he had never known before the absence of the younger man’s touch. A fate worse than death. A penance for a lifetime of suffering.

“Stop thinking. It creates ungodly creases in your forehead.” Fingers curled around the ones clinging to his knee, prying them away one at a time. “If you have to think…” His palm melded with hot, damp skin and an uncontrolled gasp. “…think only of me.”

With a tremor, Hannibal forced his gaze away from a dimming horizon and back to a wavering voice demanding attention. White heat raced down his palm pressed into flesh, skittering along his chest, and pooling with heavy need between his legs. Rigid, flexing thighs framed a thicket of dark curls outlining a beautifully hard cock. Will planted his feet a little wider on the ground, white fabric draped around forearms, flushed with pink and a slow fade of encroaching color. His unblinking eyes flashed with cravings mirrored by the eyes looking back.

“Will…”

Hannibal’s eyes strayed to the side, calculating how quickly he could get them back to the house, tripping over rugs and furniture, before his mouth sank deep into soft flesh.

“No.”

His eyes swung back. “A cruel display of affection, William.” The corners of his mouth drew down. "Do you often find yourself giving gifts out of anger?"

"Often." The younger man reached out, fingers curling in his waistcoat, lifting him to his feet with another pull. “Here.” Will stepped in close, inches of space between their bodies, watching closely as Hannibal struggled to remain still, to hold back with ragged breathing. “I want you to show me…” His mouth went dry as the younger man placed lips on his throat, tongue flicking out to gauge his racing pulse. “Earn my forgiveness right here.”

The older man’s lips parted, hesitantly reaching out as eyes closed beneath his touch. “Would you absolve me of all sin, William?”

“It…” Will pressed their bodies together, arms encircling his waist, shaking as fingers pulled forward. “…would depend upon the nature of forgiveness.”

Hannibal effortlessly lifted the younger man into his arms and held close to inhale a dew drop scent of wildflowers draped along his skin. A frail, unattainable beauty. He carefully lowered them to damp earth, pushing the robe further open as hands pulled with a needy sound, muffled quiet as their lips settled into splitting seams. Legs wound around his own, heels digging into his calves, pushing at the backs of his shoes before dragging up, until Hannibal melded their bodies into a single blurring shape of seeking hands and mouths.

“Ma fleur fragile…” He pressed teeth into writhing thighs, working his way up, reveling in short moans each nip elicited. Will grasped at shoulder seams of his dress shirt, desperate to place Hannibal exactly where he wanted, frustration flushing the corners of his mouth, struggling to do so. “Allez vous dépérir dans l'Hiver de mon affection? Ou fleurir sous mes mains?”

Mist gathered in the corners of Will’s eyes, pulling until Hannibal’s mouth rested above his own with fluttering breaths, fingertips trailing along his throat. “Show me without words.”

“And if I cannot display the depth of all I feel for you, William?” Hannibal responded on a whispering breeze, stroking the sides of his face with an unknown sense of profound loss. “If you are never able to see it?”

“Try…” Soft lips pressed on his own. Once. Quivering.

“If I am to show you…” His fingertips settled along the younger man’s brows, drawing eyelids closed. “Then you are to feel without sight.” He placed a kiss along the corner of his mouth. “A shared silence.”

A small nod replied. Shielded from his own unfamiliar pain flickering with ripples of empathy in Will’s eyes, Hannibal tugged a tie loose and slipped open a single button at his throat as if was the source, the cause, creating the simple act of breathing into a near insurmountable feat. His fingers curled in soft hair lining the younger man’s neck, thumb splaying across his cheek, lifting until the upturned face arched up with low toned sighs.

_May I look upon your face without the threat of your eyes upon rising, William, upon each setting sun? Knowing all of our unknown realities, tangled lives, and violence of years between us rest just beyond your fluttering lashes, a destruction of my own making._

With slow motions, Hannibal began to drink against Will’s mouth, running hands along every inch of skin available to explore as arms sank away, falling limp, crushing withering forms beneath upturned palms. His lips hovered above, pulling slightly away, mouth followed by the whisper of his name. An undeserved supplication of reverence. He covered the mouth again, to keep it silent, desperate to blot out its soft, fluttering sound. It stirred ungodly demons inside his lungs.

A low moan filled his mouth. His fingers trailed along a hardening cock, rolling foreskin up then down, rigid with vibrations seeping into the back of his throat. He kissed Will’s mouth harder until they were both dragging in breath through their noses. How long would the younger man allow them to suffocate? He was unwilling to part their mouths, vision hazing as liquid dripped down his fingers. Thighs fell open with another muffled sound, back arching as Hannibal stroked wet tips between the younger man’s cheeks, tracing with light pressure, barely touching.

Air rushed in as he pulled away. Will’s lips were swollen pink, gasping, face lifting with a soft cry, desperate for the unyielding connection to return, to consume. Lips pressed tight together to keep silent behind closed eyes. Hannibal licked them open, rewarding warm breath with a swirl of fingertips and tongue. His cock was desperate to join them together as one, warmth leaking and spreading along silk linen. He pushed lightly into an entrance, a pained groan humming along his taste buds. Velvet heat surrounded slick fingers, intensely focused on spreading with another finger, lungs catching with each noise Will was making inside his mouth. Each sound rising with symphonic notes, hips lifting from grass stained terry cloth. He pushed until the younger man was bucking, stroking sensitive areas, knuckles buried deep.

Will grabbed a fistful of Hannibal’s hair, silent, lashes fluttering. _I need you._

Reluctantly, Hannibal parted their mouths, a sharp breath sticking as fingers jerked along his fly, opening it with a whining sound. He pushed frenzied hands away, yanking open the belt buckle, shoving until his cock sprang free, slapping along the inside of the younger man’s thigh. He swallowed down a curse before pinning trembling wrists into a single palm. He kissed his way up then down the length of Will’s body, counting each rib with his lips. When the younger man began to cry out, writhing, trembling, Hannibal rewarded them both with sliding shafts and heads, letting out a low moan of his own.

He wrapped a hand around his length, slipping smooth edges along a perineum, sliding across shivering thighs, brushing between clenching cheeks. Hannibal bit down hard until blood trickled along the corner of his mouth. He pressed gently along the entrance, pushing enough for Will to moan, to feel the press of his head, not enough to sink in, to end both their suffering. Need beat inside his chest, desperate to claim, to mark, to erase the moments before this one and replace them only with pitching notes and unfurling pleasure.

With each drag of his shaft palmed in a dry grip, pressed lightly at the entrance, Will’s thighs shook harder, fingers curling into earth to hold his body in place. A palm covered his mouth, desperate to drown out the soft needy sounds coming out. Liquid dripped along the younger man’s sternum, trickling between his legs, until their ragged breathing matched pace with the time of their hips seeking each other. Will swore forcefully as Hannibal rocked into him, cock enveloped by tight heat. He grunted in a bruising grip, sinking in bit by bit, breath letting out in a rush as the younger man bucked up, burying him to the hilt.

Knees came down on either side of his hips, heels digging into the back of his thighs, squeezing tight for leverage. Will thrust his hips upward with desperate half moans, riding hard, skin slapping together. Hannibal’s mouth hung open as white heat burned in his groin with each disappearing bit of flesh swallowed whole, buried deeper with each stroke. Hands tugged on his belt loops violently, threatening to tear each one seam to seam if Hannibal refused to meet each stroke, harder, faster.

Digging a hand beneath the small of Will’s back, Hannibal ground his cock into the younger man’s entrance with rolling hips, creating a slow burning friction. Beads of sweat dripped along a heaving chest, pooling in a dipping navel. He leaned in to lick a cooling line between them. Will moaned again and again, fingers lacing along the back of his neck, pulling until the length of their bodies rocked together in unison.

“Come o-on, Hann-ibal…” A hot mouth pressed along the curve of his ear, eyes closing at the dark promise of burning nights to follow of heat and sex, of entwined fingers lacing his skin back together upon completion, tucking his entrails back in with ragged stitches.

With a slight adjustment, he rode a little harder until Will was grasping at his clothes, his hair, with nails and teeth and fingertips and small sharp heels. He waited until Will was mumbling inaudible phrases along his jaw line, stroking each sensitive spot, to increase the pressure.

“God, H-hann…” Hannibal’s cock jerked as fingers, yanked his dress shirt out, fingers splaying along his hips to quicken the pace, seeking skin. Red marks formed along curving cheeks with each biting thrust of zipper teeth. “Come on…” He swallowed hard as a tongue licked up his throat, pounding in harder with each groan and lick. “Tell me you’re going to come, Hannibal…” A hand reached around his thigh, cupping his balls and holding tight as he cursed, slamming in, vision blurring. “Tell me,” A sharp echoing plea rang in his ears. “Leave me wanting.”

With a snarl, Hannibal fisted Will’s cock and jerked hard, unforgiving, stroking him inside and out until he was a mess of writhing limbs and harsh utterances of pure noise. He slammed harder, hips pumping, palm dragging mercilessly. Will let out a yell of desperation, wildly thrusting onto his cock, back into his fist, unable to see past a blur of black and red shadowing his vision. He drove Will’s body into the ground, moving them forward in a line of dirt, forehead buried in an arcing shoulder inhaling hot breath and mingling sweat.

“Apologize… Will.” He demanded, threading his fingers momentarily in damp curls and pulling lightly, before reaching back down.

“Oh god. Oh. God.” A hot mouth let out between clenched teeth, tears tangled in lashes. “Hann… Hannibal, unnn, nnn...” Fingers curled in his hair to hold tight. "God." Hot heat spilled down his wrist and fingers with a pulsating throb and bucking hips. “God— I love you, Hannibal.”

“ _Will-iam_.”

A hoarse scream ripped through his throat, cock jerking hard, spasming again and again. Will held on tighter, limbs entwining around his hips, heels stroking down his shaking thighs. The younger man tucked his forehead into a curving shoulder with soft palms, allowing himself to be held. Hannibal rocked slowly in and out, white melting along the back of his eyes, limbs trembling. He was grounded by the feel of Will’s arms pulling close, murmuring into his skin when his knees gave way, draped across the body beneath. He sank into the sensation of crumbling, allowing warmth to rush over in cloying waves of desperate gentleness, ceasing to breathe.

A mouth curved lightly along his cheek. “Robe is ruined.”

“Mm.”

“Trousers are stained with mud and grass.”

“Mm.”

“Perhaps you should stop wearing clothing altogether?”

“Mmm…” Hannibal struggled to open his eyes, easing carefully out of the younger man, gaze locked on parting lips sighing as they disconnected. “I suspect you want to replace each part of me bit by bit, Will…”

“Would you let me?” Will asked softly, kissing back.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re on your own.”

“Oh?”

“No one could ever possibly surpass your level of ostentation…” Soft light filled the younger man’s eyes, running fingertips up his throat. Ocean blue wavered back, blinking hard. “My heart longed for all of you as you are, Hannibal…” His eyes slipped shut, inhaling slowly. “What else could I ask for except for your darkness to fill my own with deeper shades of black to create a perfect fit?” A palm settled on his cheek. “Will you ever let me see you?”

His palm curved around the back of one clinging to his face, pressing into it, eyes squeezing tighter shut. “All of what I am is yours, William.”

Fingertips stroked softly before drawing away. “Come on, get up. I’m starved.”

“What would you like to prepare for our meal?” Hannibal asked, rolling away.

He ached to join them together once more, to become one, to separate further, to stretch in the space tucked safely between them. Each conjoining more painful than the last. He gazed up at a graying sky, flinging an arm across his face, soft adoration of Will’s voice scoring bleeding marks inside his chest.

“I believe the phrase you’re still dancing around and searching for is: _whom_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we had to talk about those stacks of money at some point. While we continue to hint at what Hannibal was willing to give and having a terribly difficult time forming into words. Where grappling and struggling with unnamed emotion for Will is akin to being buried in shallow grave. 
> 
>    
> (Blessed thanks to Razorblade for making our French BETTER! Because god knows I remember so little haha.)
> 
> Brief Translations:  
> “Ma fleur fragile…” (My Fragile Flower)  
> “Allez vous dépérir dans l'Hiver de mon affection? Ou fleurir sous mes mains?”  
> (Will you wither in the Winter of my affection? Or flower beneath my hands?)


	34. Chapter 34

“I have something to show you, Will.” Hannibal’s voice echoed from the study, muffled by a closed door, pressed into pages of books lining the room wall to wall.

Will eyed an ivory china plate with a suspicious squint, scrubbing delicately at a small imagined smudge, muttering, “Something to show me…?”

“If you would prefer to address the plate on this matter, I could come back later.” 

Hannibal mirrored in the plate’s reflection, leaning back against the counter with languid movements, hands hanging from trouser pockets. A predator coming to rest, content with a watchful gaze. A small smile touched corners of the older man’s lips warm before disappearing. Exposed skin peeked out from a few undone buttons on the front of a heather grey dress shirt, waistcoat hanging open in invitation, drawing Will’s immediate attention.

Will scrubbed the image away, tilting his head, pointing through a dishcloth clutched in his hand. His eyes narrowed as if it would protect him from the machinations he imagined, with certainty, turned inside Hannibal’s head. It excited him, terrified him, warmed his very blood.

“The last time you said you had something to show me, it involved you cuffing me to the wheel of your Aston Martin, telling me to take a drive in some rouse of a romantic countryside destination we never quite reached, and then us nearly careening to our deaths all because you _‘had something to show me._ ’”

Hannibal shrugged, another smile widening across his face, this one particularly pleased; a lion with a canary between its teeth. “I recall that being quite a pleasurable experience.”

Will felt eyes trailing down his spine, hot, searing, peeling away clothes one by one, layer by layer. He shivered beneath it, cock stirring between his legs.

“You tend to send a tangle of mixed messages when my mouth is on you, and your cries to stop sound quite similar to ones of you begging me not to…”

Will closed his eyes, remembering how it had felt. A roaring in his head, the pulsing vibrations of an accelerator beneath his feet. Hannibal consuming every inch of him with hums of approval.

“What else could I do except weigh the options of our imminent deaths against the sounds you make when I am finishing you off?” Will’s breath hitched. “I was rather pleased and somewhat grateful you managed not to take us off yet another cliff, however.” 

Will shot Hannibal a withering look over his shoulder.

Another flickering smile.

Will replaced a silent groan digging in his chest with a deep breath, eyes fluttering open to stare mindlessly through a red haze. He attempted a glare over his shoulder, hoping to feign indifference. A suppressed smile tugged at his lips, blood hot, aching, and ended up with what he imagined was a barely passable look of annoyance.

“I… you know what, I have _zero_ interest in what is you’d like to show me, imagined or otherwise.”

He turned from watchful eyes, plunging a dish back into soapy water as if it deserved his undivided attention, knowing full well it belonged nowhere else but Hannibal. A displeased hand curved along the small of his back, snaking around the front, a single palm pressing flat against his stomach. Will tried to ignore a nagging sensation to lean in, to close his eyes, to sink into Hannibal’s grounding touch. He compromised with eyes slipping shut, hands stilling in the water. He knew there was no point in hiding his arousal. The older man could smell it on him.

“I thought you enjoyed learning new things…” A mouth brushed the nape of his neck.

“And the last time you said that…”

Warm lips mouthed designs on the back of neck, half heartedly picking at the plate in his hands, water stirring. Will half hoped Hannibal would snatch it away and smash it into a million pieces against the kitchen with his body following shortly after.

“Yes?”

Will realized he had stopped speaking entirely, focusing fully on the mouth trailing across neck, pushing at the collar to gain access to his shoulders.

“It was in the guise of a fishing trip, and when you realized that I in fact, _did not_ mean fishing in a _metaphorical sense_ , you broke my perfectly good fishing pole by tangling the lure and snapping it in half just to rid me of clothes.”

A chuckle. Fingertips glided down his forearms, plunging beneath water to settle over his own. They were weighty, strong, reassuring. His thoughts drifted to how they would feel warm and wet underneath the spray of a shower, their bodies pressed into a glass pane. Hannibal’s dark maroon eyes rippled in the water’s surface peering over his shoulder knowingly, reflection caressing the corners of Will’s mirrored face.

“It was half rusted when you found it, Will, I would hardly call it perfect,” Hannibal answered, chest pressing into back, running a hand along his sternum, looping fingers in a leather belt. “Breaking it in half was the easiest and quickest way to get what I wanted. Aside from that…” Clever fingers of one hand found their way lower, palming Will, growing hard beneath a warm, dripping touch. “I replaced it after a well formed and _thorough_ apology.”

Will barely stifled a small groan, palms upturning to tangle his fingers in Hannibal’s with a swish of water, clenching tight. He let his head fall back into broad shoulders, resting there to catch his breath.

“Just because it was a little old and half broken to begin with doesn’t mean it wasn’t perfect.”

Water dripped down his neck. Hannibal turned his face in steady hands, staring down with an unreadable expression, voice low. “Not everything is _you_ , Will…” A thumb touched his lips, a fingertip sinking in to part them, to force him to breathe. “Some of the finest relics of this world are weathered and worn from age, a handsome distinction of survival. The lines and cracks running through you creates an intricate honey combed design of flaws, missed intention, and blurred edges of raw, unfiltered emotion; a design of utter perfection.”

Will nearly crumbled. _God. Did he just call me perfect?_ The mere sound of Hannibal’s voice could bring him to his knees.

“I…I wasn’t…” A meaningless flutter of hands, water rippling.

"Fishing for compliments?” The doctor asked, amusement crinkling corners of his eyes.

Hannibal’s mouth tilted upward before settling back into an ever present line. He brushed back Will’s hair from his face before burying them in a dry towel.

“Exactly,” Will answered flatly, dragging the towel away, ringing it around edges of the plate with a kind of fierce deference.

“It wasn’t.”

A sigh was muffled by a slurping drain, water whirling away, a soapy fury sucked down with it. Will glared at it a moment longer, wiping hands with rough motions, tucking the towel neatly back in its place above the stove instead of throwing it in Hannibal’s face. The lines of emotion between love, lust, want, and need blurred easily, effortless like poison. The older man knew where to reach in and touch, to rub strained fibers raw without trying, knowing Will was caught between running and wanting to bleed, to willingly drown in every word, a blood bath with front row seats.

“What do you want to show me?” Will asked, exasperation and frustration tingeing every syllable.

Hannibal gazed back at him with cold eyes. The mask he wore when trying to untangle knotted threads of Will’s mind. He could practically feel the older man’s hands sinking in, pulling and tugging in warm darkness. Will wanted him to find a thread and pull, unravel every inch of him, knowing only Hannibal would put it back together with an entirely new series of knots. His own design.

“It can wait.”

Hannibal turned abruptly on his heel, warmth stealing away with long strides. With another sigh, Will gazed up at the ceiling as if in prayer and a held breath, as if he could stop from reaching out, fingers latching around the man’s wrist and pulling, squeezing.

“Will?”

“I’m sorry.”

“May I ask why?”

“For…” Will closed the space between them, resting his head on the edge of Hannibal’s shoulder, letting comforting darkness envelope. A warm body seeped into his own. “Sometimes your words catch me off guard. They… fill me, but they also cut deep.”

_Why is it so much easier to speak to you without your gaze, in the safety of your crushing arms?_

A palm rested against the back of his hair, fingers stroking. Will let out another sigh, burying his head into Hannibal’s chest, pressing in. Solid. Calming. Constant. Real.

“Do you find my words always cause you to lash out, Will, or is that something you do in hopes to get a rise out of me?”

“I…” Will found his way down the other arm, tangling a hand into the older man’s, swallowing hard. “Sometimes.”

The voice pressed against his temple, quieter. “Is the pain constant?”

“No, not always… it’s just I’m not used to…” Will’s voice trailed off, unable to find a sure path to follow.

“Being seen.”

“Being appreciated for my broken pieces?” Will glanced up and quickly looked away, painfully aware of Hannibal’s searching gaze, leaning into the pressure on the back of his head to find solid ground. “It hurts.”

A palm settled along his cheek with a light stroke. “It is often painful to be made aware of one’s own suffering of self acceptance. What pains you, Will, is not my admiration for your pieces or unfiltered words between us, but for the mere fact that I reject the notion entirely and accept you fully, without exception, as whole.”

Will winced into a starched collar, squeezing his hand tighter around the larger one. A kiss pressed into his temple. He took in a breath to keep from pulling away. It felt painfully good.

“Will you please come with me now?” Fingers squeezed back. “The fresh air would be good for you as well as a change in pace. And I suspect you will have need of a coat. There is a chill in the air, the last kiss of Autumn slipping into Winter’s cold embrace.”

Will straightened, pulling back with a stretch of shoulders, squaring them, glancing outside. The lasts remnants of paper thin, curling leaves clung to the branches of trees like a man clung to life in the last moments of a death rattle.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t need a coat,” He replied shortly, stalking off with the drag of a grey woolen cap over his ears.

Eyes followed, questions lurking there.

Parked outside the villa, a shark rose from dusk’s depths, setting sun glinting across its toothy silver grill. Will slid into sleek confines of an Aston Marin with all the grace of a crumpled origami crane, sinking into a crinkling leather, breathing in a thick, heavy scent of obscenely rich. A scent of raw power. Will ran a hand across smooth, dark paneling then followed curves of leather stitching with fingertips. He imagined crawling into Hannibal’s insides would feel like this, seductive, thick, immaculately put together.

A door clicked shut, the only sound of Hannibal’s arrival. He could have slipped in entirely unnoticed; the sound was for Will’s comfort. Will watched a mirrored reflection in the window, surrounded by rustling fabric, leather creaking.

Looped around the older man's throat was a thick burgundy cashmere scarf, hiding buttons of a camel colored double breasted wool coat, upper collar trimmed in velvet, color of a thick skinned buck.

A belt strapped across Will’s chest with a clicking noise and a pull. Will regarded Hannibal with a tilted stare as a gloved hand drifted from the strap to his face, lingering there. It was cold. Eyes looking back a winter frost.

“Safety first, Will.”

With a throaty roar, the Aston Martin purred to life, melding into dusk beginning to settle into corners of the earth with every passing shadow as they prowled silently into darkness.

Will’s gaze drifted over to the driver’s seat. Hannibal’s face was passive, unmoving, both leathered hands dragging noiselessly along the wheel. A true predator made no sound. Light and shadows flickered across angles, mouth pressed in a lovely point of concentration. He couldn’t help reaching out, to touch, to connect, to quiet the roiling inside his chest. Will found his fingers tangled in the burgundy scarf, tugging and pulling it away from Hannibal’s throat.

“Are you hiding it now?”

Dark eyes slid from the road, meeting Will’s for a moment, before flicking back. Will was fairly certain he had stopped breathing. How could a single glance steal the very breath from his being?

It had been weeks, yet the thick red line, a perpetual tie around Hannibal’s throat remained, purpling, darkening, as if Will held him suspended between this world and the next with invisible hands, immersed forever in purgatory. A gloved hand touched the mark, settling there, gently holding a hangman’s noose.

“It is nearly pitch black, Will, and we are traveling to a rather remote location. Who else would bear witness to your claim except for you?”

Will bit back a panic rising steadily inside him at the words ‘remote location.’ _Perhaps the Will Graham charm has finally worn thin and he’s going to kill me,_ He mused, gaze slipping away to stare at the road.

 _If he was going to kill you, he would have done it alread_ y. Another familiar, velvety demonic slur, not entirely his own chimed in.

“Just drive.”


	35. Chapter 35

_* * *_

_A sweet sea of chatter died down as Hannibal glided through a crowd of bodies milling in throngs of an open market, pulling Will along in his wake. Voices became hushed whispers as they passed, hundreds of eyes trailing after, looking at and through them._

_Will felt himself shrinking behind Hannibal’s frame, curling in, muffled by tones of idle gossip swirling around them, seeking their every movement, crushed by the heat of turning bodies and outstretched limbs. He touched Hannibal’s hand for assurance._

_“People are… staring…”_

_A strong arm pulled forward, looping around his waist, drawing Will into the confines of Hannibal’s protection. A dark gaze swept over, pace steady, unhurried, the long strides of a man sure of his path. Long fingers pulled back the collar hanging open against Hannibal’s throat, pushing it down, away, to expose, tracing dark lines of an invisible rope with a flash of teeth._

_“Let them stare, William.”_

_Hannibal parted another crowd of people with an effortless sweep of his arm, pulling Will through gaping stares, through unhinged jaws, dark and open maws hoping to swallow them whole._

_“People are talking about us. I can hear them.” Anxiety clawed inside his chest, a desire to run thrumming heavy in his knees._

_“Let their tongues wag in tones of the forgotten, cast aside in the tune of a jealous lover scorned, unable to understand the depth of what trespasses between us…”_

_A lurking shadow of a man nearly ran straight into Will. A halo of bedraggled, stringy hair clung to gaunt skin as glittering eyes bore down. The crumpled line of a cigarette hung from thin, gnarled lips. A sense of panic rose unbridled, unbidden inside Will, unable to look away from darkness gaping back, curling smoke choking the air from him. With a brush of his hand, Hannibal removed the offensive object from Will’s presence, forcefully pushing the shadow into a nearby crowd with a snap of teeth, pulling him closer against his side._

_“Let them see that I belong to you…”_

_An older man with slightly graying hair dragged a young pretty girl from their war beaten path under a market stall shrouded beneath rosaries of drying herbs. Her porcelain cheeks flushed scarlet, gaze trailing after Hannibal’s neck, shrinking back as a growl formed deep in Will’s throat, teeth bared. His. He was his and no one else’s to admire._

_Hannibal stopped brusquely, turning Will in his arms, and stepping in close enough for the heat of their bodies to mingle, red eyes glowing, voice dark and deep, drowning out all the others._

_“Let them all see I am your possession.”_

_Will’s eyes locked on to the very instrument of his destruction. Every muscle and bone in his body straightened with a surge of pride racing along every nerve ending with a spark. Will’s fingers splayed wide against the mark on Hannibal’s throat, tracing its curvature, tightening it with an invisible force. Dark eyes slipped closed with increasing pressure. His to mark, his to own, his to pleasure, his to possess._

_Mine._

_Will tangled fists into the placket of Hannibal’s shirt, dragging forward, crushing their mouths together with a sudden burning heat, clothes between them utterly offensive and unbearable. Their tongues collided with enough force to send Hannibal reeling, rocking back in the heels of his expensive shoes, skidding against cobblestone, arms caging Will to his chest. A basket full of fresh produce landed with a heaving protest, rolling at their feet, where it belonged._

_Will loved this man. He had killed for him. And he wanted every pair of eyes to look upon them and bear witness, to shrink back, to cower from the blaze burning them both up, to witness something they would never know._

_* * *_

A rough voice brought Will back from memory, low against shadows drowning them.

“I think you know I wear your scars with an infinite amount of pride. The scarf is simply to stave off the chill.”

“Where are we going, Hannibal,” Will demanded with a sigh, shifting his long limbs, gaze stretching out against huddled trees of a dark landscape.

Ten minutes had passed. It was barely enough time to reach anywhere, to reach nowhere, yet enough time for annoyance to creep into the edges of his bones. Will longed to escape the confined, stifling space. To embrace the night. To run.

“You will see soon enough.” A warm hand left his thigh, returning to the wheel. "We are nearly there."

Will glared, jealous for the attention it received.

“That’s not an answer.”

“And yours was not really a question, now was it?” A rumbling warning.

Will twisted in leather, strap biting into his chest like a small child, growling, frustration and anger clashing inside his chest. The car ground to a sudden halt, cut engine dousing them in a cold silence. A thicket of gnarled woods surrounded, bowing low beneath stars as if to receive them, graced by their very presence. Death rustled low in clinging leaves, a hum of glistening starlight accompanying them; the very sounds breathed life into Winter.

A door opened, a chill following, snaking around Will’s exposed skin with a shivering, light touch, beckoning.

“Come with me, Will.” A gentle command.

With a creak, the belt released. Will dragged out from warmth of the carefully crafted space, away from the insides of Hannibal’s bloody embrace, and into the unknown night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see if any of you, my beautiful readers, pick up on subtle hints in this chapter.


	36. Chapter 36

Hannibal’s face was upturned in the night air, gazing up into an expanse of heavens, relishing crunching frost beneath his feet. Starlight brushed his skin with fluttering touches. He savored a biting chill settling in his lungs, expelled in a puff of smoke curling out into darkness. Woods stretched all around them, the only witness to their arrival, welcoming with gnarled roots and outstretched limbs. It was still. Quiet. Peaceful. The only sound was dragging feet not far behind. Hannibal slowed, peering over his shoulder.

A red plaid flannel collar was upturned along the younger man’s neck, hands buried in his body for warmth, arms crossed tight against his chest. Petulance pursed beautifully on his lips. Bright crimson skin peeked out from beneath a woolen cap, brows drawn low beneath its edge in fierce concentration. A deafening inner monologue weighed on his face. Hannibal slowed, reaching out, longing to press his mouth along his cheeks, cover his lips until they melted with blood.

Will’s flashing eyes caught Hannibal’s gaze, cheeks flushing. “Shut up.”

“The words you hear are only imagined, my dear.” Hannibal stuffed down a hum of amusement, a tickle in the back of his throat, turning away.

The term of endearment rolled easily off his tongue, unfamiliar, tasting bitter sweet. Crunching boots picked up the pace beside him, body hunched into a cold breeze.

“You didn’t have to, did you? I can tell just by looking you’re enjoying this,” Will replied, eyes fixed on the ground intently, carving some unknown design in its landscape.

“Yes, well…” Hannibal’s mouth twitched, eyes trailing down the figure’s spine now directly in front of him, lingering on the jaunty sway of his ass. “It truly is a splendid evening.”

An annoyed huff answered. “As much as I enjoy freezing my ass off so you can paint yourself into the scenery, do you think we could pick up the pace to wherever the hell it is were going?”

He would allow the coarse language to pass this time. A darker smile. He could not promise for how long Will would remain unpunished. He felt a twinge of mild frustration, his attempts at a pedestrian gesture of what most would consider romantic coming apart with each passing minute.

“I did admonish you to bring a coat, Will.” A hint of unfurling patience laced his words.

Will spun on his heel, stock still, arms rigid at his sides, fists clenched. Hannibal took a quick, graceful side step to avoid running straight into the younger man, brow arched curiously. Eyes glowered back, a wolf’s gaze glowing in moonlight.

“Did you now?” Will’s voice pitched into a wounded howl.

A resigned sigh escaped. Hannibal pushed his body from woolen warmth of his coat without a second thought, dragging it down his arms, tugging free. With a snap, he wrapped it around the shivering frame blocking his path with infinite, agonizing tenderness. He wound the scarf in loops until only starlit eyes remained peeking out. His leather clad palm remained on his cheek a moment longer before pulling away. Every edge of the younger man softened, crumbling, figure bleeding into the night, disappearing.

“Come,” Hannibal commanded, stretching, doing up buttons of his waistcoat to protect against the chill, falling back into long, silent strides.

Boots scrambled with a crunch along the ground to catch up. A hand latched on to one swinging at Hannibal’s waist. Both were stuffed inside the pockets of his coat, his body dragged close. Their fingers interlaced. His eyes slid down to observe the hunched figure, fingers squeezing his own, thumb strumming small circles, as if that alone would keep him warm.

_Such a defiant, sweet boy._

Red burned the younger man’s cheeks, eyes fixed on the ground, face tucked into the scarf to hide beneath a cashmere mask. Hannibal felt a flush tinge his own cheeks, sweeping down lines of tailored, expensive clothing clinging to Will’s frame. Warmth touched the corners of his mind. It pleased him. He had never seen Will outside of ripped jeans dressed up with tawdry silhouettes of sports jacket. Even in darkness, Hannibal appreciated every fine line and rustle of fabric more fully knowing it framed Will’s body.

 _A handsome, reckless boy._

Will felt his eyes lingering, flushing further, turning away. Hannibal wondered if the younger man would acquiesce to cravings to drape his body in fine threads and cloth more willingly if he knew they would be dragged off moments later.

With a sideways glace, he banished an unbidden smile. The younger man’s skin crawled beneath each layer, a disturbance rippling in their silence, undone by the simple gesture of being clothed in warmth, of skin tightly pressed against his own.

_I would wrap you in my own skin, William. Crack open my ribs to shelter you, if only you would ask it of me._

Pin pricks trailed up the back of his neck, a sensation of being watched. Hannibal turned his gaze outward, scanning a dark sea of gnarled grey bodies. His eyes trailed through trees, breathing in, senses sharpened, searching. He forced his strides to steady, to keep the pace unchanged, willing every muscle in his body to remain relaxed. He wouldn’t risk further upsetting Will. The sensation disappeared, vanishing as quickly as it had come. Hannibal glanced once more behind them. There was no one there.

With a guiding nudge and a turn of his attentions, Hannibal pushed Will to his left side, arm slipping around a shivering waist without untangling their hands buried deep in layers of the pocket. He knew the younger man felt safer with their hands entwined, where he could find shelter without having to ask.

Will’s head fell into his chest, a sigh shuddering out in a drifting puff of air filtering with starlight, melting close. He looked peaceful, eyes closed, trusting in Hannibal’s arms to guide him. Something gentle stirred in his chest. He resisted an urge to bend down to fill his mouth with the younger man’s struggling breath, to whisper something soft into the night against his skin.

Hannibal brought a hand over the younger man’s eyes, covering them, steering their bodies around a tree. He brought them both to a halt with a light pull. He closed his eyes at the sound of another sigh, long lashes fluttering, a butterfly’s wings underneath his palm. Another spread of warmth filled his chest.

With covered eyes, Hannibal was free to look, to admire, to allow unspoken emotions run their course across his face. Nothing else had ever spoken to him in the way Will’s face glowed beneath starlight; a flickering hymn of their mirrored stars, ever unchanging. His parted lips beckoned. Will was raw, over sensitized by their recent exchange so Hannibal remained still, gazing at them with longing, safe from Will’s gaze.

_It isn’t love for me, Will. I long to revel and lose myself within the entirety of your heart and soul._

Hannibal pressed soft lips against Will’s temple, hand sliding from his eyes, breathing, “Welcome home.”


	37. Chapter 37

A cabin door banged open, shuddering an interior wall. Lights flickered on one by one, buzzing with sudden disturbance. Will felt his chest heave with excitement; a wide grin plastered on his face, searching every single corner with a broad sweep of eyes. He felt giddy, unwinding the scarf, toeing off his boots with a hop, skip, and a jump, nearly face planting into an overstuffed beige sofa. He was burning up. A laugh bubbled out from deep within.

The cabin was small, filled with a rustic scent of pine, of intertwined wooden bodies that built its frame. It was slightly damp like the fur of a hundred wet dogs. It smelled warm, welcoming, like the glowing remains of a campfire smoldering grey. The scent of home. Will’s home.  

“Is it really for me?” Will called out over his shoulder, hands fluttering in meaningless gestures at his side.

Hannibal’s shadowy figure leaned with ease, arms stretched lazily across his chest, framed in the doorway like a vampire lurking, waiting to be asked in. Lines at the corners of his face crinkled, eyes the color of rusty autumn leaves glowing beneath a sunset. His knees weakened at the slight smile that accompanied them. It hurt. He wanted to kiss them both breathless.

“Yes, William, this all for you,” He replied with an imperceptible nod, tone consistency of warm honey.

Will pulled Hannibal inside by the curves of his waistcoat, pushing the older man back into a closing door with shaking force. Amusement briefly danced in eyes gazing back before snuffing out. The very muscles of his heart flayed open wide, aching, sucking in a steadying breath, crumbling at the softer sides of Hannibal bleeding through the mask. He would give anything to see them, to be seen by them. He fell into dark depths, unable to look away, lost in tidal waves of emotion crashing down, helpless against their strength, begging to be dragged under.

_Please don’t let me drown without the safety of your arms._

Gentle thumbs brushed at tears leaking from his eyes, soft tones reeling him back to shore, arms settling against his body to moor him there. “I know, Will.” A palm settled along the back of his head. “I am with you. You are safe.”

A shuddering breath filled Will’s lungs, nuzzling angular planes of the older man’s smooth face, dizzy with a scent of cologne and lack of oxygen. Dark eyes slipped closed, an unguarded moment. Arms wrapped around, safely tucking him in, a quibbling fool drying his eyes with a drag of a flannel sleeve.

“How long have you known, Hannibal?” Will replied softly, aching, unsure of what he was asking.

Warm lips rested on his forehead, nearing a gesture of teasing. “That you were in need of a space of your own?” It was heart wrenchingly gentle. “ _Awhile._ ”

Long fingers wound a path along Will’s face, seeking each curve. “Or how long have I known I was going to give the cabin to you? For some time...”

They brushed the bottom of his lip trembling underneath. “Or are you merely asking how much time it took to decorate? Not long at all.” A smirk. “I merely went against every tasteful bone in my body and barreled straight down a path of bedraggled fisherman aesthetic.”

Will’s sharp look was met with the outlines of what would have been a smile and a tap against his nose. “You really ought to be more specific with your line of inquiry, my dear William.”

Warmth blossomed in Will’s heart. _Am I dear to you, Hannibal?_ He sunk, knees giving way, the firm hand of Hannibal on his lower back the only thing holding him up. _How could I possibly be anything to anyone?_ Fingers curled around his waist, holding tight. _I am mess of tangled limbs, splitting seams, and shabbily dressed threads of sanity._ Will looked up, hands trembling along the older man’s jaw. _What the hell do you see in me? What the fuck could I have possibly done in this sad nightmarish existence to deserve you, Hannibal?_   Words tangled on his tongue, aching, burning insides of his throat, frothing, unable to escape. _After all I’ve done… to you… to us…_ He stared up, wide eyed, helpless to formulate a single thought, let alone a question, unable to find the answers.

Hannibal’s lips quivered, gaze warming, as a thumb stroked Will’s mouth open, forcing him to take a deep breath. “I began leafing through available properties before your incarceration as a matter of practical preparation. In case you were bent on the reckoning you promised, or if I was discovered and needed to leave the country at a moments notice,” Hannibal answered smoothly, running hands with steady motions through Will’s hair, tossing the woolen cap aside with a distasteful glance. “It was really a matter of propriety.”

“B-but why this place? Why this one?”

“I stumbled across this one purely by accident. The villa suited my needs, and the cabin happened to be on the edge of the property.” Hannibal’s shoulders rolled in a lazy shrug. “The old man was more than willing to hand over the papers with mild curiosity and no names. At least not real ones. He had even fewer questions when I suggested the transaction occur in cash. It seemed a logical choice.”

“Nothing you ever do is unplanned or by accident, Hannibal,” Will chided, head tipping to the side, studying his face carefully. A blank canvas. “You spend half an hour in the morning picking through every loose tea in the kitchen before deciding on what blend you want to drink. Then you double back just to make sure you haven’t missed any to ensure you made the right choice before committing.”

Will shook his head, a light ringing in his ears.

“To start one’s morning without the correct selection of tea would be allowing the rest of the day to follow helter skelter,” Hannibal replied in warm tones, brushing a fingertip down the side of Will’s face. “Are you asking me to lead a life of utter chaos, Will?”

Was he hearing the sound or was it in his head? Did Hannibal hear it too?

“So you’re saying you feel this passionately about a cup of tea…a rather odd pattern is beginning to formulate, by the way…” Will eyed him suspiciously. “But you would like me to believe you bought a property completely by accident, half aware of the cabin that came with it, because it seemed _logical_?”

“The correct choice is never one which relies on the cruel mistress of Fate.” Another wan smile. “The discovery of the cabin, however, was almost entirely unplanned.”

_Utter bullshit._

A high pitched hum whirred, pitching the corners of his mind.

“You spend an hour meticulously laying out and choosing what you’ll wear for the day,” Will interjected, hints of skepticism edging the staccato of each word. “You have organized your entire wardrobe by style, silhouette, and year. And then you went one step further by organizing them _by color and shades_ , Hannibal, _a differentiation of hues_ , light to dark!”

Lines around Hannibal’s eyes creased in a wry smile, mildly amused. The lines faded, drawing back down into an expression of utter seriousness bordering on reverence, smoothing back his hair with pursed lips. Will could have kissed him.

“William, you know very well there is a _distinct_ yet subtle difference between _midnight_ blue and _Prussian_ blue, and as such they should be sorted accordingly.”

“It’s navy,” Will’s reply was flat, pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat, trying to block out a relentlessly high pitched buzzing. It was all around him now, inside and out. “They are _all_ navy.”

The older man shot him a look of utter bemusement, straightening a starched collar, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt with a curt tug of feigned offense.

It was deafening, crashing all around.

Will snarled internally, glaring outwardly at nothing. _Could you, whatever you are, quiet the hell down? I can’t even hear myself think!_

Hannibal studied him with a curious expression.

_…the cabin happened to be on the edge of the property…_

Will sucked in a breath, stumbling back, twisting fingers in the waistcoat, holding tight. Swirling maroon eyes looking back were unwavering, unreadable, murky. His chest tightened, clutching at it, heart quickening as words ran laps inside his mind, stuck on a looped feedback.

 _How many years have you been planning this, Hannibal? How long have you waited to set those plans in motion with the sheer imagining of this moment unfurling in time?_ Will choked. _Have you always known? Or…_

“Hannibal, did you buy this place _because_ of the cabin?” Will’s fingers curled tight, biting his palms. “Because you had hoped…” His voice cracked with strain, tears welling in his eyes. “… I would come with you?”

“Given the obscene amount of money I paid…” Hannibal looked away at some unseen corner, warm fingers touching the side of his cheek. “…the property really should have come with several cabins. With preferably at least one of those including working plumbing.”

A deflection.

Will squared the older man’s face in his hands, voice urgent, rough. “ _Hannibal_.”

“It was not an unwelcome outcome.” The gaze slid away, words trailing after. “It may have come under consideration.”

With tugging hands, Will pressed a smile into taunt seams with an open mouthed kiss, their lips were moving in an unhurried rhythm, warm and sweet. A hand settled on his lower back, pushing him into Hannibal’s chest. Will shivered. He tasted like a crisp chill frost on withering petals glinting in morning sun. A thrill of excitement ran down his spine. Will broke the kiss abruptly, purposefully spinning on his heel, knowing a curious gaze followed every movement with slight confusion and lingering desire.

The cabin was an open design, with areas of living space normally boxed in with walls, all blurring into one. _Are you rearranging the furniture of my mind again, Hannibal?_ To the right was an overstuffed L-shaped suede couch stretched out near a stone fireplace. A small ledge balanced against stones, a collection of half burnt candles littered its edges. A small bookcase filled with a sparse collection of worn out spines, beckoned for Will to pick them up, to touch them, to lose himself in their pages near a warming flame. _Right at home._ A lanky wrought iron lamp drooped in the corner, promising faithfully to light the way.

Behind the living room area, a large bed rested near the farthest wall, framed by black wrought iron rising up in shadows like horns of stags twisting, twining, battling. Iron melded with horizontal and diagonal lines creating large X shapes. In comparison, the iron frame dwarfed a simple mattress covered in solid grey, Egyptian cotton sheets. A simple nightstand shrank back in the corner, a small lamp and metallic analogue clock on its surface. A chest of drawers cowered behind it on the opposite wall.

Will arced a brow, glancing back. “Was this chosen because you wanted it, or you were convinced I would?”

“Would you like to find out?” A rapacious smile, all teeth.

Will swallowed, aware of the answer stirring, how the dark sound pulled him toward Hannibal, body magnetically drawn in and moving on its own. With a groan, Will propelled from the area in the opposite direction his feet were leading with a shaking breath and long strides, limbs heavy with struggle. A splash of water hit his face. He paused, looking up.

“T-there’s a leak!” Will shouted, laughing, beaming.

Hannibal’s head slanted to an uncomfortable degree. “And that… pleases you?”

“I can fix it!” Will smiled wide up at the roof, at the rain, hands twitching with imaginary tools.

_We could be happy here._

A curvy, oak cafe table sat beneath an open window, a single stem red rose peeking from a glass vase. A twinge of pain clawed at his chest. Had Hannibal planned the trip to the cabin as an attempt at a romantic gesture? Guilt followed, a grimace creasing his face. He had acted like a schoolboy, pouting, grumbling, dragging his feet. Had it upset Hannibal? Had he even noticed?

_Of course he noticed, you idiot. He sees everything._

Will touched fallen velvety petals gently, turning and pressing one into the pocket of his flannel shirt, above his heart, hoping Hannibal wouldn’t see, and half hoping he had. His cheeks flushed. Will leaned onto a simple, marble island counter to steady his body and thoughts, the only visible line separating the next area, keeping distance between them.

White washed cupboards and shelves filled a kitchen with various objects glinting and winking back. A matching set of hanging knives clung to the wall. A collection of copper bottom pots and pans hung near the stove. Various fresh herbs hung in spaces between with a fragrant scent. A blue speckled kettle rested on a gas top stove, nestled between a counter and gaudy white bodied refrigerator, color aged from time. Will lightly hummed an overture of Mozart’s _Pastoral Symphony_ , gaze drifting to a sudden stop, laughter bursting out.

“Is…Is that a _microwave_ sitting out there in the open?” Will blinked several times to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated it. “Wait. Is that a toaster oven? A battery operated can opener?” He pointed at every object like a primary school student, naming each one in rapid succession, hands a flutter of motion. “A slower cooker? Hold on, hold on. Is that actually an electric blender in the corner?”

Will gasped, running hands down glass curves of something he thought he would never see again. A simple coffee pot. No amount of stainless steel, foaming contraptions, or fancy knobs could replace it. He hugged it, breathing in an aroma of burnt grounds seeping through a filter and sighed.

_Home._

“Oh, now you are sight for sore eyes, you handsome devil.”

A throat cleared pointedly.

“Are you feeling neglected?”

“Hardly.” Silence lingered in the air for a moment. “Though I find it hard to believe that an antiquity that produces burnt swill considered an acceptable morning beverage to be… handsome.”

“Y-you are far more handsome,” Will replied hurriedly, blushing.

“Did you just compare my physical aesthetic… to that of an old coffee maker, Will?”

“…..No?”

Hands stuffed into trouser pockets, Hannibal’s remained the only refined element of the entire cabin, hopelessly out place. A look of discomfort flitted across his face, carefully watching Will move throughout the space with bated breath. For a moment, he looked tired with strain. Then worry. And for a moment, Will thought, guilt.

Will tore away from the kitchen laughing. It was so quaint and human. So rare. And strangely, uncomfortably endearing. He crossed the floor quickly, reaching the older man in a few long strides, stitches of his body fraying, seams bursting from inside. His cheeks ached, smile refusing to fade.

“They’re are all out in the open, Hannibal, all my old friends,” Will whispered as if it was a secret, to keep them from hearing, gazing up with short, happy bursts of breath. “Did you forget to remove them when you bought the place?” He glanced back with a brimming sweep of eyes. “Should I bury them deep inside the cupboards so as not to bear your offense?”

Hannibal stared passively, blinking slowly.

“Or perhaps sweep them all to the floor to see if their pieces gather back up?”

A brow arced.

“Actually…the cabin was fairly barren when I arrived…” Hannibal cleared his throat, holding Will’s hand pressed against his chest, locking their fingers, heart beating deep beneath warm skin. “I…bought them… for you.”

Will choked on another laugh, sputtering, “W-wait.” He held up a hand, the other covering up a widening smile. “Are you telling me you actually went out, purposefully, with intent, and bought these relics _second hand_?!”

Hannibal pinched the bridge of his nose, pained, replying, “Against the screams of my refined palette and better judgment, yes.”

“B-but they’re old and used?”

“Yes…”

“And completely distasteful!”

“I have to agree.” His eyes mulled the statement with flicks. . “Some of the décor is particularly garish.”

“But why…?” Will’s voice cracked again, blood coming to a near crawl inside his veins.

_After all I’ve done…? How could you?_

Hannibal glanced down, eyes searching, reply soft, hands even softer. “It pleases me to know you are content and comfortable under my care, William.”

Pure joy boiled over, burning his insides through and through. He threw arms around Hannibal’s frame, dragging him into a frenzied series of kisses. His lips followed every angle of his face, his throat, then placed his mouth against each palm, careful to kiss each one slowly. A flood of emotion crashed down on Hannibal’s face, softening, crumbling, with each display of adoration.

“I…” Will breathed, stroking hands over a stilling face.

_Stay with me. I cannot bear it. God, how can I begin to tell you...?_

“T-this means a lot to me, Hannibal, that you would do this… for me?”

_I love you. I know the words are tawdry, inelegant, plain, and rough around the edges. But will you stay?_

“It is simply a structured frame with a disarray resting beneath its roof.”

_Will you stay with me? Always?_

Fingertips reached to brush against his tenderly.

“It’s… perfect,” Will answered quietly, casting eyes to the floor, bones aching, threads of nerves painfully tangling.

_You are my home._

Hannibal cupped Will’s cheek, eyes dark, stroking to soothe the ache, fingertips nimbly undoing every knot with a brush and flick of a thumb. He breathed a sound of utter content, eyes fluttering closed, drawn into touch.

“I… This your refuge, William." The older man’s voice dipped rough, low, eyes flashing. “In your absence… I gave consideration to the pain you may be in even when you lie in my arms. You need an escape. Even from me.”

_If I saw you forever, Will…_

Fingertips tilted Will’s chin up, dark eyes gazing down, looking in, searching deep.

_I would remember this time._

“I will not come here, Will, unless you ask me. This is yours and yours alone. A shelter from the storm.”

Hannibal swallowed hard, tendons strained and flexing in his throat, fingers tangling in Will’s hair. The dark eyes held something Will had never seen buried there before: agony.

_I gave you a rare gift… and you didn’t want it._

Eyes, pools of black, churned like crashing waves of the sea in a moonlit night.

_Didn’t I?_

Air ceased to stir inside Will’s lungs.

“You must promise if you were to leave again...” Hannibal looked away, fingers tightening in his hair. “To disappear soundlessly into the night… I will always be able to find you here. Inside these walls. Even if you wish to keep me on the other side.”

_Can’t live with him. Can’t live without._

Will clutched thick wrists, clinging, knees shaking, voice rasping out in a half hearted tease, crumbling, “C-checking up on me?”

Strong hands shook him by the shoulders, once, firmly.

“I…sorry…”

Unsteady breath fluttered out of the older man’s mouth, fingers digging deep into Will’s shoulders. His lips twisted and crushed into a grimace of emotion he was unable to decipher and unable to say, unable to hide. His knees buckled as each agonizing wave washed over, reaching out to touch, to soothe both their aches. Dark eyes twisted with images of a knife buried deep. Will smoothed a trembling thumb across creases forming in Hannibal’s face, brushing at visible lines of pain, a lump rising in his throat.

“I promise,” Will whispered, pressing the words deep into warm lips, to stave off a haunted hunger burning in the others eyes, breath shuddering out, crushed in embrace, willingly devoured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's so cloyingly sweet and lovely! So much Hannigram~ when they aren't trying to kill each other, or eat other people, they are so incredibly darling.
> 
> My personal head canon: Hannibal Lecter suffers from a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder and is very particular about his walk in closets, kitchens, and overall aesthetic arrangement of things in general, ha ha. 
> 
> Our next chapter forecast: Hints of sweetness, angst, and smut around the corner.


	38. Chapter 38

Clamoring fear ripped through Hannibal’s lungs with each push of a serrated tongue searching his mouth filling with imagined copper. Soft breathing blood gurgled up from his heart, seeping into his throat, choking on gentle declarations. A body forcefully collided into his chest, arms snaking around a smaller frame with the threat of separation shaking each joint curling into cloth and skin. He flattened a mouth into his own, starved, drinking in the last sweet taste of sustenance. Vibrations ran along the insides of his cheeks, twisting, turning. His fingers tunneled in silken strands, tongue thrusting deep to devour, to hold forever to his lips. He desperately robbed the younger man of each breath, holding it deep inside his lungs to seal their Fate. A sharp tooth bit down on a trembling bottom lip, sucking in pooling hot blood, thrumming with a steady beat against his temples, a final exchange to bind Will to him for eternity.

Ragged breath warmed his cheek as hands pushed lightly at his chest with a small sound. He growled back with closed eyes, caging the body inside a bone crushing embrace with scraping teeth and swirling tongues. His arms shook with the restrain to remain in control. A low voice muttered useless phrases in the ravines of his mind, flickering with flashing imagery of epitome romance. How burning candles would flush the younger man’s skin a glow of pure light, velvety soft blood clinging to the curves of skin warmed by rippling bath water, melting beneath gentle touch.

_What you deserve, William, is the touch of rose petals dragging along your cheek. Not the ragged flesh of blackened memory of my knife burning inside your body._

Another push untangled Will from the older man’s clutches, swaying, gasping for breath. Ripples quavered puddles of muddied rainwater staring up, filled with a fearful longing. Crimson stained his cheeks in bloodied fingerprints, beads quivering along an open mouth, trickling down a chin in a beautiful feast to claim.

_What if I am only capable of giving you what you need? In the only way I know how._

Hannibal swooped in, stepping forward, to bring the younger man back into his arms without mercy. In synchronized motion, Will shrunk away, taking two small steps back with a distressed noise falling from his lips. His eyes slid through the distance between their bodies, measuring it with each fall and sweep. It was empty, brutal agony. A fleeting smile lingered on the younger man’s face, blinking rapidly with an expression of confusion. He reached again. An unsteady hand pushed at his chest, resting just above his heart.

_Will you continue to deny me?_

Gnarled roots wound around his ankles, rooting his feet to the ground, with a spreading shadow of pain. Fingers splayed across his chest in the sign of a crucifix to keep the Devil at bay. A vein throbbed in his head. He willed every muscle in his body to remain perfectly still. With a final tremor, Hannibal looked back at the younger man as hunger coursed through his veins, longing to crush him to the nearest surface. To strip Will of all but skin. Until nothing between them remained.

“I’m going to explore the rest of the cabin,” Will spoke quietly, breaking eye contact, touching a split lip.

The younger man retreated. One step back. Then two. Hannibal’s gaze swept to the crimson substance staining his fingertips, eyes glittering hungrily, mouth watering at the thought of licking it off, one digit at a time, of biting down and swallowing whole.

“Are you running from me, William?”

“No. No, not all… I mean. We have a bathroom, don’t we?” Will turned slightly to gaze down a darkened hall, pointing to his lip. “I should probably look at this.”

“I would be happy go with you…”

With every step back, Hannibal took a step forward, rolling his shoulders to stretch to his full height, towering.

“No, no… I mean, it’s probably nothing right?”

“Given that one of us is a licensed physician…” Boots scraped across the ground. “I imagine you would defer to my assessment.” They were followed by nimble silence stalking close behind.

“I’m pretty sure I can find—“ One step forward. “Shit, that’s a chair…” One step back. “—the way.”

A flash of teeth. His prey was edging blindly backwards, unaware of the wall behind, with Hannibal closing in.

“It would be my pleasure to show you the way,” He replied, dark cravings bleeding rough through a forced light tone.

A nervous laugh. “It’s fine, really, plus maybe something in there needs mending? And you know how I feel about fixi---”

“ _No_.” A low warning seeped out of Hannibal’s mouth with narrowing eyes.

Will’s head turned slightly away. “But I…”

With a darkening growl, Hannibal’s arms came down on either side of the younger man in a blur of motion. A choked gasped accompanied flashing eyes, struggling further into a corner. His fingers curled around a wrist twitching at Will’s side and pulled the hand to his mouth. Eyes tracked every movement as he dragged a tongue along a rough thumb, tip flicking out, dragging in droplets of blood.

“In a moment, the only thing that will be in need of mending is your poor choice of clothing,” Hannibal answered roughly, dipping his head to press his lips along a curving ear. “Right after I rip it from your eloquent frame.” Fingers fluttered at the wall of his chest, pushing with a little more force. “Your bones may follow shortly after if you do not abandon these attempts of disentanglement, William.

A coppery sweetness flooded his senses as Hannibal licked blood off shaking fingertips. Will’s lips parted, breath rushing. The younger man pushed another digit between his humming lips, moaning as it was consumed with swirling greed. His teeth grazed lightly over rough knuckles, sucking slowly with a heated gaze, reveling in the sounds the younger man was making.

“H-hannibal…”

Will’s eyes slipped closed with a flutter of lashes, head tipping back into the wall. A pulse slammed beneath stretched muscle. Low growls filled the corners of Hannibal’s lungs with reverberations of lust. A heavy throbbing shaft curved with a jerk, zipper teeth biting down. He dragged the younger man’s hands up, pinning them above his head, trapping thighs between his own; a pagan offering stretched on the altar of _Peitho_. Sweat clung in lovely pearlescent beads, dripping down the younger man’s forehead, helplessly thick and hard pressed into Hannibal’s thigh.

“Please…” He breathed out, eyes slowly sliding open.

Hannibal bent his head down quickly, trailing the tip of his tongue across skin, dragging it up from a peaked collarbone and flattening it. He repeated the motion on the other side for symmetry. He resisted the urge to bite down, to pull flesh apart, and drink from within. A pulse hammered beneath the tongue’s deft circles. He smirked, another moan coming from Will. With a sideways stroke of his tongue, he slit the throat open, lapping at its edges as he was invited in.

“Ah…fuck,” Will groaned, writhing with a roll of his head .A tongue dragged down his collarbone, a chin pushing at flannel to nip at his shoulder.“This isn’t… fair. You can’t always have your way, Hannibal.”

“Can I not?” Skilled fingers followed a path of buttons, dragging each one apart, tangling in loose threads.

Hannibal’s tongue burned inside his mouth, begging to lick across the curves of Will’s naked body. With a snarl of impatience, he twisted the fabric in his fingers curling into fists. It ripped open, tearing down the front with popping buttons and a choked gasp. Red ribbons of blood rested in tatters across a heaving chest with the pressure of pulsating lungs, gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat.

“Beautiful…”

Wild, black eyes glanced down at the torn shirt and then back up, swallowing hard. Hannibal’s eyes followed a tongue across curving lips, a wanton gesture of invitation, hands reaching forward to push him into the abyss.

“ _No_ ,” Hannibal seethed, pinning outstretched arms against the wall in a single fist.

Hannibal licked at the younger man’s chest, once, twice, breathing in, hovering just above balmy skin, a Louisiana heat. Will arched forward with a whine for more, tilting his hips to rub a hard length into his thigh. He groaned, watching each desperate motion with deepening fascination, until they were grinding together, lost in divine friction. Arms yanked inside his wrist, sharp eyes glaring up.

“Would you like to touch yourself?” Hannibal studied the younger man with half lidded eyes, seduced by each movement. “Would you like it if I let you? To release the pressure even for just a moment with one long stroke?”

Will’s hips slowed, gaze heated, hungry.

“Would you…” Hannibal’s fingers popped open the button on worn jeans, gaze unwavering. “Stroke yourself for me? Allow me to watch as you come unravel, come undone, piece by piece?”

With curling fingers, he parted a fly and reached in with a small smile at the growl it elicited. He rubbed the younger man’s throbbing cock through cotton boxers, warm damp spreading with each caress. His hips bucked, straining for touch. Will jerked his arms again in earnest, lip curling up.

“Desperation paints your mouth such exquisite shades of black, William.”

“You are going to regret this...” The younger man’s eyes narrowed with a snap of beautiful white pointed teeth. “…when I break free.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, fingers slipping beneath a waistband. “Will there be a reckoning?”

“Unlikely,” The younger man hissed, wrenching harder. “However, I can predict with a fair amount of certainty that I am going to fuck your elegant brains out against this wall until you are covered in bruises.” His lungs clenched tight, inhaling a sharp breath, mind flooding with dark images. "Get your hands off of me." His neck throbbed, throat tightening. “And let me, Hannibal.”

“Oh, is that so?” A thin smirk faltered on a bloodied mouth as Hannibal stepped in, stroking his fingertips down the younger man’s navel. “I rather thought you were enjoying them on you.”

Hannibal twisted an ankle around Will’s, hooking a heel around the back of his knee and pulling, catching as he fell. Spinning the lighter frame in his arms, he crushed the younger man into the wall with the weight of his body, biting back a groan. A loud curse muffled through strained lips. For a moment, he leaned in and smiled with flashing teeth. He pressed closer, grinding his cock with unhurried, languid motion into curving clefts. He clenched a groan between his teeth when Will pushed back with a needy sound followed quickly by another curse.

A warm mouth pressed into the younger man’s ear, whispering low, “Tell me, Will. Like this?”

“Yes,” Will hissed, side of his face pressed into the wall.

A belt wound soundlessly loose through loops around his waist with a steadying breath. “Have you fallen under the impression you may make demands of me again, Will?”

“I wouldn’t have to demand if you would just let me have my fucking way.”

_Oh William. I would sacrifice my very soul to give in to all of your dark desires._

“You have been terribly rude of late, Will…”

Thick leather edges trailed down a rigid right thigh.

“I have warned you on several occasions of your rather distasteful choice in language.” The belt followed the curve of the younger man’s waist. “You have willfully ignored my requests.”

“Not ignored.” Dark eyes regarded him from beneath harsh shadowy curls. “Disregarded the suggestion entirely.”

“How many hours do you imagine I toiled on preparing this night for us to share, William? An upturned nose and dragging feet are both unflattering and greatly unappreciated.”

It trailed down the other thigh. “Sorry for wounding your sensitive pride,” Will huffed out with rolling eyes. “Is that enough to placate your feelings, Hannibal?”

“What a sharp mouth you have, Will.” Hannibal whispered, nudging the belt between his legs and rubbing. “What ought we do about that?”

The younger man groaned, pressing his face into wood, catching a gleaming buckle out of the corner of his eyes. “You can’t be fucking serious right now, Han---FUCKING CHRIST!”

With a snap, Will wrenched forward as the belt came down in a light smack against his ass, yanking on the hand holding his arms tight. Tortuously sweet lips parted in a shout, a hiss pushed out between clenched teeth. Hannibal sucked in a deep breath and held it, fingers curling around leather to tighten his grip. The body beneath coiled, muscles flexing and straining beneath red tatters.

“Again.” Will snarled with clattering teeth.

Breath left his lungs, stilling. “If that is what you wish.”

He released the younger man’s arms with a slow roll of his shoulders. They stayed behind an arched back, fingers locking around forearms, nails biting into exposed flesh. Will’s nostrils flared with an unwavering gaze, running a tongue across his bottom lip, dipping at the split. Hannibal’s mouth curled, licking his lips, hot breath caged inside his chest, mouth watering. A wrist flicked. Another crack. The belt came down with a bit more force. Will cried out, burying his face, seizing with trembling legs. Hannibal smoothed his hand over the spot where it had struck, placing a chaste kiss on the back of his neck.

“A-again, Hannibal…” Will’s voice was thick, rough, leaning back into his mouth.

“You are asking me to punish you, Will.”

“Yes.”

Another sharp crack. A yelp. Another gentle caress. A press of soft lips.

“Do you desire to atone from unnamed sin?” Restraint splintered along his skin in a tremor of fingertips.

“Yes.”

Will shot a burning look over his shoulder, running a tongue along his lower lip, lingering on the split. “I want you to punish me because I deserve it.” Hannibal’s jaw clenched, dark gaze following the tongue. He inhaled sharply, cock heavy, jammed painfully into his zipper. “I want you to because I crave it.” The younger man turned slowly, leaning back, staring down the bridge of his nose with glowing eyes. Hands snaked around the edges of the belt, yanking, pulling Hannibal close. “I love how much pleasure it gives you.” A hot mouth pressed into his throat, hand stroking.

Breath hissed out through teeth, head tilting back, eyes closing. Nimble fingers dragged nails along his shaft, palming, squeezing. A zipper whined down. A thumb pushed beneath silk boxers to circle the slit in his head, liquid pooling. The belt clattered to the floor.

“The bed.” Hannibal ordered, drawing cold metal circles from his left pocket. “Now.”

Will’s gaze flickered to his hand. “I...Where did you even just…” The younger man backed away obediently, feeling his way towards the bed with each glide of his feet. “Are you in the habit of keeping spare handcuffs in all your clothes?”

“These are from the interior glove box.” Waistcoat joined the belt on the floor, steady footsteps following. “There is another in the nightstand.” A dress shirt fluttered to the floor. “Please take them out.”

“This… hardly seems necessary, Hannibal,” Will replied breathlessly, dragging out the handcuffs, drawer shutting with a thump. “I’m willing.”

Shoes landed near legs of a bed frame with a kick. “They are unquestionably necessary, Will.” Hannibal dragged trousers off with a sharp tug. “One of us willfully chose to leave the house in an inappropriate state of dress after the other explicitly requested they reconsider."

“I would chalk that up to poor planning more than anything, Hannibal.” A lovely smirk settled on the younger man’s lips. “Whatever were you thinking?”

"I am giving consideration to..." Silk boxers hurled down unceremoniously besides them. “...how remarkable it is I ended up freezing despite my great care to dress in a manner befitting of winter.”

Flames licked every inch of his skin, leather gloves clinging to rigid hands. Hannibal’s fingers sunk into a woolen coat slung on the side of the couch, yanking it off without looking. With one knee pressed into a sinking mattress, he loomed over bright blue eyes. Will tipped his head back, fingertips and eyes trailing down his ribcage, snaking around hips, lingering on his thighs, hot to the touch.

"You ought to have tried harder..."

“And yet… in spite of my best efforts, William, I am now remarkably cold…”

Fingers curled around a shadowed jaw. “Perhaps I wanted to see how far you are willing to go to keep me, Hannibal.” The younger man sucked in a breath as nails bit down into his neck, pulling back from a warning growl. “Will you leave those on while we…?” Will lips parted, dragging a fingertip across leather gloves, murmuring, “I imagine they will keep you sufficiently warm…”

“The coat will do absolutely nothing to warm your skin.” It dropped into Will’s lap, rumpling unceremoniously. "It is merely for aesthetics." 

Wide eyes gazed up, paling. “B-but this coat costs more t-than—“ Hands fluttered along buttons, tracing stitching. “I don’t know how much it costs, but I can’t. We can’t. I’m not going to. What if I—”

Hannibal cut him off sharply, “You have had absolutely no objections to destroying my possessions up until this point.” His face hovered inches above the younger man’s with narrowing eyes. “You will do so for my pleasure, Will. Without question.”

“…Fine.” Will dragged fraying remains of his flannel shirt from his chest, flinging it from the bed. “But I’m not responsible for it,” He growled back, punching arms through sleeves in a huff, falling back against the mattress.

Will gazed up, studying the sweep of Hannibal’s lithe, naked body. He licked his lips. Hannibal returned the look with a sweep of his own. Beads of perspiration clung deliciously to his chest, clad in ripped jeans and a two thousand dollar Burberry coat, a fallen god sprawled on the bed with burning eyes and a blood split lip.

“How very delicious you look, Will.” Cheeks burned bright, gaze sinking away. 

With a dip of his head, Hannibal licked his way up a lean sternum and sunk teeth into a beckoning throat, tugging hair. Will keened softly, pushing the teeth in with a firm, bruising touch. Hands ran up the length of arms tensing beneath, stretching them above the younger man's head, cold metal settling around twisting wrists. Handcuffs clicked closed around a wrought iron frame. Will’s eyes snapped open.

“William, you misunderstand me. I want you in _just_ the coat, nothing more.”

 


	39. Chapter 39

The dark cabin glowed with a crackling fire, spitting red embers and curling smoke framed in stone. Candlelight trapped shapeless flickering monsters along walls, rising, dancing in circles of arms outstretched to the heavens. Will perched on an edge of an armrest, one knee bent up to his chest, boxers clinging to hips. He crouched low, squinting to peer through an emanating white light of his cell phone. With his thumb, he flicked mindlessly through garish headlines on Tattle Crime, a guilty pleasure, a connection to home.

A hand shot out in the dark. He toppled abruptly off his perch, tumbling with flailing limbs and a sharp curse. The phone flung from his grasp, skidding beneath the couch with a clatter before dimming black. Will looked up with a frown from the confines of Hannibal’s lap, glaring up at a poised chin. The older man thumbed over a page in a book he was reading, completely unfazed, unruffled with a concentrated drag of eyes over words.

“If you wanted to cuddle all you had to do was ask,” Will huffed, gathering up his limbs and tucking them indignantly into place, stifling the need to knock the book away.

“The glow of your phone was immensely distracting. I am trying to read.”

“Well… you could have asked me to move then if it was _so_ distracting,” Will grumbled, hunching shoulders against a chest clothed in a silk navy robe. He struggled, tangled further with each movement. “You didn’t need to knock it to the floor, taking _me_ with it.” He bit his tongue with narrowed eyes. “I think you would consider it rude.”

A hand settled into his curls, stroking lightly, entirely focused on the book. “Both you and your distractions…” Will stilled with their warmth. “…are rightfully where they belong.”

Will sunk into the touch with a flutter of lashes, rubbing his cheek against Hannibal’s chest.

_I am home._

He curled tighter into the older man’s lap, relaxing completely as various patterns were drawn into his hair with trailing fingertips. He closed his eyes with a soft sigh. The glow of fire warmed his front, the solid weight of home heated his back, sheltered by confines of limbs around him. The sound of Hannibal’s heart in his ears lulled him to safety, breath matching the tempo of its beats. He drifted in and out of consciousness, floating with gentle waves that ebbed and flowed, at peace.

_Is this what it feels like to be someone else? To feel complete? Whole?_

Fingers settled at the nape of his neck, idly brushing. Was the sound stirring in his chest mirroring a symphony inside Hannibal?

“May I take the coat off now, Hannibal?”

“You may not.” Fingertips traced the edges where wool met skin.

“Good…” Will murmured, nestling deeper.

Hannibal made a distant sound of approval, fingers strumming circles into skin.

“A little light reading before bed?”

“Mmm…” A page crinkled as it turned.

Will struggled to open his eyes, lips pressed together in a line of concentration. He blinked several times to refocus. A muddy brown cloth bound book perched lightly in Hannibal’s left hand between a rigid thumb and long fingers. The binding was worn, fraying at its edges. A sign of weathered love. The pages were yellowed with age, crumbling beneath the weight of fingers pressed into its thin body. Will tilted, neck craning out to better see. He squinted to read faded black, embossed lettering. _Dante’s Inferno._

With a soft chuckle, Will ducked his head in and settled back to lie on his side. He considered if forever was no longer an impossible amount of time to find the perfect fit, to lie in Hannibal’s arms, and drift through effervescent moments. He stared up with a small smile, following curves of an exposed throat, lingering on a roping bruise, moving along carved angles of a jaw line. Every inch flawless, sculpted, tectonic. Shadows and light quivered injustice along hollow arches of the older man’s frame. A reflection of chiaroscuro in a gilded Caravaggio. Beauty formed in cruel lines. Seen with the incarnate of grace. Held by sweeping lines of poise. Touched by hard angles of brutal violence. Melting into quiet darkness to escape warm tenderness.

 _Are you even real, Hannibal?_   Will let out a breath, eyes misting. _Is any of this even real? Or are these simply after images of my oxygen starved brain as I am dragged under and out into the depths of the roiling Atlantic with your arms drifting apart from mine?_

Will reached out without meaning to, touching a cheek with a flittering dance of fingertips. It was solid. Hannibal dragged his eyes from a page, tipping his head down with a questioning gaze filled in flickering light. Half rimless, metal reading glasses perched elegantly against peaked cheekbones, glinting in light.  
  
Air stuck in his throat. “Oh god…” His mouth went dry. “That’s hot.”

Will’s cheeks burned, ducking down. _Did I just say that out loud?_

“A bit of an overwrought pun even for you.”

_Oh God. I did..._

Eyes returned to the pages with a flit of disinterest. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

With flushing skin, Will sunk further still, burying burning cheeks behind sweating palms. _It wasn’t a tasteless pun slandering Dante’s hell, Hannibal._ Another glance stole his breath, flushing straight down his chest. _Just the glasses._ He curled fists into his lap, biting down on his lip for a distraction. Useless. The fabric of his cotton boxers tented. A hot breath burned through his nostrils. He stole upward glances, catching a flash of glass, reflection of fire burning in them.

Eyes had always been a distraction. A half formulated excuse. They weren’t a distraction. They were a hazard to be avoided. He hadn’t the slightest interest whether the eyes looking back were more green or hazel, if they were bloodshot from a night of little sleep, or surveyed with a clinical inspection for hepatitis. It was being seen he avoided.

Eyes were windows to the soul. If he was seeing their eyes, they were looking back, staring into the abyss of his soul and sinking in. They traveled through ragged wounds in his chest, holding a light to caverns filled with dark nightmares lurking within. It pained him to think of what they might find. It killed him to know they might not like what they see. Will had steeled his gaze, hidden beneath thick frames of one way glass, unwilling to be vilified for glimpses of dark shadows moving beneath, hiding what would appear if what he loved turned away.

Eyes behind glass nearly remained hidden, the flashing surface blurring everything they did not sharpen or make clear. It allowed Will to look without fear of drowning in images and faces gazing back. He had been unconsciously drawn towards those that wore them, a fascination, a quirk. Will’s curiosity first blossomed into sexual attraction during college after running straight into a pretty girl in the hall, scattering pages of her dissertation. Her eyes had been the color of emeralds, framed in silver. She had slipped glasses back on his face. She had looked, but not seen. He had looked back and remained safe. He had inspected her glasses more closely in the confines of her dorm room a week later through an awkward exchange of clumsy embraces and tangled limbs.

Hannibal had looked at him and seen. Had buried his hands deep in bloody wounds, worshiping the monsters lurking. He had stayed, unwavering, constant. His throat closed tight, trapped by how the eyes penetrated him, even beneath glass, a heat coiling in his spine. Was it possible for the older man to now seduce him with a simple look of flashing glass? Will’s hand was moving beneath thin cotton, stroking before he knew it, overwhelmed watching the objects of his lust and fascination collide.

“William.” Hannibal looked down at his face, lingering briefly on the hand moving in his boxers. “I am trying to read,” He admonished lightly. “If you are in need of a distraction, you may retrieve your phone from beneath the couch.”

With the push of an index finger, Hannibal adjusted the glasses on his face, pushing them up his nose. Will’s insides twisted a blistering heat. It was blissfully sensual. He groaned, stroking hard and slow, head tipping back. His cock throbbed against his fingertips, aching, begging for release.

“Why would I need anything else with you at my fingertips?” Will asked roughly, swallowing hard, voice bleeding with hints of desperation. “Do you think you could…?”

“Not at this particular moment, no.”

“Because you can’t… or you don’t want to?”

“Simply because I would prefer to finish reading this chapter uninterrupted.”

Will dragged up, pushing the book away from Hannibal’s face. He straddled the older man, pulling his head into the couch by fine strands of hair. Glass quivered in an orange glow, dark gaze watching intently with a curious expression masked with indifference.

“I… can I just…” Will reached for his cock again, pulling lightly on the head, touch teasing and light. “Will you just sit there for a minute?”

“If you insist,” Hannibal answered, peering at pages of the book behind his shoulder with intense scrutiny, mouth narrowing with intent focus.

His hand glided up and down the shaft, fluid leaking down his fingertips. He pressed light kisses into arched cheekbones, brushing metal frames with each sweep of his face. He groaned, pressing a mouth into the curve of Hannibal’s shoulder, before muffling tense pleasure deep into couch cushions.

A hand settled on the back of his neck, lightly touching. “I would have thought our most recent entanglement…” Fingertips curved down the length of his spine. “Or even the one before that…” Warmth curled at his hips, pushing edges of the coat away. “…would have rendered you unconscious and provided a few moments of peace and inner reflection.”

“What you did to me earlier was good. God, so good. I-I just need this,” Will choked out, working himself hard and fast.

With a flick of his wrist, the book landed on the floor beside the phone. “Is this your way of requesting a self evaluation of my performance?” The older man asked, head tipping to the side, nails raking down his back.

“Uunnn, Hannibal…” Will twisted his hand, gripping the end of his shaft, groaning as nails dug deeper nearly breaking skin as Hannibal caught the gaze fixed on his eyes beneath glass. “You have no idea what you do to me when you look this utterly fuckable.”

A brow arched with another head tilt. “Am I to infer you have developed a slight fetish for menswear and accessories?” A tongue darted out. “Or is it simply the ones I wear that have you in such…” Hannibal’s lips parted slightly, staring at Will’s cock, at what he was doing against his chest. “…a… state?

“N-no, god, no! Yes? Just yours, _just you_ , I mean.”

“You appear to be rather fixated on my glasses at the moment, William, which is rather strange given your long history of avoiding eye contact with others…” Hannibal drew long fingers along the frames, pulling at them ever so slightly.

“Don’t take them off, god. You look like…ahh…” Red burned Will’s cheeks, looking away.

The hard mouth quirked, dragging fingertips along the edges with sudden understanding. “Yes?”

Hannibal covered the jerking hand with his own, locking their gazes, loosening, before pushing it away to give Will what he needed.

“Tell me, William.”

He pinched slightly below the head between forefinger and thumb, quelling a building climax.

“It is considered a display of mutual trust to allow another to see our darkest fantasies, William.”

A thumb circled the slit on his head, forefinger dipping in.

“One of my professors.” He blurted out, blush bleeding down his face and chest. “Oh god, please don’t stop.”

“Tell me, Will, would your have attentions have been so utterly rapt during each lecture?” He threw back his head as Hannibal reached between thighs and cupped his balls with a slow drag up his cock. “Would you have hung upon every word falling from my mouth with studious abandon?”

“N-no…” Nails raked up his thigh, sinking into his ass with another pull. “I mean, yes, I would but…” Will leaned in, pressing his forehead into the older man’s, breathing out, pinned down by his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking of how you might taste, or how my back would dig into the corners of the desk if…nnn… you were fucking me, how it would bruise…”

“Your grades would surely suffer,” A growl vibrated along his neck.

“Y-yeah?” Fingers closed tight around his shaft, picking up the pace with steady strokes. “Oh, that feels good.”

“Undoubtedly.” Hannibal’s mouth ghosted Will’s chest, tugging on his hair to bring him close, their lips nearly touching. “What might a suitable punishment be for intelligent, distracting young boys failing my course, Will?”

“Unnn, tell me,” He panted, licking at corners of the older man’s mouth, coming undone knowing Hannibal wanted to watch, wanted Will to see, to be seen, to hear, to feel what only he was doing to him.

“You would report to my office, on your knees, in front of my chair." Will was dragged deep into the fantasy, enveloped in the rough cadence of Hannibal’s voice. "Did you want me to know how desperately you wanted me, Will?" Lips trailed down his body, hand sliding up and down his shaft, moaning between each breath. "Were you aware how I longed to drag you to the floor to teach you a lesson of submission with jeans wrapped around your thighs? To make an example out of you for all to witness.”

"H-hann..."

“Would you unzip me without being asked, Will? Would you take my cock into your hands?” Will choked on the word cock with a strangled keen as if he was swallowing it whole, desperate for the thick accent to envelope him. “In your mouth?”

“Y-yes…”

He moved a hand against a knot in a robe clinging deliciously to Hannibal’s hips, tugging, pulling with a hiss of frustration. “God…” Will dragged fabric apart, gripping the cock that pulsed in his hands, pulling and stroking. “You feel so good, Hannibal.”

The voice dipped low, harsh. “And would you lick stripes along the head…then up the shaft…?”

“Ah… yes, please, unnn…”

Will thrust into the hand working him fast, slick with cum, falling deeper into a glowing gaze. “Would you wrap your lips tight?” Hannibal wrapped both their cocks into his fist, dragging. “Until I was thrusting every inch into the back of your throat?”

A watchful eye memorized each fleeting bit of rapture flickering on Will’s face. “Would you plead with me to help you, to tutor you, to let you pass, with every inch of me in your mouth?”

“Oh Hannibal, Hannibal, oh god, god—“ Pressure clawed, need blurring with want.

“Look at me, William.” Fingers dragged his hair back, forcing Will to stare back into shadowed eyes staring back with a glint of glass and heated worship, perfectly framed, open and unveiled, seeing and being seen. “Promise to look only at me.”

“Unnnn, ahhh, Hannibal, I’m going to come--”

A raw scream ripped from his throat. Heat consumed, blistering every inch of skin, doubling over the body beneath with a tremor of limbs. Breath slammed out of his lungs, head swimming, room dimming to black. It felt like an eternity dragged by in still darkness and crackling flames.

“You are dripping down the front of my robe, Will.”

“I…?”

“You will need to move if I am to assist you.”

“…What?”

“The bathroom.”

The room was a dizzy blur of dark and flame, breath hot, back of his eyelids dancing red then black, body sluggish and unmoving, falling into depths of warm skin and comforting arms.

“Can’t.”

“Darling boy.”

Strong hands gripped his hips, breath fluttering along the curve of his neck.

“You will have to hold tighter…”

They guided tangling legs around a broader frame with hooked ankles.

“…if you wish for me to care for you.”

Fingers splayed across his lower back, dry and warm, as Will was lifted easily from the couch, fading into the sounds of shallows ascending a glowing shoreline, steadied by a thrumming heart beat.


	40. Chapter 40

_Entirely domestic._ Hannibal mused with a brief survey, carefully tucking in two pieces of Medlar fruit inside a small wicker basket. Their reddish brown skin blended into small paper wrapped packages nestled in the bottom, each tied neatly with a thin twine containing an afternoon lunch. A tender smile touched his lips, soft waves drifting through his mind, resonating with twinges of sharp aches.

_This will please William._

With a shuffle of feet, the younger man wandered into the room arms stretched above his head, stifling a yawn, rubbing falling stars from his eyes.

_If I incline my eyes to the heavens, would you guide me home? An embodiment of constellations to fill my waking moments. Allowing a single astronomer to study the flickering, effervescent light of your fragile frame._

A navy hem of another unremarkable flannel shirt trailed over a glimpse of skin, stroking dark hair traveling down a flat abdomen and tucking into tattered grey jeans.

“Is that not the same shirt you were wearing yesterday?” Hannibal gave it a disdainful flick of his eyes.

_Good morning, my dear boy._

“Well, it’s not like you gave me time to pack anything before dragging me out here.”

He felt an eyebrow rise slightly, hint of irritation stirring at the sharp tone.

“Sorry.” Will winced, covering his face. “That’s _not_ what I meant. I just… I like this shirt. And… we, I mean you, sort of ruined the other one.”

“Yes, I am perfectly capable of making that observation.”

“And… I like it here…” Words muffled between fingers, against palms hiding his face, eyes peeking out between spaces. “With you.”

_If I gathered you close, pressed you to my heart, would you allow me to fall to rocky shorelines within your embrace to remain with you for eternity?_

“Hmm.”

A disinterested sound was all Hannibal could manage. A heart thrummed with silent steady confession inside his chest. He recalled drastic flashes of excitement had flashed across the younger man’s face, buried deep within the walls and strange comforts provided. It warmed corners of his soul, sinking deep, stirring a sense of pride within. A self satisfied grin widened, hidden behind an unmoving mouth. Tension eased out his shoulders, gaze briefly flickering up from a basket to meet blue wavering ones, silently pleading. _Sorry._ A pale, pained voice filled his head.

“Apologies are given in the hope of absolution, William,” Hannibal replied, meeting wavering eyes. Lashes fluttered as he stroked long curls away, trailing down a shadowy beard. “We do not recall the steady tick of a clock marking time. We remember moments of entwined spaces filling our lives. In those moments, we share mirrored imagination of existence, of madness, carried by the reflections of ourselves looking back in another’s eyes. In my eyes, you are without sin.” A small corner of his mouth ticked up as the younger man shuddered, pressing into his palm. “As for the shirt, I am afraid it was a necessary sacrifice.”

“Is that. Wait.” The younger man opened his eyes, head quirking to the side. "Are you wearing new clothes?” He squinted, leaning in. “Did you go back to our house and not even think to bring me anything again? Seriously?”

_Our house._

Hannibal swallowed hard against a stirring, turning away, unable to bear the stranglehold of emotions choking, over the hold Will had on him.

“That would be incredibly discourteous, Will.” He motioned without looking to a small leather duffle sitting near the dresser, turning back to inspect contents of the basket as if he wished to look anywhere but Will’s face. “There are some clothes for you to change into beyond the bed.”

“What would be the point? We’re just going to go out in the woods and get dirty…”

Will followed the heated sweep of Hannibal’s eyes at the last word with a grin, arms crossed. “Hmm…”

Will held up a hand, finger tilted upright with rigid clarification. “You do realize this is _not_ another metaphorical experience, right? We are actually going to go hiking. You know… in the woods.”

Hannibal returned the teasing with a scathing look, snapping a lid on the basket shut with a grind of teeth. He wanted to hike up the hem of Will’s shirt, trapping his arms beneath cloth, and bury his tongue between his legs instead, to replace insolence with shuddering moans of reverence.

“You may want to lose the tie….” The younger man’s eyes followed a clear line down each stitch. “And the vest.” They flicked back up to his face, flooding with amusement. “For god sake, are you attending an opera or hiking through the woods, Hannibal? You know what—“

With a spin on his heel, Will marched over to the dresser purposefully before dropping to the floor. Hannibal kept faithful watch on glimpses of skin exposed by the stooped figure, trailing across them with a tinge of heat. A blur of clothes fluttered in the air, discarded one by one on the bed. His and Will’s alike. He bit down on his tongue, just enough to bleed, to keep it in place from unleashing a firm admonishment. The younger man was testing his patience in more ways than one. He took a step forward.

“Put these on,” Will ordered, abruptly jumping up, half grin freezing him in place with cracking lungs.

A pair of faded, dark washed denim hung in a left hand through clutched belt loops. In the other, a white jersey cotton v-neck t-shirt was thrust forward. Hannibal eyed them with a level of scrutiny he generally reserved for the rude, or a poorly cooked semblance of a meal. In some cases, both.

“No.” He answered flatly, back turned.

“…Really? _No_.” A huff whistled between clenched teeth. “That’s all you have to say?”

“They would not suit me, Will.”

“And yet you find it acceptable for me to play dress up in yours?”

“A distinct separation of issue. One gives me pleasure. The other does not.”

A woosh then a slap of fabric smacked his back. It rustled before dropping to the floor, begging for their very existence. Hannibal turned, wide eyed, slack jawed, speechless. His eyes swept from rumpled clothing at his feet then back up to the younger man’s face. Arms crossed over chest, glowering with a dark and sour expression. A twitter of excitement chased after a twinge of anger with a rush of blood. It ebbed with shivering skin.

Glittering eyes stirred with warning in their depths. “Just wear them,” Will commanded tersely. “I’ll be outside.”

The cabin door slammed close with a reverberating shake. Hannibal stared after it, blinking slowly, brows knitted together. He pressed tips of knuckles against his forehead, leaning over the kitchen counter to drag in a calming breath. Why had he allowed it? Had it been anyone else Hannibal imagined they would be the one’s being served up in neatly tied packages on at a well spread picnic. One that did not involve trudging through mud.

He closed eyes with a hiss. How long had it been since he had killed someone? Had truly appreciated their absence with a swirl of blushing wine the color of bitten lips with a swallow of deep, ingratiated satisfaction?

Hannibal glared at the rumpled cloth body on the floor, willing it to morph into one he could tear his hands into and devour. His eyes looked up, catching a shadowy figure leaning out along the banister, back to him through the small window. The younger man’s body was a tensed weapon, fingers curling into fists. He touched a hand to his brow again before running it back through hair.

_Certainly if I am capable of breathing life back into your lungs, until you are willing to breathe life into us both, than surely I am able to acquiesce to such a simple request._

A t-shirt and jeans. Their simple charm was only present when clinging to Will’s body, intensifying in beauty as strewn piles along the floor.

_Would you delight in such a sordid affair of indignity Will?_

Could they even be called clothing if he wore them?

Practiced fingers, his body of clothing, tucking and folding them neatly into drawers. Hannibal smiled for a moment at the thought of their clothes mingling together, side by side. _Blissfully domestic._ A strange sensation rippled along his spine as he pulled jeans over legs, plastered to muscle, dragging soft jersey over his head. Surely it was a grimace of being asked to wear such an undignified thing. Or perhaps pain at realizing how comfortable it felt to nearly fit into the younger man’s skin. It hurt to pull a leather jacket over them, wanting to revel in their feel alone. The scent of wooded pines prowling with wild things filled his lungs with supple flesh. Will’s scent.

 Shoving feet into black wing tipped dress shoes, Hannibal snatched up a camel colored coat and burgundy scarf in one hand. A picnic basket rushed to catch up in the other, barely missing a brush with death as a closing door followed not far behind. Braced against the cabin’s porch, Will stood statue still, lost in churning wheels cranking in his head. He blinked at the sound, stirring to life. He froze mid turn. His nostrils flared, one hand latching onto the banister for purchase. His throat worked soundlessly, cheeks flushing a delicious shade of pink then scarlet. Hannibal pushed out his chest in response to the gaze devouring every inch.

“The… shirt is a bit small,” Hannibal managed half heartedly, taking a deep breath to fill it out, until he could feel every muscle rippling beneath the taunt stretch of fabric.

“A little,” Will answered weakly, frozen in place.

“Perhaps I should…”

Hannibal feinted an attempt to go back inside with a turn, a smile hidden on his face with absolutely no intention of doing so. He could nearly feel Will sinking to his knees. With dramatic effort, he paused at the door, letting eyes look him up and down from the backside. His fluttered closed at the drag of heat along his hips.

“N-no. L-let’s just go already.”

With an outstretched hand, the younger man took the offered coat. Will flushed deeper as he pushed arms into sleeves. Hannibal draped it carefully over his shoulders, fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. He delighted in each red stained cheek and averted eyes. The younger man’s mind had taken a turn to darker fantasies, remembering and reliving in detail the last time he’d been asked without question to put it on. The scarf followed. A shade of garnet crept beneath lines of a flannel collar from a different kind of embarrassment.

They fell into step, easily matching the other’s pace and time, effortlessly moving, perfectly in sync. Bodies breaking rank within to search out the other, a dipping tenor flowing through and between them to fill quiet spaces. A comfortable silence settled in. Twigs snapped beneath their feet. Sun warmed leather stretched across Hannibal’s back, gaze sliding over to study Will’s face, far off in some distant location of the forests inside his mind. Somewhere above in a canopy of twisting limbs and sparse fragile leaves, a Sardinian warbler trilled out to call for its mate, a gentle tone responding with a flit of rustling leaves. The sky was the color of mist trailing along the banks of a waterfall, drifting with a crisp chill of wispy clouds.

“Y-you look really good, Hannibal…”

Hands reached out instinctively, swallowing down each word. Hannibal dragged Will in with a tug on the scarf, welding their mouths together with an entanglement of tongues. A hand fisted tightly in curls at the back of his head, pulling closer to envelope his shoulders in heat. The younger man made a noise of discontent as their lips parted, tongue following out. It glistened in light. His face flushed deeper, a galaxy of red dwarf stars shading his cheeks.

“Thank you, William,” Hannibal replied with a flashing smile, attempting not to sound as pleased as he felt.

Breathlessly swaying, the younger man replied, “Y-you’re welcome.”

“I find myself quite open to the idea of slipping into your clothes…”

“Really?” A gentle hand steered him forward through a tangle of branches.

“Certainly…” Hannibal glanced over, unable to suppress another smile. “As long as you give greater consideration to wearing a selection of ones I choose for you.”

Eyes slid down taunt muscles beneath the t-shirt, perfectly framed by supple leather. “I think… I could do that.” The younger man’s voice dipped low, rough, before looking away and shrugging deeper into Hannibal’s coat.

They rounded a bend of trees with a crunch of leaves. Will slowed beside a weathered, speckled grey rock and swept his eyes over the area, following a small stream that ran through it.

“Let’s eat here,” He said, pointing to the rock approvingly.

Hannibal glanced up, hair prickling his neck with a surveying sweep of his eyes, an impression of not entirely being alone weighing down his limbs.

“Would you rather not—“

“I’m hungry!” Will’s voice pitched to a kind of undignified whine.

Shrugging purposefully, Hannibal struggled to keep his mask firmly in place at the sight of the younger man’s pouting mouth, brushing off the weight.

“Let it never be said you starved in my company,” Hannibal answered firmly, handing over the basket with one more sweep of his gaze, before picking his way over to the rock.

_Would you allow me to breathe soft utterances of prayer upon your mouth, William, to fill you until you live only for the moments of our entwining souls?_

With angled folding limbs, Will flopped down happily onto hard ground, leaning his head back against a rock. He smiled up.

_Will you promise to fill my heart with the warmth of your smile until it ceases to beat?_

A hand shaded his eyes from the sun, staring up with a pointed look of expectation. Flashing bewilderment following. Hannibal remained where he stood uncomfortably, rigidly rooted to the earth, unable to take a step towards impending death. He half expected a classic eye roll, brows raising, and mocking tone imbued with the phrase: _Going my way?_

Hannibal’s limbs crumpled with creaking bones of indignation, hand pulling down with an insistent tug. Indignity followed suit when he landed. He blinked, surprised yet again by how he willingly submitted, allowing it. Will threw his head back with chilling puffs of air, despite a even colder gaze following each movement, roaring with laughter. An uncontrolled smile spread, mirrored upon his own face.

“Does being in the thickets of nature bring you happiness, William?” Hannibal asked, leaning unconsciously towards the sound.

Will’s face softened, blue eyes warming at edges like candlelight. “I’m happy with you,” He said softly with a bashful glance, hand settling against Hannibal’s in a light touch.

“The banality of society would saddle us with familiar explanations of opposites attract.” He stroked at the hand, entwining their fingers. “Yet we rely on bringing out the worst in each other. We are the same.”  
  
Will shrugged, skidding sideways along the rock until their shoulders touched, looking off somewhere in the distance. Hannibal wondered what it would have felt like to have Abigail resting between them, eyes bright, smiling; hypostases of a divine triad split asunder. A pang split his skull.

_I am sorry for taking that from you…_

“Being at our worst and being at our best are not necessarily exclusive. What else is family for, if not to see you through both, and love you just the same?”

Hannibal’s eyes fell on their entangled hands with a flutter in his chest and a wistful gaze, questions bubbling up and rising to the surface, suffocating.

“Do you see us as… family, William?” He asked quietly, brows drawn tight to restrain pain thrumming through his body.

A light hand touched his cheek. “Haven’t we always been?” Hannibal’s eyes strayed to rest on golden leaves, crumpled and curling with decaying flesh.“ Blood is not the only thing that binds. In the darkest, blood soaked nights or the filtering rays of rising sun, I consider you the only family I have.” A thumb touched his lips, words blurred and slightly bitter before softening again. “The only one that matters anyway.”

Jealousy ripped through Hannibal with an unbridled force, sinking into his stomach with a sour acid. A nameless woman and child standing in his stead. He had waited. His place was at Will’s side and not a cage of his own making. It was a cruel sensation settling deep in his bones.

“I asked you to choose under threat of violence, Will, of your own mortal wounds, under the ones I promised to commit against your family.” He struggled to breathe, looking up. “It was a narrowing of worlds where the only option was that of inescapable death.”

“I fully embraced my death…” Will answered softly with a small smile. “And yours. It wasn’t a choice; it was a simple acceptance of truth, of what I was, of what you were, of what we could become together; a pact of life, or death, of absolution. Don’t you know by now you are my whole world, Hannibal? That you are my life after death?” His head rose. His jaw clenched. Tenderness shimmered in eyes looking back. It quietly killed him. He clutched at the hand in silence. “I love you,” Will whispered, blurring gaze focused intently on his face.

Hannibal felt a feeling wash over skin. Heart clenching at the highest notes of an aria, stuttering, ceasing to beat for a moment. He stared, unblinking, frozen as if Will’s words were digging in and viciously tearing out each emotion one by one. Far off, he was fairly certain he could hear pieces of fine china skittering across the floor.

“You’re name is Hannibal Lecter. It’s some strange time in the afternoon, and you are, against your better judgment, sitting on the damp forest floor having a picnic with me.” Blue shining eyes sought his out, mirth dancing there. A firm hand cupped the back of his head, words petering off, quiet. “And this is real.”

“Is there any realm …” He glanced from his shoes gleaming in the sun to Will’s right hand settled on his knee, stroking softly. Air burned in his lungs. His eyes settled on the bare ring finger then at the younger man with a level gaze. “…either in this or the next where you will stay?” Hannibal asked, wincing at how pained his voice sounded, unable to fully rein it in.

“Stay?” Will responded quietly, face twisting in confusion. “I’m right here?”

Hannibal felt his gaze slipping back towards bare fingers, but snapped them into place with a firm shake of his head, silent with air burning inside his lungs, setting his ablaze.

Will swallowed hard, running a hand down the sides of his face, following his gaze, staring hard at a spot near the crest of his cheekbones with clouding tears. “Forever, Hannibal… I’ll stay forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confirmed: It's going to be another six seasons before Hannibal finds the courage to outright ask Will to marry him, isn't it? 
> 
> Brief Definitions:  
> "hypostases of a divine triad": The Holy Trinity


	41. Chapter 41

Physical scenery changed the moment their lips slipped away with parted chilling breath. Waning electricity sank into the ground beneath their feet and absorbed into lifeless bent limbs of surrounding trees. It disappeared in an instant with rustling leaves. Will sensed the changed before it happened. He watched with tensed lips as a mask found its way back up, settling in, firmly pressed into tight corners of Hannibal’s face. A graying cloud floating across a burning glare of the sun, extinguishing light that remained. Silent formality rose up, reigning with a firm hand in its place.

A piece of brown fruit was pressed into his palm. The slightest sensation of fingertips lingered at his wrist. Warmth pulled away. Will looked up from it expectantly. A shudder of excitement coursed through his heart. Soft, citrus flesh was caught on the sharp edge of a blade. It was pressed into hard lines of Hannibal’s lips, sharp jagged teeth dragging it in with a push of his thumb. Will forced breath through his lungs, gaze following lines of muscles straining through jersey and leather once more with dizzying speed.

Will swatted the hand away reaching out, with a light growl, “I can cut my own, thank you.”

“As you wish,” Hannibal replied coolly, eyes dark, turning the switchblade with an expert flip of his wrist, handle facing Will.

A knife’s edge dragged across skin as he took it with a sharp breath and a thrumming heart. “What…am I eating?” Will asked with a scrutinizing squint, nose wrinkling.

The fruit was a ruddy color, roughly textured, about the size of a persimmon. Its bottom side stuck out in a five star point against its calyx, a soft navel poking beneath. It smelled vaguely like baked apple pie.

“It looks like a rotting Christmas ornament…” He shot Hannibal a look. “And no, that is not the kind of ornaments we will be having.”

A flicker buried deep behind his eyes. “Dessert.”

“Yeah. “ He stared, waving the knife to draw an answer out of frowning lips. “And?”

The older man blinked slowly, turning with stiffening muscles and began to pack away crumpled remains of paper and twine in the basket, tucking them on the top of a few pieces of sweet meats and cheese remaining.

 _“I’ll graff it with you, then I shall graff it with the medlar…”_ Obscure poetry rolled off Hannibal’s tongue with a debonair flair, thickened by his soft accent, haunting and soft. “ _For you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe and that’s the right virtue of the medlar.”_

Will stopped breathing, heart caught in his throat, knife hanging just above the fruit’s skin. “I’m sorry. What?”

Hannibal’s eyes met his, head slightly tilted, something flickered across his face before replying, “Shakespeare, William.” Will felt his face pinch with an expression of unease, leaning away when the older man crowded in. “Rosalind’s quick wit and ability to clarify important traits of characters around her with subversive puns and imagery made her a favorite of the stage; a true heroine.”

Will looked at him then back at the fruit wishing at least one of them would be more forthright about what the other was. “Yes, but what—“

“A medlar.” Will heard him stifle a sigh with a hand pushing against his hair. “It has existed for thousands of years. A fruit so ancient it is entirely resistant to change.”

“So... It’s you?”

He shrank back from a biting look. Focus returned to stare at the switchblade in one hand and fruit in the other, hunched uncomfortably against the rock, conflicted about which he wanted at the moment.

“I am fairly certain I am not _quite_ that ancient, Will,” The older man growled, straining to force his tone to return to a calm, even pace. “The medlar was often used as symbolism in both plays and literature to represent the lamenting of old age, a foreshadowing of destitution, or in some cases an allusion to prostitution.”

Will quietly watched Hannibal’s mouth move in unhurried, languid motions, trying to maintain a look of interest, to keep from leaning in to tangle their tongues in unison of unspoken poetry of warmth and touch.

“It cannot be consumed until it goes through all of the stages of _blettir.”_

Will opened his mouth to ask a question. He reconsidered, closing it promptly at the cold stare. He returned his attention to the fruit, bringing the knife down into russeted flesh with a grimace. He licked up the side of it, sweeping up tangy juices, before returning a blade to its skin with a frustrated glare.

“How do you feel about consuming the flesh of a fruit that cannot be ripe before it has rot, Will?”

“Shit!” The blade slipped, bearing down into his palm, dragging at his wrist, tearing through his flesh instead of the fruit’s. Will dropped it, shaking his hand instinctively against the sting. It yielded to the ground, splitting apart, juices out across decaying leaves. “Shit,” He said a little quieter, staring at it with hunched shoulders and a bitter sigh.

 _Great, good job, Graham. You killed it. Maybe you should investigate._ He kicked a heel into dirt. It splattered across glittering fruit. _You’ve managed to trample two different manners of symbolism. You’re showing great progress in your newfound interest in destroying the things Hannibal actually cares about._

A hand shot out, yanking the blade from his hand. Hannibal’s chest heaved, eyes burning. The blade flicked closed before jammed back into a pocket of the leather jacket. A red stream dripped down Will’s upturned palm, seeping into edges of the camel colored wool. It would stain.

“Jesus!” Will cried, flinging his hand down, blood spattering fruit and leaves alike, and scowled up at clouds drifting across the sky. “I’m sorry, Hannibal. I’ll…”

 _What? Pay for it?_ A yelping laugh left him.

“Sorry.” He said again, entire body drooping, deflating, aware of hot liquid dripping down fingertips, fixing his eyes on the forest floor.

“Come...” A dark, grating sound commanded. "...here."

Unconsciously, his body placed one foot in front of the other. A lump of fear rose in his throat. He swallowed down bitter bile, grimacing. Black glittering eyes darkened with each unsteady step.

 _This is it. I’ve murdered Dante and Shakespeare. Stained and torn the finest bits of his wardrobe._ He took another unconscious step forward. _God, I love him._ Teeth ground in his skull. _He’s going to kill me now._

“It’s nothing, Hannibal. I-I’m sure I just need to clean it when we get back. If we start now we can—“

In a sweeping motion, the world tilted in a whirl of burning orange and yellow, flames licking the forest with muted hues. Will dangled helplessly in Hannibal’s arms, bloodied hand twisted in white fabric of the t-shirt. He blinked rapidly, heat flushing his face.

_Oh thank God. I didn’t just smear blood all over that jacket…_

“I-I’m sorry… I…This isn’t really nec—“

A blackened shadow stared down. “ _Silence_.”

With blurring speed, they began to move through the forest. Branches seemed to part, bending, bowing, giving way as a predatory force raced through them with purposeful, focused movements. Wings flapped in the distance. Will squeezed eyes tight shut against the dizzying motion, focusing on a steady heartbeat. He murmured something of surprise. Hannibal’s heart rate wasn’t even elevated. He was faintly aware of clutching the picnic basket in his other hand. It swung wildly. He made a concerned sound about spilling its contents. A deep sound rumbled inside the ribcage pressed to his ear, quieting him.

Will blinked hard as the cabin door shuddered open with a ram of Hannibal’s broad shoulder, a hand snaking along the back of his head to protect. Breath slammed out of his lungs. Fierce lines of Hannibal’s mouth were drawn in jagged brush strokes, teeth bared, cheek twitching. He left a bloodied fingerprint on skin to soothe.

Clothes dragged from his body in mere seconds with a blur of hands and nails. Both their jeans and boxers joined the pile, fluttering with sudden violence. Will’s breath stuttered out in a reverential sound. The older man took white jersey between fist and teeth, shredding it with a loud ripping sound, every muscle in his abdomen clenching. Before he could pull away, Hannibal latched onto his palm, inspecting the cuts with a quick, thorough sweep. A tongue ran across red streaks, lapping. Stumbling forward, Will reached for red glinting lips. A splash of biting alcohol sent him reeling back, cursing. Cloth wound tight around his palm and wrist, knotting tightly.

Dark eyes burned with ragged breaths. Corners of Hannibal’s mouth pulled into a grimace as a tongue swept up glittering red beads. Streams of blood seeped down the older man’s face, covering his arms, breath ragged. Strong arms dragged him into burning, naked flesh. Fists enclosed in a vice like grip, constricting, crushing, one at his hip, the other digging into his shoulder. Warm liquid streamed down their torsos, bathed in red, drowning, sinking with arms holding tight.

 _There’s so much blood_. _It’s beautiful._

Will felt the world tilt once more, black flooding in, gratefully drifting into silence.

_“William? Come back to me. Can you hear me, Will? Please, Will.”_

Will stirred, back pressed tight against a solid chest, crushing arms locked around his torso. He wasn’t certain if he was remembering the words or hearing them. He struggled to breathe. A washcloth dabbed at his forehead. Warmth lapped around his body in gentle waves. Hannibal’s knees rose up on either side of him, buoys drifting in water, guiding him through currents of a clouded mind.

“Nnn…Hann…?”  
  
“I am here, William.” Shadowed agony fluttered along his neck with warm breath.

He pushed a shaking hand to his cheek. Will pulled it back to stare at tattered fabric binding his hand, spotted with flecks of blossoming crimson. “Y-you have something against my wardrobe,” He whined pitifully, brows drawing down. “That was my favorite t-shirt…”

“They are all your favorite, Will.” Lips pressed into his throat. “Just as mine are all navy to you.” Hands stroked down his arms with increasing pressure. “I will buy you another of the exact collection and year if you would like,” Hannibal replied softly, face burying into the curve of his shoulder.

An imperceptible tremor ran through arms surrounding his body, settling into hands carefully holding his torso, fading into fingers twitching across his skin. Violence lurked in the bones encaging him. Blush colored wine lapped in the quiet of their still bodies, red ribbons floating with each glisten. With a sigh, Will leaned back to press them skin to skin, barely aware of a throb in his palm as heat consumed. He lightly touched the nape of a neck curved around his own. Arms tightened in response. They floated in a large claw tub in silence, drifting together, lost in the sensation of presence, quieted with slowing time.

“That’s not necessary.” He answered quietly, considering. “Anything similar without the burden of a shockingly high price tag would be alright.”

“My life exists to provide for yours.” A rough hum vibrated against his shoulder, a tensed mouth following.

Torment rushed through his veins with pumping arteries. “Hannibal?”

“William?”

With a slight twist, Will pressed his mouth into the older man’s temple. “Did you have a panic attack just now?” He reached back, to press his fingers along a tensing throat. “It’s just… I am very familiar with them…”

The body stiffened, rigid and unmoving. “It is perfectly natural to resonate distress of the wounded.” 

“I was just hurt.” Fingers tightened ever so slightly around his chest.

Water droplets slid down his cheek as a palm settled over his eyes, forcing them closed. “Do you often find blood staining your skin when our hands touch with a blade pressed between them? ”

“A slip of the knife,” Will breathed out, rolling his shoulders back to settle into surrounding arms. “Nothing more.”

“One might argue it is an unconscious desire to choke the life from my body still.”

“It was an accident,” He answered, head shaking weakly, shivering as fingers curled tighter. “There’s a difference. Just like the roof. An accident.” He paused, pressing his cheek into the hollow of a throat. “And we’re _not_ arguing.”

Fingers settled over his heart, stroking. “It would be unnecessary to disagree on indistinguishable fallacies.”

A long stretch of silence filled the spaces between their bodies.

“I am _not_ going anywhere.” Will lightly elbowed the older man’s stomach. “And you don’t always have to be so smug about how right you think you are.”

Fingertips lifted his injured palm with gentle tremors, lips pressing a deep kiss into his wrist. “Not at this particular moment in time, no,” Hannibal murmured into his skin.

“Not at _any_ moment!” Will tore the palm from his eyes, swinging his face to glare over his shoulder. “It would be a lot easier on us both if you would just believe me for once instead of listening to the clamoring of your own self righteous mind.”

Strands of hair clung sharply to a forehead. Bloodied fingerprints smeared down a hard cheek, hidden beneath a hand covering Hannibal’s face. Wet streaks shimmered on cheeks. Will reached tentatively forward, tracing long fingers with a splintering ache forming in his lungs with a cracking voice.

“Hannibal, are you…?”

The older man reached out, palm pressed firmly to his face, pulling in. With a wounded noise, Will blindly crowded close and covered the hand with his own, hiding Hannibal with his own skin. He pushed their mouths together as nails sank into the back of the older man’s neck to keep him steady. He pressed down forcefully. He couldn’t breathe. His chest ached. A soft, warm sound filled his mouth. They forced air through the other’s lungs.

 _My name is Will Graham. And I am alive._ Fingers wound tight in his hair, dragging him closer still. _You are with me. Here. In this place. In this moment. And I am real._

“L-love you, Hann…” Will mumbled into a softening mouth, holding tight.

“W-will.”

Hands shoved at his shoulders, mouths parting with a shuddering flash of pain flickering across Hannibal’s face. Will reached out to brush the lines away, heart stuttering to a standstill in his chest. With a slosh of water, Hannibal clawed his way out of the tub, crossing the floor in a few short strides. The older man pressed his body into far corners of the room, half hidden by shadows, dripping wet.

“Hannibal…”

_Please. Let me hold you._

“I am feeling a bit tired, William.” Hannibal’s voice quavered, sucking in a steadying breath, dripping wet. “I will prepare our dinner while you soak…" He skirted towards an open door. "Would it be possible to turn in early this evening?”  
  
“S-sure…” Will’s words trailed after a disappearing form, ducking his head to hide a flinching mouth, broken connection stinging the corners of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts: 
> 
> Medlar is a fruit, or pome, closely related to the apple. It is considered inedible until it goes through a ripening process of bletting, blettir, or rotting, until it can be eaten. It is considered a kind of dessert or delicacy as it was served in Pompeii and medieval French court. 
> 
> "I’ll graff it with you, then I shall graff it with the medlar…" Is a direct quote from William Shakespeare's play, As You Like It, a pastoral comedy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, Will Graham, stop trying to kill Hannibal with your clumsiness please.


	42. Chapter 42

Flames died down with a hissing spit, flayed heart sizzling with another flip in a cast iron pan, searing flesh with blackening rosemary clinging to sinew. Hannibal focused on the task at hand with fleeting concentration, desperate to be lost to in the familiar comforting sounds of precision. To be enveloped by wafts of fresh cut herbs and garlic choking his lungs. He was clamoring to maintain a tenuous grasp of control on a paring knife strangled in long, shaking fingers, drifting through darkness.

_Blood pounding in his ears crashed down in tidal waves of crimson reflected in blue pools gazing with aching softness in a black echo._

_“William?”_

_A shimmering figure turned to regard him. Blackened bodies closed in around the younger man. Will stared back. Wide eyes rimmed with tears of agony wavered, reaching out with a sigh of curling smoke._

_“Don’t leave me, Hannibal.”_

_Gnarled branches curled around his ankles, twisting up trembling legs, wrapping around his wrists. Sharp antlers enveloped his frame, tangling in the lines of his clothes, ripping into skin. Ribbons of red trailed down his chest, unfurling tessellations forming down each jutting rib. The younger man looked down with a horrified cry of pain as jagged points sank into his back. He looked up at Hannibal staring back, out of reach._

_“Why would you do this to me?” Will reached out, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I love you…”_

_“And I you.”_

_“Your form of love is cruelty resting on the edge of a blade…”_

_"As is yours I'm afraid."_

_Blood streamed through outstretched fingers reaching for his face. A shell engraved hunting knife lay at his feet. Will looked up, shadows falling over his eyes until only black remained with shimmering tracks of white light._

_“Show me mercy, Hannibal.”_

_“It is not within my nature to forgive, William.”_

_“Your compassion is filled with murderous intent.” Hannibal stroked unsteady fingertips down a black skull smiling back with a trembling ache. “You should have let me die…”_

_“Breathing without your heart filling my lungs is a pretense of existence.” Hannibal leaned close, waiting for darkness to swallow him whole. “Only demons would reign this earth should I wake to find your frail, lifeless bones lying in my arms, William.”_

_A hollow laugh warmed the side of his cheek. “Is this what you meant when you said you made a place for us, Hannibal?” Claws curled around his throat, tightening. “Purgatory? Till death do us part?”_

A choked noise filled the kitchen as Hannibal breathed life back into the present. His fingers curled around a knife, flexing, forcing them to steady. His bones were covered in crimson stained fingerprints left by the younger man, crushed beneath the weight of each touch seeping through layers of skin. A scream blazed deep in smoke filled lungs, unable to cage violence gathering with each breath.

Bitter copper filtered across his tongue, Will’s phantom blood, a warm poison claiming each nerve ending with a sputtering spark. His limbs turned to stone, sinking beneath tidal waves, pulled under. He was unable to move. Unable to breathe. Something black shifted in his soul, easing beneath taut skin, skittering with a gaping smile in the back of his skull. A different kind of monster gasped for freedom behind the veil, lying in wait to reopen wounds of loss with fresh markings.

With a low growl, Hannibal spun away from the stove, eyeing a charred heart with disdain for its soft frailty melting into iron. Breath slammed out of his body. Knees locked instinctively to keep him upright. Vaguely in the background, he heard clattering. He was unsure if the cast iron pan had reached the counter or if it was rolling on the floor at his feet. Had he turned off the stove? He clutched the knife tighter in his hand. The meal would be ruined. Tasteless. The heart would be nothing more than a crisp blackened char of dust.

_Let it burn._

Water droplets snaked down an arcing collarbone, following curving muscles, pooling in a hollow navel. Fair colored porcelain faded with muddied brush strokes from waist to tips of toes in a creeping pink blush of blooming lilies.

_Breathe._

Wavering blue stared out behind dark wisps of dripping curls, stirring with warmth and adoration. White teeth glimmered with soft pulling lips, creased by brushing lines of gentle strokes. A smooth, clean shaven jaw line jutted out with a tensing of clenched teeth, nostrils flaring with eternal youth.

_Breathe._

Skin shimmered with gold blossoming amaranth of a sunrise clinging to the horizon. Rough, worn hands clutched edges of the island counter with absently swinging legs. Thighs brushed rounded edges of a wooden cutting board, flesh surrounded by garlands of fresh spices and herbs scattered across the counter.

_Breathe._

Hannibal choked, hand resting at his throat to feel a pulse hammering beneath. A stark naked body sprawled across his kitchen counter, leaning forward with a small smile looking back. An untamed offering, a heavenly feast, dripping wet, patiently awaiting the meticulous ministrations of his blade. Lying back for punishing strokes of his hands to mold and shape flesh into a higher calling.

_Breathe..._

With a quirk of his head, Will leaned back along the counter with flexing biceps and tightening muscles of pure beauty. He languidly stretched, propped on elbows, tracking the sweep of the older man’s eyes. Knees lifted slightly, pliant legs spreading out with slow motions. A gentle laugh fell from a curving mouth as Hannibal tightened his grip on the blade. Every bone coiled into a tense stance.

A dark growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Shadows filtered the edges of narrowing eyes. In a blur, Hannibal slammed the paring knife into the cutting board brushing the younger man’s thigh. A yelp filled the kitchen. It reverberated in silence. Limbs scrambled, red streaks forming across broken skin as they were dragged back to the counter’s edge. Nails sunk into a curving back before Hannibal wound fingers tight in soft curls, crushing his lips to Will’s with a rising pang of hunger. A whimper filled his mouth with a darting tongue.

“Quiet!” Hannibal snarled into the mouth, yanking back enough to glower down into wide, searching eyes. “To display yourself with beautiful presentation in my kitchen is to be devoured, William.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Will cried out, nails scraping his scalp, as teeth found a fading yellow bruise on his neck, sinking deep to liven its shade with blistering heat. “I just wanted t-to apologize for earlier and I thought you were t-tired!”

“I am exhausted beyond measurable doubt.” Hannibal raked nails down shivering thighs, tongue following after each reddening mark. “I was content…” A moan filled his ears. “...until you walked into my life…”

“Y-you walked into mine.” A strangled voice corrected as a tongue licked stripes along the length of a throbbing cock, hips bucking forward. “Trying to analyze the bone arena of my skull…”

“ _Yes_ ,” He hissed angrily, fingers yanking and pulling at his hair with each drawn out lap. “It would appear as though I brought something back.”

Salt filled his mouth, licking a ring around precome. “Unnn, Hann, please…”

Tilting his chin up, Hannibal glowered up into wild eyes staring down, mouth hanging open with a plea. “It would appear I am crushed beneath your inescapable mercy, William…” Will made a noise tangled with pleasure and pain, blinking slow, reaching out. “Will you deny me my life as well?”

“G-god, I-I’m not sorry…unnn, not anymore…” A punishing mouth sucked down to the base of his cock with biting nails. “Y-you belong to me, Hannibal.”

A primal snarl vibrated around the shaft. Hannibal fisted thighs in his hands, dragging forward, sucking hard until the only sounds remaining were half noises, begging pleas, and his own name stuck on a loop cresting in tenor and pitch with each stroke. His forefinger gathered water droplets from arcing hips. It circled before slipping into a warm entrance, pushing through hot tight folds.

“Oh god, Hann…”

Legs looped around Hannibal’s waist, dragging forward until he was leaning all weight onto one arm, crushing herbs beneath the heel of his palm. Searing flesh, spice, and sex filled lungs with each breath dragged through his nostrils. Intoxication pooled between his legs. A stuttering gasp warmed his temple as his mouth pulled away. Lifting his head, Hannibal crowded close, inches from Will’s wide open mouth, curling his fingers deep between legs.

“Tell me, will your tongue taste as sweet if I am to swallow down each sound you are making, Will, until life leaves your lungs?”

Fingers curled at the nape of his neck, pulling forward. His mouth hovered above. Will panted with each stroke. He licked the tip of a tongue straining to join them, to lock their mouths, pulling the younger man’s head back to keep just out of reach.

“Hann…”

“Yes?” Hannibal pulled a finger out before adding another, pushing deeper, stroking, swirling until Will’s moans breathed across his lips.

“Please…”

“You are the source of incredible frustration, William…” Hannibal growled, focused on strumming two fingers against the sensitive prostrate giving way to its attentions.

“Y-you love me for the madness I bring you,” Will whispered with a small smile, bandaged hand settling across his face.

“ _No_.”

Hannibal jerked away, throwing himself back into the safety of a kitchen corner. Wavering pools of aching pain followed. His cheek stung, soft gauze slipping away. He touched it gingerly, pulling back to stare at crimson covering his fingertips. Will’s blood.

“How can you care for something that bathes you in blood and broken bones, William, while quietly breaking each one of your own? To trap you by its side?” A scoring heat dragged through Hannibal’s lungs with shaking breath, blood filling up every inch, struggling to gather air.

“I bring nothing but violence to your doorstep and offer to lay Death at your feet.” An unsteady hand fell over his eyes, hiding from the ones looking back with utter defeat. “I provide sheltered walls of loneliness and forced threat as your sole companion. With a promise of destroying all who might try to enter.”

“We… can’t turn back time, Hannibal.” Jagged cracks bled into a soft tone. “I forgave you.” A sweep of fists sent glass clattering to the floor. “Hannibal, please—“

With a single step forward, Hannibal dragged the younger man off the counter and crushed him between it and the shaking wall of his chest. His nails dug into wrists, violently entwining their fingers. With rounded shoulders, Will visibly softened, surrendering, leaning to rest his forehead over a hammering heart.

“I sent a man to tear apart your wife and child in the hopes to strew their limbs and organs across my cell for you to witness, Will. To leave you as alone as I was without your presence.”

“Yeah…”

“With my bare hands, I choked the life out of Beverly Katz and carved her into beautiful pieces to prove I was the only true champion in your corner.” His shaking voice rose to a growl, fingers tightening until Will was breathing sharply with bruising pain. “And when you gained your freedom, I served her to you between sips of wine and gentle smiles.”

Fingertips curled into fists. “Yeah.”

“It is with cold, calculated precision I slammed a knife into your body and left you on the floor, nearly denied you life, to witness the death of our only child, Will.” A demonic snarl left his throat with tightening talons, curving along ragged flesh. “I cut Abigail’s throat to ensure she would die a slow, agonizing death in your arms, to take away what was dear to you. To take away what I had given you.”

“Yeah.” A cheek winced into his chest.

“I nearly allowed you to die to witness the burning of your brain, William, to drug and violate every inch of your mind for simple curiosity and the pleasure it brought me to have you near.”

A hot breath shuddered out, shoulders shaking against him. “Y-yeah…”

“I tried to consume it to keep you nearer still…”

_I fed you my flesh to keep your beating heart forever in my own chest._

“It is not love, William.” Hannibal tipped his head up to stare at the ceiling, shaking with the effort to keep rage within the firm rule of his hands. “Humanity is born out of weakness for the hope of endless possibilities, and yet our most identifying trait is being inhumane.”

“To be human…” Will struggled to take a breath, arms trembling beneath hands crushing his own, lashes tangling with tears. “…is to be cruel.”

"Is that why you tried to drown me, William, to show me the warmth of your humanity?"

"I wanted to drown us both," The younger man answered quietly. "Until I didn't. And then it was too late."

“Cruelty is the disguised origins of kindness and compassion. Would you accept my compassion so willingly knowing its true nature?”

“Then your compassion…is merely masked by your cruelty.” Blue eyes looked up, clouded with tears. “I accepted your true nature long ago, Hannibal, and I love you for it all the same.” A mouth quivered with a soft cry, breaking with the increasing pressure threatening to snap his wrists. “There is nothing else I can give you… except my life.”

_A mutually unspoken pact to ignore the worst in one another in order to continue enjoying the best._

He caught the lighter frame sinking in his arms, hands tangling around a limp waist. A sob wrenched free from Will’s chest. With shaking arms, Hannibal lowered him carefully to the floor, fire smoldering in his chest before snuffing out with glowing black embers.

“Would you…” A rough ache seeped up from Hannibal’s heart into his throat, pushing out of lips, clawing at the tip of his tongue. “…offer up your life to me knowing I may destroy us both?”

_When did the entirety of my world narrow, until only you remained looking back, William?_

“I…” The younger man curled tight, sobbing as Hannibal gathered him to the curve of his chest, sinking to lie on the floor beside him. “…already did.”

He ran trembling hands along either side of Will’s face, tipping it up, aching, burning, with each wet, rolling tear. He stroked to soften wounded sounds falling from quivering lips, shaking to hold tight, to ease his bones to a still quiet, to keep from crushing what he cared for into dust and ash.

“May I…”

Hannibal inhaled sharply and held it. _Is that my voice trembling with pitching tenor?_

“…kiss you, William?”

“Only if you…” A gauze covered palm fluttered at his mouth with another wracking sob. “…show me cruelty, Hannibal, within the safety of your arms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Pull a single thread of a man and watch him unravel." Hannibal whispered softly, glancing up.
> 
> Will looked back, considering with a crossed leg. "Knock down his walls and watch war spill in?"
> 
> * * * 
> 
> A glimpse into future chapters. 
> 
>  
> 
> I recommend gathering soothing cups of tea and blankets (or cats) to cry into. The next few chapters are going to be... painfully sweet as the last bits of walls between our Murder Husbands crumble.


	43. Chapter 43

Heat ghosted trailing circles across Will’s forehead. It followed contours of his nose, moving side to side, above each cheek in symbolic protection. It hovered above closed eyes, trapping burning wet heat streaming down his face. Cold seeped into his cheek from wooden planks, spreading down his neck and chest as skin shifted away. Empty stillness gathered across his back, enveloping his frame, as an unseen body rose. It quietly moved away with a rustle of fluttering fabric.

An aching, broken sob split his lungs. Sinking weakness rooted his bones firmly to the floor, splintering with a symphony of cracking contours. Fresh tears stung his eyes, blinking hard, desperate to keep them at bay, to hide. His fingers curled into fists with scraping knuckles, held to his chest against a slowing heartbeat. To keep searching fingers from discovering only air reached back, to find he was utterly alone. Pressing a hand to his mouth, Will muffled each cry with increasing pressure of his palm, slowly suffocating. He curled into a tighter circle in hopes to disappear, a crescent half moon of skin floating behind a cloud, within rising shadows filling the kitchen.

“William.” Rocky shorelines breathed across his cheek.

He shrank from the sound, forearms curling protectively around his face with half strangled noises begging to wake from a dream.

“William.”

“N-no…”

Flat heat lingered above his hands, clenched tight in hair, winding tighter with coiling muscles to shield, to protect. “Will, I…”

“ _No_ ,” He cried out with clenched teeth, eyes snapping tighter shut.

Descending bones creaked quietly, ringing in his ears. He felt the older man’s presence, a hovering ghost floating over the outlines of his body. Frost withered petals moved across his face from unseen eyes. A soft, gentle noise filtered in settling quiet, disturbed by half whimpers and trembling limbs.

“I am going to place my hands over yours, William.”

Dry warmth settled across the back of his shaking hands inch by inch. Fingertips brushed lightly across. They circled white knuckles. They stroked gently down each joint before carefully curving in. Another cry shook loose from Will’s chest as they pulled softly to dislodge his hands. He buried his face further between bars made of cold bone and sweating skin, holding tight.

“Will…” Faint starlight sighed across his wrists. Fingertips tenderly stroked spaces between his fingers. “Please, Will.”

“Nnn…” His fingers splayed open with a shudder.

The older man’s brushed with deft motions, settling into hollows, filling them to form interlacing fingers. “Puis-je te voir, ma fleur d'hiver?

Will’s lungs squeezed, choking out each breath trying to enter, trapping ones trying to escape with cresting cries of pain.

“Ici reste mon coeur…”A sinking cadence drew closer, breath warming his bandaged hand. “…avec vous **.”**

Fingers stilled with a single, weighty stroke. “A vous de choisir.” 

Will refused to let go, burying deeper.

They melted away. “Je vois tout à fait.”

With a shudder, Will’s hands fell from his face, seeking the trail of unseen heat. His hands tangled in ones retreating, clamping down to tight to keep them near. They stilled with an aching sigh.

“Je te vois…”

A flutter of lashes opened his eyes. A figure doused in darkness looked down, pinpricks of starlight struggling with each flicker in a clouded face of black hue. Hannibal’s figure was rimmed in a hum of faint light, leaning close on bent knees by his side.

“May I touch you, William?” A whisper fluttered near his forehead.

Will managed a weak nod, cheek scraping the floor, stifling a pitiful sob.

Blurring shadows gathered, kneeling, straining to reach out. “C`est l`esprit qui vivifie; la chair ne sert de rien.” An unsteady palm settled on the side of his face, fingers splayed wide to apply a steadying pressure. “Les paroles que je vous ai dites sont esprit et vie…”

“P-please don’t…” With a cresting cry, Will tangled hands in the older man’s hair, latching on with twists to cage him to his side.

“Tu es ma raison.” Hannibal leaned down, shimmering maroon eyes coming into focus, breathing softly across a trembling mouth. “Vous êtes ma lumière.” Carefully, the older man looped fingers at the nape of his neck, lifting slightly. “Pour le reste de ma vie. Même dans la mort. Je suis à vous.”

A soft hand joined to frame Will’s face, slowly bending in, to muffle each broken noise clinging to his tongue with melding mouths. Warm feather light lips trailed his, tenderly, torturous and slow. It stole breath from his lungs. His heart quieted to a standstill, waiting for an echoing beat of another. A warm mouth followed thumbs flicking away tears streaming from his wide open eyes. Will placed a trembling hand over Hannibal’s chest, staring down. Reverberations hummed along his fingers. Softly a _dolente divisi_ of hymn stirred in soft beating notes, joining his own.

“See?” The older man whispered quietly, resting a hand over his, eyes misting.

"B-beautiful..."

Hannibal framed his trembling torso with knees pressed into the floor, lightly squeezing his ribcage. Soft hands curled at Will’s throat, stroking with hushed foreign murmurs, washing over cries leaving his lips. His hands clutched at ones holding him in place, keeping his skin threaded together, moored by touch. The older man bent his head, placing a kiss on his forehead then another at the corner of each eye, drinking in salty tears.

_God… I’ll let you break me, but please do it swiftly…_

A shuddering sigh shook Will’s body as the older man leaned in, pressing skin to skin, lacing their fingers until they were stretched, arms splayed to their sides in offering, conjoined. He sucked in a breath. Agony twisted the mouth above as he pressed palms into a straining neck, holding, gazing up with blurred vision. Dark eyes blinked rapidly, fighting to remain open, to allow Will to see each shattering crack of agony. He pulled the older man in with a sob, a plea to wrap them up in the others skin.

Hands trembled at his shoulders with a rough accompanying tremor. “I…do not wish to hurt you, William…”

“I don’t care,” Will let out quietly, pressing a mouth into the corner of the older man’s cheek. “Just, please god, don’t let go…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The older man’s brushed with deft motions, settling into hollows, filling them to form interlacing fingers. “Puis-je te voir, ma fleur d'hiver?
> 
> (May I see you, my winter flower?)
> 
> “Ici reste mon coeur…”A sinking cadence drew closer, breath warming his bandaged hand. “…avec vous.” “À vous de choisir..” Will refused to let go, burying deeper. They melted away. “Je vois tout à fait.”
> 
> (My heart rests here with you. The choice is yours. I fully understand.)
> 
> “Je te vois…” (I see you)
> 
> “C`est l`esprit qui vivifie; la chair ne sert de rien.” An unsteady palm settled on the side of his face, fingers splayed wide to apply a steadying pressure. “Les paroles que je vous ai dites sont esprit et vie…”
> 
> ("It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh profits nothing.The words I have spoken to you are spirit and life") (A biblical verse ...John 6.63)
> 
> “Tu es ma raison.”Hannibal leaned down, shimmering maroon eyes coming into focus, breathing softly across a trembling mouth. “Vous êtes ma lumière.” Carefully, the older man looped fingers at the nape of his neck, lifting slightly. “Pour le reste de ma vie. Même dans la mort. Je suis à vous.”
> 
> "You are my reason. You are my light. For the rest of my life. Even in death. I am yours.)
> 
>  
> 
> dolente divisi: sorrowfully played piece of music split into pieces, played simulatenously


	44. Chapter 44

“Just, please god, don’t let go…”

A stab of hunger clenched the heart slamming in Hannibal’s chest, bloodied and raw, struggling to beat from a gushing internal hemorrhage. He rocked back, gathering soft crumbling folds of skin to his chest, to keep them both stitched together, tight and safe inside his shaking arms. Soft, broken murmurs fluttered at his throat. Smooth hands clasped at his shoulders. He felt a breeze of sea salt across his body as a tear soaked face pressed against his heart, listening for its breaking faults.

_Is this what it would feel like for the life to slip from your body, Will, blood spattered words of adoration stuck in my throat until the bitter end? Sputtering out in crimson speckles of tightly clustered stars on your cold, dead skin?_

Hannibal’s fingers laced painfully tight in the others, wavering to crush or let go. His mouth moved slowly, reverently, to search for each bit of skin pressed into his own. He gently pushed the younger man back, laying him down with a curling spine to the floor. He trailed kisses from the base of Will’s skull, curving along a sputtering pulse, and pressed a mark above his heart with a nip of scraping teeth. He tasted of crashing waves of the sea’s threatening oblivion, of redemption.

Safely shrouded behind tangled constants, Hannibal whispered softly into the expanse of skin in his native tongue, voice rising to smother each sob and falling with each shudder of hands holding his. His right hand gently pulled away, snaking down a heaving ribcage, releasing a cacophony of inaudible agony.

His fingers curled lower, settling softly across a smiling jagged scar. A cruel marking of his embrace. A brutal sign of possession. His attempt to claim a man, untamed and wild, as effervescent as moonlight flickering across the sea, belonging to no one, to no man. Its presence had once filled his mind with a red heat of gaping smiles. It now filled his soul with a deadening dread of hollow sockets and ice cold guilt.

_How I longed for you to suffer. To leave the idol of my worship to bleed out on Death’s gate, yet not enough to grant you entrance to leave this realm. I shall ferry your soul to the other side, William, and no one else._

_Will you wear my scars for the rest of our natural lives, William? As I wear yours?_ He stroked rough skin, nuzzling his cheek against it. _We will always be part of each other as mirror images._

Hannibal placed a kiss above his heart. Fingers forced both their hands into clasping fists. They rested against a cool floor. The younger man’s body trembled with the violence of a brushing mouth and caress of hands.

_May I hold you close in both this life and the next? To protect you, to hold you near, from what awaits us on the other side? To wade into the shallows with you in my arms, drowning, to join your soul clasped to mine in eternal darkness._

Hannibal inclined his head, lips pressed tight into cooling skin with a flicking tongue, listening carefully. A stabbing pain slammed hard inside his chest, reverberating through his bones. He realized with a choking throat Will was shaking from rising broken sobs, muffling each small, wounded sound between clenching teeth. He drew back. It clawed his insides, breaking something deep inside with a resounding crack.

“Would you like me to release you?” Hannibal asked roughly, shoulders rolling forward, prying his hands from Will’s grasp one finger at a time. “Should I…” He forced the last words out with a tremor. “…set you free?”

Hands thrashed out wildly, crushed with choking sobs, bringing them back down. Will’s hands shook, pressing them back into his flesh with bruising force.

“My dear boy…” He breathed out with burning lungs.

“Please.” A barely audible whisper clouded with tears.

His hands trailed away, heart aching. “Will…“

_It is unforgivable torment should I hurt you. A death sentence should you do the same. For us both._

“Please!” Will cried out, eyes buried underneath a dark thicket of thorn crowning his forehead, nails scraping at his chest to pull near. “Please don’t make me ask.” Blue eyes spilled over with tears and a flash of white teeth. “Please,” He said softly, crumbling.

Hannibal choked back a strangled sound and shook his head hard. The younger man reached out, curling a tentative hand around his neck, staring hard at his shoulder with held breath. With grievous precision, Hannibal gathered trembling arms against his own, skin of their bodies pressed together fully, until they melded in to one. Arms flung around his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulder blades with a deafening sob of content.

A perfect fit, a divine crumbling puzzle piece fitting snugly in the corners of his mind. Where he had kept the rest. Awaiting the day to hold them in outstretched palms, an offering of all the pieces he had taken. To quietly watch as Will became whole once more, gathering up, as time reversed.

“You have always been a transient guest in my life, William…” Hannibal whispered into softening curls, rubbing his chin into the younger man’s neck. “Moving between rooms of the physical and ones flickering in the corners of my mind. Each moment brief and fleeting as reality blurred with imagination.”

Hannibal ghosted light stroking sensations above shivering skin with infinite care, blinking hard. He winced, sobs breaking loose beneath his touch.

_How have you so quietly, without warning, taken root inside my very soul, dear boy, blotting out every sensation but the warmth of your skin? The press of your mouth my very downfall?_

“You have filled every room with laughter. With cries of passion. With fury of your dark, beautiful embrace.” Tears stung the corners of his eyes. “Tell me, William, have these moments only ever been given life inside the walls of my mind… or are you here with me now, in this moment blurring your reality with my own?”

Another soft answering sob crushed him completely. Hannibal’s heart caved in his chest, each artery closing off, as its walls collapsed, from cries filling the kitchen, from the trembling boy beneath his fingertips, silently pleading, begging, praying for Hannibal to hold tighter, to end their suffering.

“I can bear any mortal wound, Will…”

He touched the younger man gingerly. Will’s chest shook, limbs strained and quaking along the floor, against him.

“Please, William…” An emotion clouded his throat, closing it off. “I cannot bear to see you like this.”

A tinning sound echoed. Arms crushed around his torso. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, gently curling a hand around the younger man’s head. He was satisfied with the lack of oxygen pumping to his brain. Hands fluttered at the scar on his back, tender ministrations agony. The bullet Will had ripped through his flesh had been easier to bear, a pure form of connection.

“You are safe, Will.” Hannibal trailed fingertips up Will’s hands, smoothing over his arms, lapping waves against his ribcage, the last droplets of water eagerly following. “You are not alone.” He pressed a mouth hard into a damp temple. “I am beside you.”

Hannibal tore off silk boxers from his body, keeping a hand planted firmly on Will’s chest. He feared the younger man might shatter into a million indescribable pieces if he lost touch. His focus narrowed to a single hand. How Will’s skin felt cool, smooth, of keeping it there, a steady threat of comfort. It was the only thing standing between their destruction.

“Shh…William.”

Slowly, Hannibal turned the younger man onto his side, rolling him on his stomach. He pressed a long, warm kiss into the back of his neck. He reached along the counter above his hands, searching blindly, focusing on keeping a hand pressed into skin. His fingers curled around glass. The younger man whimpered as he rocked back on his heels, knees on either side of the peaked hips.

“Quiet now,” He said softly, stroking his hands along a curving spine. “I have you.”

Hannibal carefully slicked drops of olive oil on his fingers, dragging them along his length. He pushed the glass aside into an unseen corner of the counter. He snaked an arm under Will’s right shoulder, fingers curling to press above a rapidly beating heart. He pressed two fingers gently between quivering cheeks, circling tight skin, pushing in with unhurried motions. The younger man pushed back, burying his face into the crook of his elbow, watching from a safe distance, out of the corner of his eyes.

The tip of his head followed, softly pressing in. His eyes slipped closed. Warmth tightened around him, welcoming and cruel. He forced his body to still, to slow, to wait until Will’s tension melted before moving again, until he filled every inch before drawing out with a ragged breath and sinking back in. Pained cries rose slightly, keening off.

He moved slowly in and out of the younger man, throat tightening and heart pitching at each vulnerable sound drawing out. It was excruciating. Hot tears sprang from Hannibal’s eyes, tilting his head up. He tried to remember how fading starlight had washed over his face in chilling night air. He looked up as if he could see them, to look upon their insubstantial glow. It felt dimmer somehow in his mind against the mirrored image of Will’s glowing face looking back. They disappeared entirely with tearful blue eyes and the outlines of their hands entwining.

“H-hannibal…?” A voice called, turning, becoming aware of strangled cries coming from his own chest.

“N-no!” Hannibal uttered sharply, voice splintering, gently pushing Will’s head back to the floor with a firm hand.

His palm settled over fluttering lashes to hide searching eyes, to hid him, acutely of his nakedness, of what Will might see looking back. Aching with how the younger man was pressing back into each thrust, scorching his skin with blackened blisters of heat.

Salty, hot drops settled into his open mouth. “I… please don’t look, William. Feel me here against you, inside of you, with you in this very moment.”

Will nuzzled a face against the palm, stained wet, lips pressing quavering words to skin. “Will you please take me to bed, Hannibal?” The face turned away. “Tell me when to look.”

Hannibal choked down a cry lodging in his throat as their bodies separated, desperate for connection, for the sensation of souls entangling deep inside their skin, entwined and searching for heat, resting in each other’s bones.

_Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?_

_I already did._

Without a word, he gathered the trembling body into his arms, clutching tight the precious, quivering thing to his chest, afraid of what might happen once he released, of what kind of a thousand excruciating, small deaths he would be forced to endure if he had to let go. Silken strands pushed into his neck as the smaller body rippled with another cresting, small cry, as Hannibal folded their limbs together, pressing down into the mattress.


	45. Chapter 45

Will hooked an ankle around the older man’s waist, leveraging his weight, pushing until their worlds inverted in a spin. Their bodies toppled like city gates, crumbling beneath a battering ram, war spilling in. A panicked sound reached his ears as he latched onto struggling wrists and pressed hands into pillows. He buried his face in the crook of Hannibal’s arm, breath hot, eyes still closed. Tears slipping down Will’s face pooled in a scalding acid.

“Just let me hold you.” Will growled with forced softness, stilling hands pushing to escape.

Weakness fluttered at his throat. “William.”

“I’m not asking.” Arms twisted to break free. “Hannibal,” He warned, brushing tear stained cheeks into his shoulder, dragging them away. “I am doing as you requested without sight. Just let me have this. Just…” His eyes crinkled, wincing. “Let me, alright. I am not trying to hurt you.”

The older man stilled as he tightened his grip on wrists. “There are many moments in time where I have been deceived by the softness quivering on your tongue, William…” A face turned away with rustling sheets and a heaving breath. “To see your true intentions behind mirrored glass of separation. Where you left me to wait. To be crushed by hope.” He detected a cracking in the even tone. “You did not return. You left me to burn. You turned to another.”

Panged breath clustered in his lungs with a heavy sigh. Will ran thumbs along vulnerable undersides of Hannibal’s forearms. Jagged skin skittered beneath his fingertips. He pressed his mouth over knife wounds he had created by proxy, winding kisses from end to end on. He mirrored the gesture on the other arm.

“Yes,” Will murmured, kissing rough flesh. “I bore witness to your crucifixion, Hannibal, with righteous indignity of a man possessed by contempt.”

Sliding down the older man’s body, his fingertips traced shuddering ribs until it found another bit of raised flesh. He felt Hannibal sigh inwardly. Will stroked his hands down his torso, clamping tight on hips to keep the older man pinned to the bed. His hair fell across a trembling navel. He kissed the gunshot wound, a mark of the Dragon, tenderly with swirling tongue and lips.

“And I also watched our becoming with the violence of man willing to kill to protect what he loved…”

He heard an arm fling across the older man’s face, hiding behind a wall of skin. “Your protection is misplaced, William,” A trembling voice answered. “Undeserved.”

“Why?”

“I will destroy you.”

"Destroy us both then."

"Will..."

“You have seen my monsters, staring them down, laying them at my feet.” Will kissed curling ragged skin along Hannibal’s quivering bicep, lapping at each line, to heal the ache. “I have turned my demons against you.” Fingers curled in his hair, gently tugging away. “You are marked, Hannibal. You are mine. You cannot ask us to serve penance in the life we share now.”

“It is not my desire to make you suffer, William.” Unsteady fingers trailed, unseeing, mingling with wet tears clinging to Hannibal’s cheeks.

“To be human is to suffer, Hannibal.” Will kissed at off tears, following a trail leading to lips, warming them with languid pulls of his tongue. “To love is transcendent suffering.”

“William.” A broken sound lifted parted lips as his head rose, edges of his name blurring with wilting wildflowers tipped in winter frost, warmed by a setting sun.

Will curled arms beneath the older man’s shoulders, turning him onto his stomach.

“You have known me. And seen.” His palms shifted down straining shoulder blades. “Touched deep inside my bloodied wounds and held tight to my nightmares, to me, safe inside your heart.”

He ticked off bony points and curves of each vertebrae of a writhing spine. His forefinger grazed over raised skin on Hannibal’s back, a glistening brand courtesy of the Verger estate. He sucked in a breath and held it, feeling a warm heat settling over his own back, turning into an excruciating blaze of suffering.

“You have guarded each one…” Will’s voice wobbled with returning tears, pressing his mouth in a series of deep kisses into the brand. “…without consideration to what it might cost you.”

“My life, William,” Hannibal answered roughly. “I would gladly lay down my life.”

Will let out an aching breath, reaching back up to meet the body turning in his arms. Tears clouded Hannibal’s voice. He crumbled in still darkness behind eyelids as the older man wrapped unsteady arms around him, pulling close. Hard lips settled on his with slow, aching strums of warm heat. Breath pulled out of his mouth, filling Hannibal’s lungs, pushing out, mingling on his tongue, before filling his body with a sweet tingle of red.

“Are you…” Will’s voice cracked, pressing a mouth onto the older man’s with bruising force before pulling away. “…in love with me, Hannibal?”

“You do not understand what you are asking of me, William,” The older man replied, cadence pitching with a rise of pain.

His eyes screwed shut, tugging at the older man’s hair. “Tell me.”

“Will.” Fingers pushed hair of his eyes, following the curve of his mouth, pushing out a quaking darkness falling from his mouth longing to break free. “It is not—“

“

* * *

" _William_ …”

Hannibal gasped, throwing his head back into pillows with a dragging moan, clenching a bed frame in one hand, nails breaking Will’s skin, sinking along his hips with the other.

The younger man sank down slowly, enveloping his head. Inch after inch disappeared, swallowed whole. The folds of his body were still slick with olive oil and blistering heat. Will splayed hands onto Hannibal’s rib cage, riding slowly, pushing down with bruising force, uncaring if he was able to draw breath again. The younger man’s eyes remained closed, lashes tangled with tears against soft angelic curves of his face.

Hannibal felt a torturous swell of pressure, an operatic aria coursing through his veins, breaking open at the transcendent beauty unfolding around him, above him, through him. Hot tears welled in his eyes, streaking down his cheek. His fingertips traced the curves of Will’s knees, along his thighs, counting every rib. His hands tangled in damp curls clinging to tear soaked cheeks, pulling close. His bones cracked with each sigh fluttering into his skin. Each breath was harder to draw than the last. Prayer clung to his lips.

_Reach in, William, squeeze tight until my heart ceases to beat in your palm._

Will’s low moans began to crest. His pink tongue darting out to taste tears falling, framing Hannibal’s face in his hands, pressing kisses into the corners of his eyes with soft incoherent murmurs of comfort.

“Stay with me, Will…” Hannibal let out a strangled plea, nails raking down his shoulders to hold tight.

“A-always…”

He stroked a shaking hand down the side of a smooth face. It pressed into his palm with a sigh, lips following to kiss it. Hannibal gritted his teeth with a hiss, dragging the younger man in with shaking hands, skin enclosing their bodies in burning heat.

“William. Look at me.”

Long lashes fluttered open. Eyes the color of falling stars looked back with earth shattering love and acceptance, perfect mirror images of all their shared universes blurring into one, falling deeply and perfectly in sync, hand in hand through the halls of their beginnings. Hannibal bit down hard on his lip to stay focused, to not look away, blinking hard to keep still, to accept his death with ease and open arms. To feel a tremor of their blurring souls, falling, twisting, crashing into the unknown.

“Hold onto me, William,” He whispered, pressing tears into the corners of Will’s throat, working with sobs.

They breathed for each other, exhaling their life force to sustain the other in perfect harmony. They began to pique as one, limbs and skin a blur of motion. Sounds of a clattering bed frame drowned out by their own swelling symphony of breathless adoration, reveling in the others exquisite torture.

Hannibal choked down on answering sobs as pressure began to burn, staring up helplessly at Will with a look of utter bliss and utter pain. He quietly pleaded, begged for mercy, as relentless stabs of emotion twisted lines and creases of his face. He was unable to hide beneath a soft, watchful gaze rimmed with spilling tears and half choked breathing.

“Will, please…” Hannibal cried softly, trembling, asking for the first time in his life for a quick death, for the still quiet of breathing in ocean water and drifting out to sea in each others arms.

They came together like the heavens colliding violently with the earth, thunderous, violent, and raining destruction. They were safe, an entanglement of warm limbs, lost to the waves dragging them under, drifting as stars fell from their eyes, locked, unwavering, looking nowhere else but at mirrored images of their beloved.

“I love you, Hannibal,” Will murmured, brushing a mouth against his temple.

“Not enough…” Hannibal crushed the younger man against him, burying his face in a melting shoulder, voice a thicket of gnarled roots and thorns. “It is much more...”

_It is not love. It is all consuming madness._

A tiny smile curved against his shoulder.

_I need you, William._

A hand settled against his cheek, stroking gently.

“I know,” Will answered his silent thoughts quietly. “It’s enough. You… are enough. All I ever need.”

“You are the very air I breathe.” He replied weakly, unable to form emotions pressing into the corners of his mind, splitting open his heart, muffled against the fist he held to his lips.

Hannibal reached out for the younger man’s shadowy figure, returning with padding footsteps. A gentle hand stroked repeated, soothing motions through his hair. Lips pressed into his mouth, moving with scalding softness. A washcloth tenderly cleaned him.

“Will…”

“Go to sleep, Hannibal.” Will enveloped his body once more in a blanket of skin and muscle, curled tight in a protective embrace.

Hannibal clutched tight, blinking hard. “I…”

“I’ll be here when you wake.” Arms holding him squeezed back. “Now close your eyes.”

“William…?” He reached for the injured hand, skimming across gauze with words unspoken.

“ _Yes._ Now stop it. Go to sleep.” A mouth pressed in to quiet him in a suffocating kiss. “I will be here when you wake, Hannibal,” The younger man said quietly. Hands curled tight around Hannibal’s frame, chest pressed to his back with a flutter of sheets. “For the rest of our lives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologize for the delayed chapters, my loves. Struggling with a some personal things, so depression has been filling my brain with less creativity and more static. I hope you'll enjoy these 3 new chapters.


	46. Chapter 46

Black slipped open with hazed lines of white light rimming outlined slits. Lashes fluttered, fragile beats of wispy wings, bleary grey sleep struggling to fall dormant. A scent of snow settling into pine trees filled his lungs, soft curling branches pressed into the hollow of his throat. Hannibal blinked eyes open, inhaling compassion wrapped to his chest, cloaked safely in soft breathing. He looked down at the younger man with a slight tilt of his head.

Will’s head was tucked beneath his chin, face buried in the crook of his shoulder. His hands were clasped between their rising and falling chests, above his heart, in slumbering supplication. His naked skin glowed with a hum of grey shadows clinging to his curves, warmed by faint murmurs of a clouded sun touching the horizon. Hannibal’s lungs immediately ached to rouse the younger man from sleep, to fill his mouth with gentle words pushing off his tongue, to lull him back to drifting dreams of soft tracing hands. A knife lodged in his chest, twisting.

He tugged Will’s right hand from the other. A murmur drifted from the younger man’s mouth, knees brushing his thighs, burrowing deeper in enveloping arms. Hannibal traced curling fingers with his own, memorizing textured swirls upon each tip, running up then down each side of skin weathered with calluses. He pushed joints into hollowed spaces, filling them with his own, creating a perfect union of shapes bending to become one. He turned their hands in dim light, vaguely aware of stirring in his heart, a negative image of missing pieces surfacing.

Gently, Hannibal lifted the hand to his mouth and pressed lips into bony knuckles with soft whispers of adoration. His mouth wandered from quivering joints, humming to still each twitch of recognition. His lips hovered above Will’s ring finger, mouth pressed into a thin line, chest clenching with sharp aches. He kissed slowly, chaste reverence dragging down its length slowly, mind filling with flickering images of a black box hiding with glimmering pearl sharpness of their daughter locked away in a drawer.

_Would you grant me your blessing to cherish what I was unable to see when you walked this earth beside us, Abigail?_

“…Nnn what…time… is… it?” Distant tones of starlight veiled in ebony velvet stirred.

A faint smile fell across Hannibal’s mouth, eyes brightening with opalescent light of rising tears. “Time is obsolete, William,” He answered quietly, threading his fingers with gentle strokes through the younger man’s hair. “It is a question of where in a span of existence our dormant bones rest…”

“And where… might that be?” The younger man’s lips drifted on his collarbone.

“It would depend on the framework of your mind. The vantage perch of your perspective. If your corporeal form floats in or above your own, a phantom witness to the streams of passage our life forms drift through.”

A half formed snort breathed out into his neck as Will stirred in his arms. “Am I going to have to start wearing one of your many time pieces to bed, Hannibal, just to get a straight answer?”

The younger man turned, rolling onto his side with a half murmur of noise, pushing at sleep holding eyes closed. Hannibal ran eyes down beautiful crescent moons of shoulder blades, following the length of a knotting spine. His stroking hands followed, brushing over and around hips. He pulled Will close, arms surrounding his frame, letting out a breath as a content sigh fell into his palms. The younger man pushed back until every curving rise and dipping cavern molded their bodies together.

“It is not within me to deny you, my dear,” Hannibal murmured, pressing kisses into his neck. “However, given you have a tendency to thrash in your sleep… the added experience of a Timex breaking my nose during ungodly hours of the night is not one I am willing to allow.”

“It could be therapeutic, Doctor. I would never have to draw a clock to remember where, or in your supposition, _when_ I was existing.” Sleep addled shoulders shook with muffled laughter.

Warming tendrils seeped into the corners of Hannibal’s heart, throbbing, with a twist of his head, mesmerized at the unfamiliar hymn of happiness reaching his ears.

“Are you…suggesting I am not a very good doctor, Will?”

“Not at all…” Hands stifled a yawn. “Merely trying to determine what time it is from a man who speaks in nothing but riddles.”

“ _Early_ ,” Hannibal growled with a curving smile, arms wrapping tighter. “Or late.”

“Perspective?”

“Most certainly.”

“So then, where are we?”

“A moment of our heartbeats drifting through dreams,” Hannibal answered with soft tears, closing his eyes to feel a vibration of their hearts falling into sync. “You are here in my arms, William, a realm beyond the confines of planes and space. Without the necessity of separation, we are one, a blur of light colliding in a canvas of night sky.”

“Will you…” Will’s fingers curled around the ones holding his, held tight to his chest, aching voice dipping low. “…stay with me awhile longer, Hannibal?”

“Close your eyes, William.” He kissed the back of the younger man’s head, breathing even plodding of a rushing stream into each word. “I will protect you from the darkness of worlds spilling from your eyes in sleep, and shelter you from nightmares of the living creeping in beyond the haze of your vision.”

Fluttering breathing warmed his fingertips in reply. Hannibal closed his eyes, melting imperceptibly into rhythm with the beat of the younger man’s heart. Each push of air through his lungs fell in time to echo the rise and fall of their chests. He breathed in hums of comfort, crumbling into soft swells of skin, fading with the sensation of petals cascading onto his skin.

He drifted quietly into outstretched arms, wrapped up in dark braided thorns rimmed in a halo of red. Porcelain skin shimmered with connected dots of freckled stars. Glistening cherry blossoms smiled back with wide wavering pools of blue moons mirrored with crescents of forgiveness.


	47. Chapter 47

A shuffling sound stirred Will from a deep sleep clouding his mind. He inhaled softly. Fresh cut roses filled his lungs with velvety trails of softness. He smiled inwardly. He had drifted through the night without a single dream, aware of heat and skin guiding his soul to safety, locked in Hannibal’s arms. He stirred beneath sleep’s dark embrace, swimming through tendrils of still quiet. His eyes fluttered, dragging them open, heavyweights of gold coins willing to press them closed. He touched a side of the bed. The sheets had cooled with outlines of a figure pressed into them.

“Hann… is that you?” He murmured sleepily, running a hand through his hair.

Will squinted, rolling across the bed in a tangle of sheets. Fresh cut bright red roses perched on the small table nudging close to the bed frame. A weary smile pulled on his mouth.

“Romantic whims of a cannibal…”

He reached out for an analogue clock. Its metal body was cold. _7:33 am._ Will groaned, setting it down with an unsteady clatter. His fingertips brushed cardstock paper. He flopped back against the mattress, dragging it with him. He held it up to faint sunlight streaming in through a curtained window. Eloquent ink scrawled across its surface with bold curls and swirling lines. A wider smile spread across his face, blossoming inside his chest.

 

_My Darling Will,_

_I have gone out to experience the chill of winter upon my cheeks in hopes your lips will press the ache from them upon my return. I long for your skin to warm mine beside a crackling fire. To listen to the drawl of light resonating from your voice as I read aloud the poetry of John Keats…_

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died,

And I have thought it died of grieving;

O what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied.

With a silken thread of my own hand’s weaving.

 

_I have wrapped your scent to my skin in the folds of a scarf to keep you near to my heart. I will reflect on the beauty of your cerulean eyes drifting with clouds of sleep and ripples of rainwater. I will paint the soft blurring hues of your skin in rays of sunrise in my mind._

_I thought perhaps you might enjoy spending the day together. I believe a trip was promised yet never fully received._

_{If you promise you will not attempt to teach me how to fish again, I will faithfully promise to spare the life of your beloved fishing pole. Under the condition you allow me to look upon your form, undisturbed in your element. And if you recall there are creatures lurking in the background also in search of your attentions.}_  
  
_For both our sakes, I request you not fill the cabin with noxious fumes of what you consider to be coffee. Perhaps I am still grappling with the idea of your enjoyment of it, or that you find our appearances indistinguishable._

_I will bring a thermos of dark espresso and a side of sanguinnaccio for breakfast when I return._

_Yours,  
_

_Hannibal_

 

“Goddammit, Hannibal…”

Bright heat flushed Will’s cheeks an exquisite shade of blood red, burying his face behind shaking hands with a weakening sound. His eyes flooded with tears. He clutched the paper tight in his hand. His fingers ran across unseen words. His throat clenched tight, dry, incapable of making more than a sound of whimpering pain.

_The unwavering display of your kindness is a beautiful form of cruelty, Hannibal._

A series of stabbing splatters of ink muddled the bottom half of the letter. Ink dripped above a looping sprawling signature of tight curling perfection. Unfolding inkblots of black waited for Will to see what rested beneath, before "yours" had been scrawled out in haste. The older man would without fail blame the fiasco on a leaking fountain pen. He wanted to see the crumbling lines of Hannibal’s features as he pressed their mouths together in softening notes.

“I love you too,” Will breathed to echoing images of Hannibal’s shimmering figure looking back, vision muddied glistens.

With great effort, he heaved from beneath warm sheets. They tangled around his limbs in an effort to drag him back, to fall with a dimming mind into their soft embrace of slumber. He stretched sore muscles with trembling wrists, pushing them into tired eyes to drag away wet heat. His eyes ached. He pushed legs through a pair of jeans discarded on the floor at an end of the bed, dragging them around his hips with a sharp tug. He looked back at empty spaces where he and Hannibal had lain, folding and crumbling into an embrace of blurring vision and gentle touching.

_The planes of your body are the rising crests of perfection, Hannibal. And you have given me a divine gift. Resting with a cracked open chest to watch your heart beat, bleeding in my arms, to show that God is but a man masked in flesh and blood when lain bare._

White crisp cotton dragged over his shoulders. An alluring depth of patchouli filled his lungs with hypnotic rhythm of raw, rich thrums of blood rushing through veins, piquing with sprigs of rosemary covered in melting frost. As Will rolled cuffed sleeves up his arms, he felt the older man’s skin wrapping around his own, enveloped by the scent clinging to Hannibal’s dress shirt. He closed his eyes.

_Will you always be with me, Hannibal, in our moments of separation? A threatening shadow at my behest to pull me into the protection of your arms._

His fingers plucked up the note from the bed, staring down at sprawling words. He touched the blots of hidden softness.

_Are we able to quell our pain of adoration and words with tangled limbs and words behind the veil, Hannibal?_

Ink stained his fingertips, sinking beneath skin, pooling in unfurling trickles of black skittering straight to his heart. His eyes misted slowly, pressing it to his chest with fluttering lashes and a panged sigh.

_Will you crush me tighter still when I can no longer bear it? Deafening my cries with the soft swells of your suffocating mouth? Will you drown with me?_

Boots scraped against the floor.

Will’s head jerked up. Darkness tore itself apart from shadows mingling in the hall, a flash burn emerging with glowing embers. A skeleton of gaunt grey skin stepped into the light. It smiled at Will with silent dead eyes and gaping teeth. A ghastly halo of shadow clung over its head. Bony fingers curled forward. A black metal baton snapped out with a flicking wrist. An icy chill settled into his skin with rising bumps and a shiver.

“Who the hell—“ He yelped, stumbled back, clasping at the bed frame to keep from falling.

The skull tilted its head, watching each motion with slow, tracking sockets.

Will scrambled around a side of the bed, note fluttering from his hand. His heart hammered in his chest. Hot breath flared out of his nostrils as the shadowy figure took another step forward.

“Hannibal!” Will yelled, wild eyes flicking towards the door.

Darkness spread across the floor noiselessly, encroaching step by step.

He glanced back at the figure, edging towards the couch.

 _Two_.

His fingers dug into cushions, tripping over a forgotten book resting on the floor. Will’s eyes shot towards the door again. The shadow of a man stopped in his tracks, strewn between open living spaces, waiting with patient unblinking eyes. Will glanced at the door, willing it to open with bated breath. He looked back at the shadow floating a few feet from him.

“Fuck!”

A howling cry erupted from Will’s lungs, blood pounding in his ears as he vaulted over a side of the couch. His fist connected with a sinking cheek. Pain exploded across his knuckles. Hot red heat slammed into his rib cage. He rammed a knee upward, fingers tearing at a wool jacket. It buried into a stomach. A strangled demonic sound choked out, scrambling to remain upright. A baton rammed into his kidney.

_Hannibal..._

Breath left Will’s lungs in a rush. A boot jammed into the back of his knee. He fell forward on hands and knees, gasping for breath, struggling to stand.

_God, you have to protect, Hannibal._

Sharp pain erupted on the back of his head. A drowning noise left Will’s lips as he sank forward. Red filtered his vision, forehead crashing into the floor. He stared with hazing vision at the front door, pleas to warn Hannibal stuck in his throat. Tears slipped out of his eyes. They fluttered closed.

_Please._

Black slowly filtered in with darkening waves of ragged breathing. His heart pounded in his ears. The last sparks of red faded from behind his eyelids. Bony fingers dragged him into darkness, away from the feel of Hannibal’s fingertips rushing through his veins with ink stains.

_Run._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Dove" - John Keats
> 
> sanguinnaccio: Italian sweet blood pudding made from pork blood and chocolate
> 
> Oh man, guys... I am just going to look out at you very sheepishly from this side of the screen with hands pressed in supplication. I am... so sorry. So very, very sorry. I just skewered your lovey dovey hearts. And here you all were settling into the Murder Husband love nest (finally) after all these heart wrenching chapters. 
> 
> No, really. So sorry........ !!!
> 
> Though... *to be fair* I have been hinting since Chapter 35 that not all is well in the world of Murder Husbands. (Ahem, ahem. Memory/dream sequence anyone...?) And then again in Ch. 36 and Ch. 40 with very veryyyy subtle hints that Hannibal felt they were being watched, "a feeling of not entirely being alone"... 
> 
> You did pick up on those right? Yes? No? You're in complete and utter shock! And you have to make sure I'm not lying to you about hinting. What. That doesn't sound right.
> 
>  
> 
> I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone here still reading. And for commenting, and just... really thank you. This work gives me something to look forward to, to share, to interact. I am overwhelmed with your kindness and support. Thank you. That's really beautiful. 
> 
> Alright. Sweet stuff aside, you may now be very, very angry at me. : O


	48. Chapter 48

Frost crunched beneath Hannibal’s feet as he strode through the forest with an easy sway of weightlessness. An ever present smile twitched on his lips He had left his burdens in the arms of a gentle form tucked into sheets, holding them tight to with a crimson glow of rose petals pressed to a peaceful upturned face. His cheeks ached, exhausted from the efforts to tug the curve into a reserved, straight line.

A cold wind whistled through trembling trees. His cheeks numbed with bright cold, tucking his face into a looping scarf. Pine trees painted in fallen snow filled his lungs with a soft, aching sigh. Hannibal closed his eyes to recall the younger man’s face, frozen icicles of tears glistened tracks of fading blue waters. Muddied, rough wood blended between outstretched trees in the distance. Sweet burning reached his nose with wafting warmth. Smoke curled from the cabin’s chimney, signaling refuge where he might rest beside a crackling fire with Will tucked safely to his chest, surrounded by lips and encircling arms.

Gloved fingertips warmed around heat of a metal thermos. He looked down at a rich, chocolate pudding shivering in an ornate glass bowl rimmed with angel wings of twisted pastry ribbons dusted in powdered sugar. His heart stirred, imagining Will flushing shades of wild lilies as Hannibal brushed white specks from the corners of his mouth. How it might feel to lean in to taste shaved chocolate flickering with hints of cinnamon stirred in _sangue_ from drawling lips.

_Might I feast upon your mouth for a lifetime and yet never satiate my hunger for your pure taste, William?_

Hannibal juggled the thermos and glass dish in his arms. He balanced the thermos in the crook of his left elbow, precariously balancing the pudding in an outstretched hand. He twisted to reach with the other hand, gloved fingers curling over a doorknob. His heart beat steadily in his chest, cresting with longing to slip beneath sheets and into the arms of the younger man, to wile the day away in blushing skin. With two free fingers and a light shove of his shoulder, the cabin door creaked open.

“Will, my dear—“

Containers rattled out of his embrace on the small kitchen table. A chill filtered down the length of his arms. Hannibal turned his body stiffly every muscle coiling and tensing within.

“William?” His voice echoed inside the cabin.

Silence answered.

“Will, are you here?”

Noiseless movements led Hannibal’s feet towards a closed bathroom door. His shoulders squared, hitching upwards in a tensed hard line. He shoved open the door with a half snarl perched upon his lips. It opened with a bang. An empty room filled with cold air greeted him. Not a single drop of moisture clung to its walls.

“Will?”

Hannibal made his way back through the cabin, stranded between three open rooms of indifference, crowded by mismatched bits of furniture, brows drawing low on his forehead He tugged up a wool cuff, glancing down at his watch. _9:01 am._ He crossed the kitchen, touching a small vulgar looking coffeemaker. It too was cold. A frustrated sigh hissed out through his teeth. He glanced towards the door.

_Why are you not exactly where I left you, William? As I requested you to be._

He wound a path around the couch. His dress shoes nudged something hard. He lifted his foot. In a sweeping motion, Hannibal stooped to lift _Dante’s Inferno_ from the floor. He brushed at light scuff marks marring its surface before tucking it carefully beside its companions on the bookshelf. He crouched down next to the fireplace. Silvery ash glowing with faint embers flickered up at him.

_Are you traipsing about in the cold to meet me?_

Huffing, Hannibal rose slowly before stalking over to the bed. He placed a hand above sheets. They were cool to the touch. A faint wafting scent drifted through his nose. He dragged in a breath and held it, scanning the room with a sweep of eyes. Stale cigarette smoke hit his face in a nauseating wave. A clock ticked in the back of his mind with snarling heat. Carnal images of Will’s naked flesh pressed into a phantom white glowing figure flashed in his mind. Fire flooded his blood, rushing through his veins with a pulsating rhythm of pulse. It slowly began to boil.

Something gave way under his feet. Stepping back, Hannibal’s eyes landed on a crumpled mass huddled in the corner of a bed frame’s overpowering shadow. He

knelt against a wooden floor, blindly reaching. A piece of paper quivered in his palm. It crinkled as he unfolded its edges with nimble fingers. His heart leapt in his throat. His note to Will was covered in muddied boot prints. Discarded, forgotten. Breath glazed over behind the back of his eyes.

 _You spoke softly, William, assuring me it was enough…_ Paper fluttered in trembling fingers. Welts of tears stung the corners of his eyes. _A placation?_ He clawed at a scarf choking the breath out of him. _Or an outright lie?_ His cheek shuddered with a sharp flinch. _Betrayal._

Hannibal balled paper back into a wad, throwing it against the floor with a snarl. Blood pounded in his ears, rising from the floor in darkening twisting shapes of gnarled joints and bone. The cabin door slammed shut, reverberating with an echo through the woods. If Will had just left, he couldn’t have gotten far. A sickening crack of breaking bones echoed in the back of his mind.

 _I will ensure you never are able to go far ever again, Will._ He hurled himself behind the wheel of a black car. _I will drape your gravestone in ruby colored Adonis to remind you of your still reflections shimmering in the ripples of river water for eternity._

With a throaty growl, the Aston Martin came to life. It spun against the ground, spitting dirt and gravel in its wake as it fishtailed on the forest floor. Trees became a nauseating blur of sepia tones. Hannibal’s fingers curled around the cool wheel, tightening until knuckles blanched white. A sickening force hurtled through his bones with rising speed.

He punched the clutch into its next gear. The odometer shuddered in sleek glass. 70. 80.Hannibal slammed on the brakes then the accelerator, throttle roaring, spinning the Aston Martin into a counter steer with gritting teeth. 90 miles per hour.

 _You will not get far, my dear boy._ _I gave you life. Watch with ease as I take it once more from your very body_. A cloud of dirt billowed in the rearview mirror. _And I always… keep my promises._

The car skidded to a halt with a squeal of smoking tires in front of the villa. They would both meet their ends soon enough. A side door banged open. Metal scraped from a wooden sheath with clangs of admiration. Humming with pleasure. Hannibal sucked in a deep breath, the weight of a long Santoku knife pressed firmly into his fist. It would be sharp enough to reopen his scarring mark upon Will’s flesh.

He released breath in a roar shaking walls of the villa. _“William!”_

He trailed after a faint scent of cheap Marlboro cigarettes, winding through the kitchen. It snaked around wooden legs of dining room chairs. It filtered down the hall. Then drifted out of reach through closed double doors of the library. Their blood would paint pages of his most cherished books.

_They will solely bear witness to our last minutes upon this Earth…_

Every muscle in his body tensed. Blood filled his mouth, biting down hard on his tongue. He flung its doors open, stalking in. A knife glinted after the path of his moving figure.

Empty. Wing back chairs commiserated quietly with a chaise lounge, huddled in the chill air, staring longingly at an empty fireplace for all that could have been. Hannibal grabbed on to an armrest to keep upright, knees threatening to give way beneath. An unmarked ivory envelope perched near black inkwells on an oak desk gleaming in morning light filtering in.

 _Am I too late?_ Hannibal clawed at his chest for air, eyes slipping closed. _Have you finally chosen to let the sea claim me, William? To breathe in a lungful of water without your embrace._

The knife edge sliced through paper in a single swipe. It slammed to the desk with clattering force. Paper skin fell away. It was covered in crude scrawling, smeared with half pressed fingerprints and bleeding ink.

_We have your man._

_If you want to see him alive, await further instructions._

A feral snarl erupted from deep within his lungs. A vicious promise. Red edges disappeared into black swirls of ink. Blood pooled on the desk. Steady drips splashed down its sides. Hannibal glanced down. His right hand was clenching around the knife’s blade. He pried his fingers loose, one at time, straining against the effort to revel in a biting sting racing up his arm. He ran a tongue along a sharp incisor.

 _If anyone is going to kill, Will…_ A sinister voice whispered from dark corners. _That honor will belong to no one but me._

A high pitched noise shrieked nearby. Muffled. The desk began to vibrate beneath his palms, pressed tight to its wooden surface smeared with ink and blood. Hannibal reached over the desk and pulled a top right drawer open. It slid open with a grimace. Breath rushed out of his lungs with a sharp exhale.

Will’s unseeing face stared out from a grainy Polaroid. A gleaming muzzle of a gun pressed to his temples. White teeth flashing around a black fabric gag. His eyes blazed with blue flames, outlined in sickening yellow and purple bruises. Glistening rubies clung to the corners of his grimacing mouth. Faint tears clung to his cheeks, rimmed with a halo of soft, clinging curls.

Hannibal sucked in a breath, lip curling. He set the Polaroid carefully beside the knife. His eyes burned, refusing to look away from Will’s face, blindly reaching for a screaming phone. He pressed a button without looking. It clicked on with a drag of static white noise.

“Why hello, Mr…?”

“ _Doctor._ ”

“Pardon?”

“It’s _Doctor_.”

“Doctor…?”

Hannibal nearly crushed the plastic bodied phone, biting down on the tip of his tongue to keep silent.

“Shall we not be on a first name basis then?” A soft drawl asked after a full minute of silence, enunciating each word with perfect precision.

“Regrettably not, I’m afraid.” Hannibal replied with gritting teeth, forcing his breath to push out with even strokes.

An unhurried laugh answered. “Ah, my apologies, Doctor.” A chair creaked. “Had I realized you were of such distinguished background, I would have admonished my man to pay for your services with more than just a flat rate.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. He bristled, drawing to his full height. A French accent blushed with soft, stirring tone _. Intelligent. Well bred, if not high born._ Something else languished in the soft drawl. _Money._

“May I ask whom I am speaking to?”

“How rude of me, Doctor. I do apologize once more.” Another laugh resonated with a rustle of fabric, a tie loosening at a throat. “Where are my manners? Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nicolas Lisandru.”

Hannibal flipped through a rolodex of his mind, cataloged with names of living and dead alike, side by side with ingredients for each recipe. A blank card rested at the top of the pile. It waited patiently to be filled.

“I am very unlikely to forget such a unique name, Mr. Lisandru,” He noted, unable to pace out a growl rising in his throat. “As we have never met, I believe it is highly unlikely that you would retain my particular services.”

“Your _precise_ skill set was very much at my disposable when you first arrived on the shores of Marseille, Doctor.”

The knife glittered in sunlight filtering through the window, whispering softly, longing to be held.

“I must say I was rather impressed with your abilities to… _dispatch_ , shall we say, certain affairs? It is a shame that we never found an opportunity to meet in person.”

“I suspect we could remedy that situation with ease, Mr. Lisandru.”

Hannibal caught his reflection glinting in the blade’s metallic surface. His black eyes looked back with glowing red rims of a solar eclipse.

“We nearly had a kismet moment of introduction…” Mr. Lisandru quipped with a heavy laugh of hushed, grey tones. “In the flesh so to speak.”

Hannibal blinked hard. “I beg your pardon?”

“I often wondered what kind of a man would allow his pet to roam on such a long leash, Doctor.”

Hannibal’s tongue moved with ragged lashes, peeling away from a dry mouth, words stuck in his throat with a rise of fury.

“My pet?” Teeth clenched, grinding his skull with sickening cracks.

“Your man. He is quite lovely to look upon, even in a haze of liquor flushed cheeks.”

Fingers slid across the crisp thin edge of a blade. “Quite.”

“Do you normally allow him to fall into states of drunkenness to be returned to you in the arms of another man?” Mr. Lisandru asked with a rising dip and fall of laughter, amused with the one worded responses he elicited.

Blood leaked down the back of Hannibal’s eyelids, breath hot, shoulder jerking with a shudder of rage, a phantom muscle memory of slamming a knife into a man and gutting with hot, spurting strokes.

“Or were you simply inclined to share a night of heat with him pressed between us?”

Nails pierced the insides of Hannibal’s left palm curling into a fist, biting back a snarl. Plastic crackled with a twist in his other white knuckled hand.

“My— “

Hannibal sucked in a breath and held it. Closing and opening his eyes slowly. A crash of agony thundered in his chest.

“My _partner…”_ He took in another steadying breath, smoothing his words with coats of flashing titanium and glowing gold. “…and I would love to have you for dinner some evening if you would like to discover the answer to that particular line of inquiry.”

“What a generous offer, Doctor. How very intriguing. However, first we have a great deal to discuss in regards to your partner.”

Hannibal bit down on his tongue. He managed to keep a dark voice clamped down, tight, quiet, buried in his lungs. _How handsome your tongue must look gaping out of a hole in your neck, Mr. Lisandru. How your heart must flutter with an erratic, divine rhythm inside your ripped open chest cavity._ His mouth flooded with hot copper. _How glistening jewels of your entrails must adorn your throat as I choke the very life out of you with them…_

“May I ask… why you have taken Will?” Hannibal managed with another steadying breath, spacing each word with a facade, a staccato of apathy.

He winced with a hard shake of his head, unable to drag the younger man’s precious name back into his mouth.

“Will, is it? Ah, _William_ , Liam. I see now.”

Shoving the phone against the desk, Hannibal released a seething growl with a snap of sharp teeth _. How dare you utter the name of all that belongs to me…_

Soft tones of a piano rose in the background with a stroke of keys. “Hmm… He is safe for now, Doctor. You see your partner accrued quite a large sum of money from my organization during your time here in Marseilles. Eight thousand American dollars to be exact.”

A pause stretched, allowing the information to sink in.

“A sum I am more than pleased to provide you…” Hannibal locked limbs against the desk, every nerve in his body screaming to relinquish control, to give in to sweet, welcoming darkness. “With interest of course, on Will’s safe return.”

A hand reached for the steadying feel of the blade. Trails of blood followed.

Ice clanked in a glass. “As generous of an offer as that is, Doctor, I am sorry to say it is unfeasible at the moment. The money was achieved in a most unsavory way.” Another pause, a sip and a gulping swallow. “Therein lies the problem.”

Hannibal gritted his teeth to maintain a calm, even tone. “Unsavory?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. My man, Victor, received a report from our associates at, _Les Etrangers Sombres_ , that our _dear Will_ was counting cards. From what I am to understand, he continued to do so at various other tables during your stay in my fine city.”

An unbidden growl tore free. _I will savor ramming my fist down your slippery throat to rip the name of what is sacred from your very lungs._

“As I am sure you can understand, it is important for me to remedy this situation as quickly as possible, and… with a _firm_ hand.”

Breath stuck in his chest, gazing down at a gun gleaming back in the photograph. “Certainly we could come to a gentleman’s arrangement?”

“Seeing as you were under my employ at one time, Doctor, I do feel amendable to allowing some leniency.”

“Do not trouble yourself with my finances, Mr. Lisandru. If it as an issue of price…”

Soft laughter fluttered through the static. “How very generous you are, Doctor. How very gallant.” Ice rattled in a glass once more. “Though given your partner played such an active role in this little gambit, I am keen to hold onto him to see exactly where his inclinations lie on the issue.” Mouths locked together in a wet kiss. “Will and I might yet come to an… _arrangement_. Ah yes—a moment please.”

Shadows fell across Hannibal’s eyes, reaching for the blade, his face fading into black hue of hard lines and glittering teeth.

A hand muffled the receiver. “Yes. Yes, I see. Please let him know I’ll be with him shortly.” Leather creaked. “I am sorry, but I am afraid I am being called away. I will give Will your love when he arrives. It was a pleasure speaking with you, even if it was fleeting in its brevity. Good afternoon, Doctor.”

The line clicked abruptly. A dial tone buzzed electricity into short circuits of thick, cloying air. With excruciating, measured motions, Hannibal stared at a flickering screen on the small silver phone. He slipped it gently into a trouser pocket. It wouldn’t do to fling against the nearest surface and obliterate it into a million tiny pieces. He tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling, taking another breath before looking back down.

Will’s unseeing eyes stared up. His face was damp with tears and sweat, teeth blindingly white shimmers of light. He ran a fingertip across curls, smearing a red halo around him. Slowly, he tucked the Polaroid in a breast pocket of his wool jacket, above his heart. His cheek flinched. The tip of the left cuff was stained with smatters of brown crimson. Will’s blood.

Hannibal regarded the Santoku with a patient stare. He picked it up in his right hand, testing its weight. He imagined its _kullens_ would expertly carve out more than just meat. With a violent twist, Hannibal hurled it at the farthest wall. It landed with a sickening thud, sinking in, trembling violently in a Botticelli painting. A barely passable reproduction of _Primavera_. It wouldn’t be missed.

Hannibal laid palms flat against the desk with shaking arms, a choking tenor rising deep within his chest. A gaping scream erupted. He swiped at the desk with a punishing blur of fists. Sounds of fine glass shattering followed as ink and single malt scotch pooled at his feet. Shaking hands ran across fragile, leathery spines. Remnants of written word and charcoal sketches drifted across filtering light, suspended in time, as tattered edges floated away in defeat. Claws ripped apart what remained, trampling battered pages underneath grinding heels. A vase smashed against a mirror, cracking beneath impact. Its pieces scattered. Wooden legs of a wing back chair splintered against a stone fireplace. It crashed to the floor in a resounding thud.

Hannibal stumbled, joining it. His head smacked into wood. A sharp ringing resounded in his ears. With a bitter curse, he dragged a hand against the desk, hauling into a sitting position. A bloodied hand print pressed into its surface. He swiped a cracked tumbler from the floor. It crumbled into a thousand pieces in his fist. Hannibal growled, pushing jagged glasses pieces into his mouth, drinking what remained in a single swallow. It burned the back of his throat. He crushed its fragile glass body, staring at embedded pieces of glass in his palm.

“Will…” An aching snarl left his lips, corners of eyes glinting with shimmering light.

With shaking hands, Hannibal dragged the Polaroid from the coat pocket and gingerly pressed it into his palm. It quivered, trembling, begging for him to hold tight. A coiling heat turned to ice in his veins as Will stared up from its glossy surface. He blindly reached into his right trouser pocket. His fingertips settled over velvet. He brought out a small box, covered in bright red fingertips. It creaked open. A thin metal band of titanium glinted up, sharper than a blade’s edge.

“William…” Violent trembling fingertips stained its silver surface, eyes misting. “Forgive me…”

Wood creaked in the hall. The box snapped shut. With a growl, Hannibal’s eyes dragged along the floor with blazing breath curling with acid inside his lungs. His gaze fell upon shining black boots, lip curling to reveal pointed teeth.

“The Doctor, I presume?” Curling smoke addressed him with burning embers, fingers twitching around a matte black muzzle of a silencer. “Nicolas Lisandru would like to personally send you his regards…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Will. We all knew this was going to happen. In our hearts. Honestly. 
> 
> This round goes to BloodyGoodGal and Garakika! Sharp eyes, you clever lovely hawks!  
> (We are hawks, Mr. Graham!)


	49. Chapter 49

Three sets of limbs entwined in glistening coats of pink flushed skin, all hands, feet, and reddened mouths seeking out the one pressed in the trinity’s center. Red pouting lips were pulled away by a tug of auburn curls, replaced by a hard unyielding mouth of silk and pin straight black bangs. Fingers and nails pushed to regain control with echoing moans.

Nicolas smirked between the two mouths seeking his brief undivided attention, each hoping to gain his favor, to remain or replace the other at his right hand. A comely woman with small tear drop shaped breasts pushed at his front, a blaze of red hair tucked at her shoulders, pearly teeth nipping at his chest. A younger boy, all right angles and harsh lines, pressed into the arc of his back, arms encircling his throat to push their tongues together in a wet seeking heat. How desperately they sought to please him, to out do the other with strokes and humming vibrations.

 _What a glorious display of rushing blood and teeth…_ Nicolas was yanked back by his hair, tugged forward with nimble fingers at his hips. _A glorious presentation of fighting to the death to remain in my good graces._

A firm knock on white gilded double doors broke through the tandem moans surrounding. Nicolas lifted his head slightly, glancing towards the disturbance.

“You were instructed to leave me in peace,” He growled at the sound, bottom lip caught between a red mouth, sucking and worrying at it until it returned bloodied. “If you would like to keep your hands, Antony, I would suggest you return at a later time.”

Hands pulled and pushed across Nicolas’s chest and back in bright pink ribbons of heated rhythm. He closed his eyes with another smile. A louder knock answered.

“Not now!” Nicolas’ yelled, yanking auburn hair away from his mouth, glaring at the yelp that followed.

Keys clicked into the lock. The left door pushed open by a degree. Shadows slipped through a small opening, careful to close the door quietly behind it. Stringing dark wet hair clung to a pale face, looking up and away then back up at the naked bodies framing Nicolas in limbs and seeking mouths.

“Oh my darling.” A warm smile spread across Nicolas’ face at the man standing near the doorway, eyes locked to the floor with a rapt gaze. The smile disappeared as he gazed upon the woman and young man. “Leave us.”

They obediently disentangled their limbs, rising silently from the bed with sharp glares at the other, ducking away from the other man with curt bows, before disappearing through the door. The man spun around after them, pushing the lock into place with a slam. Shadowy grey eyes stared at him silently against the door, arms crossed, mouth pinched in a line of displeasure.

“Please don’t skulk in the doorway, Cecil. Where are your manners after all these years? I have taught you better than to brood in my presence,” Nicolas said firmly, stretching languidly before patting an edge of the bed. “Come sit here. Beside me.”

Boots scuffed across the floor with reluctant drags of petulance. Cecil stopped in front of Nicolas, gazing at an edge of the mattress out of a corner of his eye. He looked up then back at the spot, waiting for permission to sit.

“You may sit.”

Cecil carefully perched uncomfortably, careful to keep his rain soaked wool jacket from naked skin, staring at the hand resting between them. A sheen of droplets clung to high arching cheekbones accented by hollowed out crevices and rings of shadowed eyes. Nicolas reached out to place two fingers below a pointed chin, turning until the man stared back at him with reddening cheeks.

“You know I am not opposed to you watching,” Nicolas purred, stroking away soaked strands of hair from his forehead with a small smile.

Reaching into a jacket pocket, a rumpled pack of Marlboro cigarettes was produced in a calloused palm stained with new scarring wounds of red and white puckered flesh of old. A _tick tick tick_ sounded before a flame popped to life. Red embers glowed at an end of the cigarette floating with twists of smoke. Cecil took a drag, holding the smoke inside his lungs before exhaling.

“You know I care for you, my darling.”

Nicolas took the offered cigarette, perching it between middle and forefinger before mimicking the gesture. Grey eyes rippled with a rush of unspoken emotion, wavering, staring at the mouth behind the cigarette with longing. 

“Yes, don’t look at me with those sad eyes.” He touched a flinching face with an easy smile. “I care for you as I always have. Since we were boys.”

A matte silver cell phone appeared in the man’s palms, keyboard sliding out with a flick of thumbs. Keys clattered beneath a blur of fingertips, tapping out an erratic rhythm of consonants and syllables. Cecil flipped it in his hand, showing it to Nicolas with bated breath and aching eyes.

**_If you care for me, why am I being replaced? Was one not enough? Or do you simply wish me to beg to remain? Am I not good enough?_ **

Laughter rang out of the room in a puff of smoke. “Cecil, my darling, how could anyone hope to replace you, my sweet love?” Nicolas asked with a pointed stare, uncrossing his bare legs, clambering to sit near, their knees pressed together. “Leo is just a bit of fun. And you cannot tell me Claire is without qualities of aesthetic pleasure.”

 ** _I_** **_used to be all you needed. Before…_** Harsh lines rippled Cecil’s mouth, touching at the corners gingerly.

“Cecil, my darling, _I love you_.” Fingertips brushed the hands away as Nicolas leaned in, tilting his head to stare deep into a pained gaze of self loathing. “You are so very special to me.” He tilted his head up by another degree, voice creeping low. “Would you deny me my simple pleasures knowing I provide for your every need? For all you could desire?”

**_Special. You always were cruel with your choice of words, Nicolas. Special. Not intimate. Not admired. Special. No, not every need. Unfit to share your bed. Yet skilled enough to run your business. It is what I am to you now, a mere tool to do your biding._ **

Nicolas squared his shoulders, latching on to the hand continuing to press furiously at keys to still them. “ _Why_ would say that?” He demanded, stroking fingertips down drawn paper thin skin. “Of course you mean more to me than just my business. It is our business, my love.” Nails bit into the pointed jaw line until Cecil winced in pain. “Who else would I entrust it to but you? You are more than riches and gold, my darling one. You are family. You are like a brother to me.”

**_A brother you fucked?_ **

“Cecil…” Nails sunk in deeper, drawing blood.

Silvery tear stained eyes looked away. **_Promise me… we’ll always be family, Nicolas. Even if I am of no use to you anymore._**

“Yes, Cecil. Always,” Nicolas replied, imbuing with soft fluttering tones of reassurance. He glanced at a clock placed on a mantle at the other end of the room. “Now come, what is it you desire to tell me?”

 ** _I have…_** Jealousy blazed out through flared nostrils in a breath. **_Him._**

“Unharmed?”

  ** _…Yes._**

"Oh my sweet boy…” Nicolas breathed, heart slowing in his chest before picking up an erratic rhythm of heat and coiling anticipation. “How very obedient you are.”

Cecil pushed into hands carding his hair, rewarding him with easy strokes, eyes fluttering closed to breathe in a breath and hold it. Murky clouds followed the naked curves of Nicolas’ body with a sigh, head hanging lower.

**_It wasn’t much of a struggle… I placed him where and how you requested._ **

“Ah I see.” Nicolas picked up a gnarled hand, bloodied and bruising with yellow darkening splotches of purple. “Such fine instruments at my disposal,” He breathed softly into scabbing knuckles, licking at the wounds, mouthing over them one by one. “I have full faith in your abilities to draw the information out of our guest.”

**_A guest… Right. I’ll try to keep that in mind once I’m done stringing him up._ **

“He is a _guest_ , Cecil,” Nicolas growled, yanking the man’s head up by the roots of his hair. “You will do only as I instruct. Is that clear? Or is it necessary to remind you of where your insolence left you.”

Cecil glowered down at the space between their knees, frowning deep. The silver phone shook in his hand pressed tight to his thigh.

Nicolas cupped his hands around sunken cheeks, forcing a softness into his words . “Won’t you smile for me, darling?”

Cecil closed his eyes. Once. Twice. In slow succession. He lifted eyes from the bed, brows arcing up in a furrow of lines and pain. Corners upturned in a weak flutter of agony, trembling cheeks.

“A bit wider,” Nicolas commanded, forcing the mouth open with thumbs.

Muscles clenched on Cecil’s jaw, staring blankly at a space passed Nicolas’ shoulder, fading away as he obeyed the instruction with shaking hands. His lips pulled into a masked smile, widening to reveal a crooked set of snarling teeth. Jagged points parted, widening to reveal a gaping maw of wet dark. Flayed jagged muscle of shadow remained in the man’s mouth where a tongue used to be.

“Yes,” Nicolas smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the man’s forehead in a lingering sweep of lips. “You are so much more beautiful when you smile.”

Tears sprung into Cecil’s eyes as he turned swiftly on the bed. In three strides he reached the door, pausing with a hand curled around the handle. He waited with a hanging head for permission.

“I will join you shortly. You may leave.”

A door clicked open.

“Oh and Cecil?”

Eyes swung back, glowering over a shoulder.

“I would like my renewed acquaintance with William to be personal with a fresh set of introductions. In the mean time… you may have your fun. Understood?”


	50. Chapter 50

Will’s head lolled to the side, chin tucked to his chest. He tried to lift it. His entire body felt like a lead weight. His throat worked noiselessly, cracking and dry. His lungs filled with green mold and damp. He twisted, trying to free his skin from frigid cold skittering along his flesh. Pain blistered his ribcage, struggling to breathe.

_The… hell?_

Biting down on his tongue to regain focus, Will forced his lead weight eyelids open. His vision hazed inky stripes, blurring edges of light blue, pulsating with each dilation of his eyes. He focused on bare, gnarled feet, toes curling and flexing. Ankles stretched tight into loops of rough rope, dangling inches above the pavement. He stared at them, a rush of confusion melting away. They were his feet.

_Where… am I?_

Sucking in a sharp breath, Will’s eyes traveled up his weakened legs, lingering on pale grey boxers clinging to his hips. His heart thudded in his chest in a cacophony of clamoring panic.

“Hann…” He let out weakly, eyes scanning darkness.

White crisp cotton plackets framed clusters of bright red knuckled bruises embedded in his ribcage, trailing across his stomach, curving around his sides and disappearing. He hissed, twisting to see where they ended, if they ended. Hints of patchouli wafted to his nose, inhaling to draw it deep inside his lungs.

_Hannibal…?_

He looked up at dark surroundings. A closed door was rimmed in a faint line of white _._ A ghost of a man filtered through shadows drawing together in the back of his mind. Jagged teeth smiled back. He jerked upright, flashing imagery filling the back of his eyelids.

_Fuck, Hannibal!_

A cry welled in his chest. He strained, pulling forward. Bites of cold pain burned at his wrists. Will dragged an aching neck to the side, yanking again. Metallic clanking answered. He squinted up into a swinging aluminum light burning bright. Iron fetters clamped tight around twisting wrists, bolted into a concrete ceiling above his head. He jammed a thumb into his palm, yelping, fingers straining to curl around it.

_If I can break it…_

“What a divine pleasure! A wonderful performance.”

A symphony of clapping hands echoed around Will. He stared hard in the direction of its sound to locate the source. A grey shadow uncrossed its legs, rising from a metal chair placed in a corner of the room.

“You truly are a welcoming distraction,” Flourishing tones tinged with soft drawling French curled through shadows. “If I am quite honest, I find myself quite bored more often than not. Most of what I do requires copious amounts of tedium and polite friendly exchanges. Nothing more unsettling than jagged shards of glass grating the soul with false flattery.”

Faint green glowing eyes looked out from shadow, tips of pointed brown leather shoes peeking out, inside a ring of white light surrounding Will. His eyes narrowed, fingers flexing around the chains holding him in place. He squinted, trying to make out the face.

“You and I were friendly once.” A glimmer of teeth flashed.

Dress shoes clicked across concrete, following the outlined circle in long, pacing strides.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

The shadow stepped forward. Fair hair glowed beneath harsh swinging light, angling across a peaked forehead in sharp points. Smooth, youthful white skin formed rising angles and hollowed dipping curves, a peaked mountain range of light and shadow shifting. Glowing embers of a cigarette flicked between long fingers, scattering ash below Will’s dangling feet. Fine stitched ivory linen clung to a lean, lithe form circling his body in silent steps, accented by a black scooped v-neck t-shirt. Dark skinny jeans stretched down long limbs, muscles bunching beneath each movement, a silver belt buckle glittering with each sway of narrow hips.

“Should I be offended you don’t recognize me, Liam?” A Longines watch flashed as the cigarette was raised to harsh lips, smoke curling out in thin ghastly lines. “It is awfully rude considering our time together.”

Will’s eyes jerked up, staring back into green ones studying his face intently. His eyes darted back and forth, a shimmering blur forming in the back of his mind.

“Or shall I call you, _Will_?” The man smiled, blowing smoke into his face. “I imagine you would earn a stiff, formal title of _William_ given your current insolence.” Green eyes glinted, smile widening. “Among a myriad of other punishments…”

Will jerked away from two fingers curling down the side of his face. Nails sunk into his jaw, sparks of ash drifting on his cheek with glowing heat. He grimaced, gaze boring down as the man took a step closer. Fingers threaded in his hair, yanking forward.

The man crushed his mouth to Will’s, teeth scraping at his bottom lip, blood filtering. He tried to twist away, held firmly in place by the roots of his hair. A humming reverberated through his mind, pitching to a high squeal of feedback. His throat tightened, choking as a tongue slipped in, inhaling smoke and rich heady aftertastes of Macallan scotch.

Will gasped for air, eyes widening, sputtering, “Y-you’re the guy from the bar.”

“Ah yes. There it is.” Fingers patted at his cheek. “A guy. _Will_. Please.” The younger man’s mouth drawing into a firm line of displeasure. "You will have to do better than that should wish to remain in my good graces.”

“Nathan?” His eyes darted back and forth, searching within, struggling through a haze of fading memory. “Nigel…?” Green eyes narrowed. “Nick…”

Fair brows rose high on a peaked forehead. “Exactly how many men have purchased five hundred of dollars of whiskey and shared spit with you, William?”

The name of Hannibal’s affection soured on the other man’s lips, grating his soul with red ribbons.

“Or does the warmth of your skin and presence of your company merely have a particular price tag attached to it?” Fingertips stroked at his lips. “Are you for sale, Will, to be bought and bartered?” He pressed his mouth into a firm line to keep from flinching away. “What a fine commodity you must be to have another man offer to pay for you. With interest no less.”

“ _Nicolas_ ,” Will snapped, jerking away.

Nostrils flared from vivid images of their entwining limbs, a debauched of drunken disloyalty. Disgust welled inside of Will’s chest. Hannibal’s star filled eyes mirrored in an opaque layer above the memory, staring back with a pained expression. Teeth ground with self loathing.

“Nicolas… Lisandru.”

A wide smile spread on Nicolas’ face before fading, crushing remains of a cigarette between fingertips. “I must say I was rather disappointed in you, Will.”

“Why do you keep calling me, Will?” He asked slowly, carefully, words rolling around in his mouth like smooth marbles. “Or can’t you remember how many men you’ve shared spit with, Nicolas?”

“How very rude…” Nicolas wound fingers down curves of his torso, parting the dress shirt open to stare at deepening shades of bruises. “And after I took such great pains to return you to Lourmarin, without so much as the common courtesy to invite me in for a nightcap.”

“Anyone who knows me could tell you I am neither courteous or polite.”

Fingers pressed into bruises, sparks of fire quivered through bones and coursed through veins. A mouth moved to suffocate Will once more, lips pushing at his rigid ones.

“And whom might I ask for such a glowing reference, Will?”

“This seems like a bit of an over reaction,” Will spat out, wiping his mouth across a corner of his left shoulder. The taste of hateful smoke and cigarettes billowed in his throat. “Or do you intoxicate all the men you meet in bars and then chain them up in your basement when they refuse to sleep with you?”

“Oh William…” Nicolas stepped back, chin tilting up, eyes dipping low to glower through slits. “You are testing my patience.”

“One of my more charming traits,” Will growled, straining away from offensive touch clinging to his hips.

“He sounds like a fine man, I will admit.”

“Who…” Will’s eyes rose slowly, heart slowing in his chest. “…does?”

“The good doctor.” A tongue slicked across pearly teeth, head tilting in consideration.

The younger man turned away with flashing eyes, dragging a metal chair back into the circle of shifting light. It scraped across concrete.

“Where is…” Will’s fingers tightened around the chains, voice shaking out into a weak sound, lungs shuddering in his chest. “H-h-…he?”

Elegant legs crossed against it, leaning back, arm curling over a knee, glancing at his watch. “From what I am to understand…” Nicolas leaned forward, gazing up into Will’s wavering eyes with another cold smile “The good doctor sends his love.” 

He rose suddenly, stepping in close, breath warm against Will’s cheek. “Sends?” Fingertips curled at his throat, stroking softly. “ _Sent_? I am unfortunately vague on the appropriate tenses to use at this moment.”

Black flooded Will’s vision, heart stuttering to a stop, eyelids snapping closed to block out the soft sound slithering near his ear.

His eyes watered, reflecting soft light outlined the shimmering older man’s face with a flutter of glistening drops. _Please…_

 _Hannibal…_ The older man smiled gently, maroon eyes warm, turning to face him, lips moving in silent words. _You can’t be dead…Fuck…_

A low howling sound clawed out of Will’s throat.

_Don’t you dare…_

Chains rattled, ringing clear in the silence.

_You promised. You promised. You promised._

His lips curled back, revealing a row of teeth.

_Don’t you fucking leave me here, Hannibal! Goddammit, you promised we would go together._

His head whipped forward to sink teeth into an exposed throat. Pin pricks of blood sprayed across his lips.

“Cecil!” A sharp, clouded voice rang out.

Nicolas stumbled back, hand flying up to cover a wound widening at his throat. Green eyes flashed up. A door banged open. A shadow moved forward in blurring speed, dark arms wrapping around a sinking white frame. Strangled noises worked free from the shadowy man’s throat, teeth bared. Nicolas flattened a steady hand at his neck, stroking lightly. Dark grey eyes swung away from Will’s smiling face, lapping at blood.

“I forgot to mention…” He ticked a tongue at an incisor, eyes drooping low in warning. “ _I bite_.”

“It’s alright, Cecil.” Arms lifted him carefully. "We will simply have to find a way to keep Will's teeth where they belong." He glared up. "If he would like to keep them, that is."

Nicolas pried his body away from mingling darkness, pushing lightly at heaving chest, straightening up to his full height. His eyes were bright, fixed on Will’s mouth.

“You and I will have to become far better acquainted before we can engage on such a physically intimate level, William.”

“At your own peril…” He replied darkly. “Though I would advise you to _fuck off_.”

“So eager. How very vulgar you are, Will. This will have to be remedied.” An easy smug smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Loyalty. An admirable trait.” Nicolas glanced back at the other man, touching his mouth. “Most of those men, however, are more often than not, _dead_." His smile widened. "Much like your doctor.”

“Why the _fuck_ am I here, Nicolas?” Will snarled, yanking on the chains, blinking back tears. “If you’re going to kill me then just do it already!”

“You owe me a debt, William.” Green eyes flicked down to stare at a bloodied hand curled at his neck, laughing softly. “We will come to an arrangement for you to…” His eyes strayed up Will’s hips. “…work off this debt.” He reached for the other man, running fingers through strands of black hair, petting gently. “In the meantime, Cecil will do me the pleasure of eliciting verses of the seven deadly sins from your mouth. To recall _your_ sins. Won’t you, my darling?”

The shadow nodded fiercely with a curling lip, fingers folding into fists, leaning into red fingertips trailing on his cheek with closed eyes. Will followed the familiar movement, brows knitting low on his head, letting out a breath of recognition. 

_He... loves him?_

“Lovely. A just punishment, Cecil.” Grey eyes flickered from Nicolas' face to Will's. "No, my darling, you must mind his face. Leave it unblemished. I may want to look upon it later in a more private setting." 

Nicolas spun on his heel. Leather shoes echoed across the concrete in his wake. A hand rose in the air above his shoulder, a flicking wave of dismissal. A low sound worked its way out of the dark man’s throat, advancing with slow, even paces. Grey eyes glittered back at Will.

“You may not be able to pay back the eight thousand dollars you stole from me, William…” The man’s voice rang out. “However, I promise you will pay for it in a pound of flesh. One way or another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is precisely why we:  
> A: Never gain money in illegal ways from the Corsican mafia  
> B: Listen to Hannibal  
> C: Never let good looking men buy us $500 pony shots of whiskey  
> D: Allow above mentioned man to take us home
> 
> I am trying to write a whole slew of chapters for you, my loves! I hope this one will satisfy you in the meantime.  
> (And yeah, I just referenced The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman, hahaha. Sorry. Not sorry!)


	51. Chapter 51

_“Nicolas.” A booming voice rang out in the library._

_A small boy peeled away from a large velvet couch, knocking over a stack of books piled around his body. “Yes, Father?”_

_“I have brought you a boy to play with."_

_Thick, calloused palms gestured to a tall, thin rail of a man draped in loud pin stripes. Fingers curled around a tapering pant leg, grey eyes peering cautiously around it._

_“What’s his name?” Nicolas asked, glancing up into warm hazel eyes._

_“Cecil. And this is his father.” Pulling at a soft beard, his father nodded in the man’s direction. “You may call him, Mr. Richard Casanova._ _“_

_“Just Casanova between friends, please,” The thin man replied, voice rich with an exotic accent, extending his hand._

_Nicolas reached, small fingers clasping around it uncertainly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”_

_The thin man nodded, smiling a mouthful of crooked teeth. Darkness clouded his slippery moving form. He crossed the room, setting a briefcase on top of a mahogany desk. It clicked open. Stacks of money drifted out of Nicolas’ view._

_His father followed his small gaze. “Do you think you can keep him entertained while his father and I conduct our business?”_

_“Of course, Father.”_

_Nicolas turned abruptly, crossing over to the boy hiding behind a towering wing back chair. Grey eyes stared back, wide and blinking rapidly. Skin clung tight, all bony angles, and knobby knees. He reached for the boy’s hand. He pulled away with a tiny sound, flinching._

_“Come on…” Nicolas peered behind the chair. His father looked on with a steady gaze, nodding towards the door. “You don’t want to get in trouble for dawdling, do you?”_

_The small boy shook his head._

_“Then take my hand.”_

_Shaking fingers reached out. Nicolas carefully held their hands together, palm to palm, pulling slightly. The boy shuffled after, eyes stuck to the floor, led to the door quietly._

_“And Nicolas?”_

_“Yes, sir?” Nicolas turned towards the sound of his father’s voice._

_“Keep to the gardens where my guards can keep an eyes on you. It is not safe for you to play where you cannot be seen.”_

_A cool breeze fell across Nicolas’ cheeks as he led the smaller boy to the guardian. His lungs filled with red roses and damp earth. He glanced back. Tiny grey eyes fixed on the hand leading him, entranced by the swing of their fingers entwined. Nicolas flopped down on the ground beside a small fountain. He tugged the boy down next to him._

_“Are you going to tell me your name or what?”_

_Flickering pools of silver flickered up to meet his, glancing away, staring longingly at the house before looking back silently._

_“Yeah, I know your father told me,” Nicolas replied, head tilting. “I would like to hear you say it? I don’t bite ya know.”_

_“…Cecil.” Broken fluttering wings fell from a quivering mouth._

_“It’s nice to meet you, Cecil.” Nicolas squeezed the tiny hand appreciatively. It was warm, soft, fragile."My name is Nicolas."  
_

_“Yeah.”_

_“You don’t talk very much, do you?”_

_Cecil shook his head, long black curls falling, looking out from behind their safety with shining eyes._

_“Want to play hide and seek?” Nicolas offered, lifting the smaller boy to his feet, smiling down and ruffling his hair._

_A whisper of a smile warmed Cecil’s cheeks, nodding sharply._

_“Alright,” Nicolas smiled wider with softening eyes. “I bet you’re good at hiding.”_

 

* * *

_“There you are.”_

_Cecil lifted eyes from the ground, head turning towards the sound of a familiar comfort. Soft green eyes stared back. He tugged a cigarette from his lips, resting it on a knee he was using to balance on a brick wall behind him._

_“You must really want the headmaster to destroy that old uniform with the blunt side of his cane, Cecil.” Nicolas leaned on the wall beside him, gazing out the corner of his eyes, their shoulders brushing together. “Anyone could see you here.”_

_“Nothing I’m not used to.”_

_“I wish…” A hand reached out to settle across the one on his knee, brushing briefly at a bruised wrist hiding beneath a faded crimson cardigan. “…you would let me tell my father…”_

_Grey aching eyes swung over to settle on his face. “Don’t.”_

_“Yeah…” Warmth pulled away from his stinging wrist, shoved deep in a pocket. “I know.”_

_“Here,” Cecil replied softly, offering an ashy cigarette between shaking fingertips._

_Nicolas leaned in, lips brushing across his fingers, taking it between perfect white teeth. He sucked on the cigarette. It glowed bright red. Smoke curled from its tip, filtering over soft green eyes._

_“G-god…” Smoke pushed out of flaring nostrils, coughing, tinging soft cheeks red. “These taste awful. Why the hell would you want to smoke?”_

_“A distraction.” Cecil shrugged with a faint hint of amusement, removing the cigarette from the older boy’s mouth before placing into his own. “Plus…” He puffed, blowing smoke into the air. “Can’t exactly afford the good ones, now can I?”_

_“I’ll make sure you have whatever you want one day, Cecil,” Nicolas replied fiercely, shoulders hunching, staring at their feet._

_Silence filled the spaces between their bodies. Cecil leaned in, pressing their shoulders and forearms together. Wavering heat warmed bruises crawling up his arm through thin red cable knit._

_“Are you coming back to class?”_

_He shook his head, staring off at open gates rising at the end of the schoolyard. Nimble fingers plucked the cigarette from his mouth. Nicolas placed it to pink lips, sucking in slowly, allowing smoke to billow within. Green eyes met the ones staring down at him with intensity. His lips parted, clouds of grey curling out._

_“It looks nice when you do it…” Cecil whispered softly, looking away._

_“Hoping to impress some girls at an all boy’s academy, Cecil?”_

_“Just you.”_

_“Come on.” A hand tugged at his sleeve, shoes crunching gravel. “Let’s go back to class before you get us both caught.”_

_Cecil caught the hand in his own, holding tight. He fixed eyes on the ground, blinking hard. “I would never…” He tried to force his words to steady, to rise, to ring clear. “…allow anyone to hurt you, Nicolas.”_

_"I think this is the most you’ve spoken to me in years.” Gentle fingers curled around his own, pulling slightly. “Come on, Cecil.”_

_* * *_

 

_Rain battered a figure running in and around winding gnarled branches of trees, leaping over fallen roots. A faint glow shimmered in a cabin window. A curse left cold lips, a cloud of air puffing free._

_“Where the fuck have you been, Cecil?” Nicolas slammed a cabin door behind him, shivering, dripping wet. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”_

_Broken light filled silvery eyes looking up. Cecil was pressed into a far corner of the cabin, knees pressed to his chest, curled up into the smallest shape he could manage. Faint light flickered from a small lamp resting a feet. A weathered black book rested in his left hand._

_“Here I am,” He answered quietly, gaze to the floor._

_A hot breath rushed out of Nicolas’ lungs, anger filtering out with it. He stripped a wool coat off his shoulders. He yanked a bottle from a pocket before hurling it, undignified, to the wooden floor. He strode over to the younger man, shoving to make room, sitting side by side._

_“What is that?”_

_Long fingers gently closed a broken spine with a creak. “A Civil Disobedience.”_

_Nicolas cocked his head to the side, mouth twitching. “Really, Cecil? Henry David Fucking Thoreau?”_

_“My desire for knowledge is intermittent; but my desire to bathe my head in atmospheres unknown to my feet is perennial and constant._ _”_

_Nicolas jerked the book from his hand. “Don’t quote Thoreau to me as a valid answer you pretentious prick,” He replied, laughing, setting the book gently in his lap. “You know there are far better things to do than just read.”_

_“What could be more important than nourishing the soul?”_

_“Girls, for starters.”_

_“I have no interest.”_

_“Just trying to lighten the mood.”_

_A shaking hand settled on his hand, pulling back abruptly. “You are freezing cold…”_

_“Well, whose fault is that?”_

_Arms settled around his waist, gently lifting, carrying Nicolas to a small rusted bed at a far end of the room near a crackling fire. Cecil knelt at his feet, looking up with flickering shadows of pain. He tugged boots off his feet, peeling away cashmere socks. He touched the belt at his waist, stilling._

_Nicolas shrugged. “Nothing you haven’t seen, Cecil.”_

_Nimble fingers carefully unthreaded the belt, setting it aside. Soaking wet trousers peeled from shivering legs, rumpling on the floor beside his feet. Nicolas lifted arms over his head, waiting. Cecil carefully rose, sitting beside him, pulling until a scratchy gray sweater fell from his torso._

_“Get in,” Cecil commanded softly, pulling back sheets, flipping black hair from his eyes._

_With gentle fingertips, Nicolas touched dark bruises blossoming beneath the younger man’s eye, dipping low on his cheek. “Did he do this to you?” He asked, quietly caressing each outline._

_“Don’t worry about it, Nicolas.” Cecil pulled away, dragging sheets around his shivering skin. “I’m fine.”_

_“You’re not fine.” Nicolas threaded hands in the hem of a powder blue sweater, pulling until Cecil settled next to him. He set the book aside, following bruises out of the corner of his eye with an aching chest. “You can’t just hide in my cabin all the time.”_

_“Do you…” Cecil swallowed hard, eyes dimming. “…want me to leave?”_

_“Jesus, Cecil. No!” Nicolas curved a hand around his face, forcing his gaze upward. “Why would you say something like that?”_

_“I…” His throat clicked._

_“Here.” He pushed a small bottle filled with vodka into the younger man’s hands. “Drink this.”_

_Trembling hands raised it to frowning lips. Cecil took a swig, sputtering as sharp liquid burned the back of his throat. He drank in another long swallow, eyes creasing closed._

_“Not all of it, Cecil, Jesus!”_

_Nicolas dragged the bottle away with a glare, drinking slowly from it. He shook his head in disbelief, patting his thighs. Cecil stared down, shoulders rolling forward with glazing eyes. He pulled on soft hair, looking back expectantly. The younger man crumbled, body falling to the bed, head curling into his lap with a wave of lapping black curls. Grey eyes stared up, glistening, as Nicolas ran a hand over blotting bruises. Unsteady fingers wound up the side of his throat in a trail of prickling heat, settling at the nape of his neck. Nicolas was pulled into a soft mouth moving across his own, a steady rhythm of sweet butterfly wings. He had seen older boy's at school embracing in a spray of water and fogging heat, all rough hands and grunting. It was not that. This was... different.  
_

_"C-cecil...?" A surprised sound filtered out._

_“Sorry,” A rough voice said, hands disappearing, curled rigid on thighs._

_“It’s fine.” Nicolas touched his mouth, brows twitching. His hands curled around a shrinking figure rolling from the bed. “Just stay here.”_

_Cecil stilled, letting out a low breath from an empty side of the bed, covering his face with trembling palms. “Sorry.”_

_“No, come closer,” Nicolas whispered, dragging the shaking fragile form into his arms, fingers tangling in hair to press the head close to his heart. “I’ll read to you until you fall asleep.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back Story: 
> 
> Richard Casanova, was a big wig of the Corsican mafia in real life, who headed up a gang of mobsters called the "Brise de Mer." He was a mentor to Germani, another big time French mobster. Together they took over the Paris Wagram casino, controlling a huge portion of Southern France, between both their combined powers. (The casino was lost, both men tumbling from power, in early 2011 when taken over by a rival gang, the Guazzellis, after a series of bloody hits.)
> 
> The gang was best known for racketeering, slots machines traffic, laundering, night clubs, gambling clubs, casinos, etc in Northern Corsica but were also very prominent in Southern France in the cities of Marseilles and Aix en Provence and Toulon. They were also known for their violent robberies and murders. As well as their overall cleverness, like sending a fake fax to a judge, who then released their cohorts from prison, escaping and disappearing into thin air. 
> 
> There is very little visual information in regards to photos of what Richard Casanova looked like, so I had to kind of embellish the aesthetic part of it! And magically, meet his son, Cecil?
> 
>  
> 
> “My desire for knowledge is intermittent; but my desire to bathe my head in atmospheres unknown to my feet is perennial and constant.” - A Civil Disobedience, Henry David Thoreau


	52. Chapter 52

Barbed wire looped tighter, scarring insides of lungs in a crimson shade of dripping roses, with each breath Hannibal struggled to take. He peeled away layers of fingers plastered to his ribcage. A gushing knife wound glittered up, blood sinking through fingertips shoving back down. The man who had gifted it to him had crumpled moments later, entrails spilling to the kitchen floor with a jagged rip of a Santoku tearing at his stomach.

He lapped at trickles of copper spilling from a gash above his left eyebrow, a splintering kiss from the butt of a revolver. Hannibal had shoved the barrel down a screaming throat before painting hallway walls with spraying brain matter exiting with a resounding gunshot. Fingertips gently touched his cheek where it had slammed into the wooden floor outside their bedroom, punishing fists and heels rooting him to the floor with a heavy body. He stroked at purpling bruises tingling at his throat, fading to black, as he had struggled to regain control as life left his body in haze of shadow. Hannibal had left his knife protruding from a thick neck, transforming it into a fountain spurting gushes of red and strangled screams.

He leaned back into a biting chill of a porcelain tub, head tipping back to listen to the steady sound of pained breathing. Wood splintered along bedroom doors, violent cursing echoing on the other side with each ram of a shoulder.

_“You used to be much better at this.”_

Head falling to the side, Hannibal looked over towards soft sounds addressing him. Will stared back, knees tucked up to his chest, arms hugging legs in, brown curls falling over closed eyes with a sigh.

“Placing blame at a time like this is an unfortunate level of insolence, even for you, William,” Hannibal replied roughly, hiss escaping as he heaved to move closer to the younger man’s apparition.

_“You look like hell.” Will noted, opening one eye. “No, not in a good way.”_

“You look…”

His throat tightened, crushed by a coiling scream. He closed eyes, dragging in a hot thorny breath. He held onto it till it burned.

_“Alive? Half beaten? Gagged? What?”_

Rippling blue water stared back, mouth pinching into a firm line of concern. A shaking hand touched his knee, stroking, asking silently for him to breathe, to remain present.

“…like home…” Hannibal let out weakly, staring at soft fingers curling around his own.

_“A reflection of your intrinsic perceptions. I look however you believe me to be.”_

“And how…” A shaking hand reached out to the younger man’s soft face. It hovered near his cheek before pulling away. “… are you?”

_Will quirked his head to the side, eyebrows rising in amusement. “As a creation of your own making, Hannibal, that is a question I cannot answer. My response will simply mirror one you might imagine I would say.” Hannibal’s nails twisted at his bloody trousers, teeth clinking shut with a glare. “Oh. I see,” The younger man responded flatly, rolling his eyes. “Well, in that case… not fucking great. I’ve been better, Hannibal.”_

“That is not an appropriate answer, Will.”

_Gentle sloping shoulders rolled against the wall in a half shrug, tongue stinging sharp staccato. “The hot press of a recently fired gun lingering on my temples is not an experience I would relish to repeat.” Blue eyes slid to linger on the corner of his eyes. “Also, being bound by ropes is far less fun if you are not the one doing it. Oh, and gags, those are out for me, Hannibal, sorry.”_

“Will…”

Inching closer, Hannibal’s eyes narrowed to slits, clutching at the wound in his side. Blood dripped in splatters of smeared swirling patterns and fingertips. A low growl emitted from deep in his throat, reaching out to drag the younger man to his chest.

_“Hannibal…” Will inched away, eyes following a path of blood before sweeping back to stare at his face with wide eyes. “Why do I fall under the bone chilling impression your greatest desire to save me, is merely so you can extract just punishment for my transgressions at your own hands? If that’s the case, you should leave me wherever the hell I am. Save yourself the trouble of killing me.”_

“Foolish boy,” Hannibal growled, a breath above his face.

_“See, there it is.” The younger man pushed at his cheek, dislodging their faces with a swipe of nails. “That, right there. Not a great motivator for me to tell you anything. Who the hell would be honest with a person that looks at them with threat of violence?”_

“If you had merely been capable of obeying my explicit instruction, William, we would not be in the position we are now.”

_“If I blindly followed your every command…” A smile tugged at the younger man’s mouth, chin rising up imperceptibly to stare down the length of his nose. “You would not find me interesting, Hannibal.”_

“I will not lose you, Will,” Hannibal snarled, sinking nails deep as fingers curled around a fragile, tensing throat.

_“Y-you may not h-have a choice, Hannibal…” Will choked out, chest trembling with a fit of strangled laughter. “F-fuck, I’m half grateful for being kidnapped at this exact moment in time…”_

“Do not pretend to know my limitations of what is within and without of my control, William.” Hannibal squeezed tighter, pinning the younger man to the wall with a shake, until the sound stopped and only wide eyes silence remained. “You are mine. You will live.”

_“C-comforting…” A weak smile pulled at Will’s mouth, head drooping as eyes slipped closed, gently touching hands at his throat with a light skitter of fingertips. “Hannibal?”_

_“Yes, Will?”_

_Lashes fluttered over darkening blue crashing waves. “Save yourself. Kill them all.”_

A door caved open. Splintering wood cascaded into the bedroom. A blur of black stumbling in after it with a curse, boots skidding along the carpet. A gleaming revolver clattered to the floor. Hannibal stiffened, struggling to his feet with a rush of hot blood, teeth snapping.

“Stay behind me, Will,” He growled, fists curling at his sides, head turning.

Shadows flickered on the bathroom wall where the younger man had been only moments before. A heavy pang ripped through Hannibal’s chest. He jammed his eyes closed for a moment, willing tears to recede.

“I…” A low, haggard voice addressed him from an open doorway. “…was instructed to bring you in alive, Doctor.”

"Is that...so?"

Yellow glowing eyes followed tracking movements as Hannibal stared at the gun lying in the space between their feet.

“You are making my job rather difficult to accomplish such a thing.” A laugh echoed out, long blonde hair tossed to the side. “Though I ought to thank you for ensuring I receive the rest of my unfortunate team’s cut of the money.”

“My…”

Hannibal rolled a shoulder inward, breathing ragged, feet planned firmly to the ground. He stared at the man advancing. Glancing down at the gun. He inhaled sharply, hunching into position.

“Pleasure,” Hannibal snarled.

His eyes flashed. He barreled forward, ramming a shoulder into a bullet proof vest. Bones cracked beneath a swinging fist connecting to his side. Hannibal grunted, jamming fingers into soft eye sockets. The man stumbled back with a half scream, stumbling blindly out of the bathroom. Limping forward, he kicked a gleaming gun beneath the tub, following cries. The man tripped over an unseen rug, falling back. Hannibal regarded him coolly with unblinking eyes for a moment. He crossed a threshold of the bedroom, swooping down to retrieve the Santoku knife. It slid out with a spurt of squelching blood. He dragged his body around the corner, stepping through the open door.

"Y-you don't have to do this!" Palms stretched out before the man, water streaming from his eyes, blinking back twitches of pain.

"And what might you suggest?" Hannibal glanced down fondly at the knife twirling in his hand.

"I..." An adam's apple bobbled, swallowing hard. "I could deliver a message to my boss. From you."

"You certainly could..." He replied, taking a step forward. "A rather good idea, Mr...?"

"T-thomas..."

A smile widened on Hannibal's face. "Thomas. I appreciate your insight." He flicked the blade along his fingertips, holding it like a scalpel. "However, that in no way implies it is necessary for you to be breathing to deliver such a message."

"W-w-wait-ahhhh!"

With a broad stroke, Hannibal sliced a clamoring throat open to stop its curdling scream, hot blood gushing across his face with arterial spray. The body fell to the floor, convulsing. He stared down at it, detached, numb, a wave of pain bringing him to his knees. He clutched at a knife wound, touching broken ribs mirrored on the other side. His vision dimmed to a murky grey. His head slumped to the floor, curling inward on his knees.

_"Get up, Hannibal. You don't have time do be taking a goddamn nap right now."_

"Will..." His eyes fluttered open. "Can you not even leave me to bleed out in peace?"

_"Not a chance..." The younger man smiled softly, brushing hair clinging to his damp forehead. "Who else is going to annoy you as effectively as I do in the afterlife, Hannibal?"_

"I question the choice of your humor right now..." Hannibal growled, forcing himself to his feet, stumbling into the dresser.

_"You can reevaluate my stamp of being 'more or less sane' after you get the hell out of here," Will offered with a shrug, pointing to a medical leather bag perched on the other side of a bed. "Take that." He smiled again. "Doctor's orders."_

"Oh Will." Hannibal's shaking hand curled around a leather handle, glaring back at thin air. "If I survive this..."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sassy!PhantomWillGraham, it's a thing now. Definitely a thing.


	53. Chapter 53

Blinding white heat flashed along the back of Will’s eyelids. Bursts of red lightning crackled in twists of broken blood vessels. An incisor nipped at the tip of his tongue. Strokes of explosive fire burned his lower back, body jerking forward. He applied a sinking pressure, focusing on its sharpening sting. Hot breath exhaled out his nostrils. Chains rattled, shoulder jerking forward. Wet trails trickled down his side. He choked down a gurgling scream, biting hard, refusing to make a single sound. A flood of sweet copper filled his mouth, bubbling at corners of his twitching lips.

A laugh rang out at his back. “You truly are an impressive specimen, Will.”

“And…” Will gritted his teeth, swallowing mouthfuls of blood. “You are a sadistic _fuck_ , Nicolas.

“Did you know caning was considered one of the most effective methods of corporal punishment throughout most academies in Europe throughout the 19th and 20th centuries?”

“Fascinating,” Will growled, closing eyes against a succession of stinging pain and bruises.

Nicolas rounded his body with a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Tracks of teeth marks scraped along a pale throat, muddled in deep shades of purple and grey, accented by looping black x stitches. Will smirked, admiring his work. Blood trailed after a thin rattan cane dragging along concrete in a right hand. Nicolas stretched, rolling the shoulders of his navy suit forward with a popping echo in his wrists.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me where my money is _now_? As educational as this experience is for the lot of us, I am feeling a bit tired. And my associates would feel much more comforted upon its safe return.”

Will turned his eyes to a corner of the room, glaring defiantly into shifting shadows. Sharp wood jammed into his throat, tilting his head up. He glared down the end of his nose into green eyes.

“I have seen men far greater than you break beneath such ministrations.”

“Unfortunately for you…” Inhaling deep, Will sprayed blood between his teeth, covering the younger man’s face in a shower of red. “I had an excellent psychiatrist.” He lapped at droplets clinging to his smiling lips. “You’re going to tire of this far faster than I will, Nicolas.”

“Oh Will.”

Nicolas closed his eyes slowly, snapping fingers. A shadowy figure appeared behind him, rising from a metal chair, plucking a pocket square out and dabbed at red spit plastered to a clean shaven face.

“A _grave_ mistake.” He brushed the hands away with a quirk of his head, eyes glowing. “The good doctor. The good _dead_ doctor.”

 _I’ll rip your fucking heart out…_ Will’s teeth clenched tight, biting back a small sound.

“Ingratiating one’s self in another mind has always been a personal fascination,” Nicolas continued, brushing at his hair. “I have always found it most effective to strangle a man with his own emotions and underlying currents of craving.” His eyes strayed to the side to stare at the smaller man standing just behind him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Cecil?”

The man’s gloved hands clenched at his side, eyes burning flashes of silver light, lip curling in response.

“You may go now,” Nicolas said, dismissing him with a flourish of fingers.

Stomping boots echoed, door slamming shut.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Will smirked.

“Not quite,” Nicolas noted, staring at the door. “Cecil is intimately aware to mind his place in my presence.”

Green eyes returned to Will’s face, trailing down a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his chest. Streaks of red drifted down his collarbone, snaking down his ribcage, pooling at numb toes with a steady _drip, drip, drip._ The ropes had been removed a few days earlier. He was too weak to stand now. Will flexed fingers around cold chains, wincing, wrists rubbed raw, bright with the beginning formations of blisters. Teeth gritted in his mouth, flexing shoulders, skin flayed open, ragged and bruising.

“It would appear Cecil has been enjoying himself with you, Will,” Nicolas noted, stepping close, hooking a finger around a leather collar placed at his throat with a smile. “Was he at least polite enough to offer you a cigarette when he was finished?”

“I don’t smoke.”

Fingers pressed into constellations of cigarette burns blackened down his torso. “And what might you have done to earn his ire of such exquisite markings, may I ask?”

Will bit back a hiss. “I told him it was a disgusting habit.”

“Oh?”

“He didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to say. Not a great conversationalist.”

“He never was.”

“To keep up my end, I told him it explained why he was attracted to such a _filthy piece of shit_ as you, Nicolas.”

“Will, a sound piece of advice…” Thin wood trailed down his left thigh. “Do not test the limitations of Cecil’s affections. He belongs to me.”

“I’ll…nnn,” Will grunted, jerking as a sharp burn of pain lashed into bare skin. “…keep it under consideration.”

A hard mouth smirked. “Have you enjoyed getting to know him?” Nicolas glanced behind him “Odd creature, isn’t he?” His voice softened an imperceptible amount. “Beautiful in his own way.”

“A pet you mean,” Will corrected, eyes narrowing.

“In a manner of speaking.” Green eyes swung back, shining with a hint of amusement. “Would you…” Nicolas stepped in, curling his hands around Will’s throat, caressing the collar. “…like to be my new pet, Will?”

Teeth clanked shut in Will’s skull, swallowing hard against the leather restraint holding his head firmly in place.

_I will take you apart with me teeth, one bone at a time, and build a human shrine for your pet to worship._

“William, my darling…” Nicolas pressed a mouth into his clavicle, looking up, voice dipping dangerously low. “Where. Is. My. Money?”

“ _Fuck if I know_.”

Pain blistered across Will’s mouth, head whipping back with another curse, and a symphony of clanking chains.

“There are far more pleasant ways to repay your debts, Will,” Nicolas growled, lapping at split open knuckles with a faint smile. “How lovely you would stain my sheets with you tied against them. Would you like to paint them with your blood or in more fitting brush strokes of physical desire?”

“Not…” Blood gushed from a corner of his mouth, sucking in ragged breaths. “A _fucking_ … chance…” Will blinked slowly, trying to blot out red hazing his vision. “I would rather choke… on my own entrails… first.”

Laughter rang out. “What a terribly vivid imagination, William. How delightful.” Nicolas squared his face between forefinger and thumb in a bruising grip. “I am going ask you for a third time, William, as I am a gracious man and you were not as amenable during the first bits of our discussion.” His smile widened as Will struggled to break free. “Would you like to come quietly to the comforts of my room to repay your debt?”

“Why don’t you come closer and find out…” Will bared his teeth, staring hard at jagged fleshy marks, blood pounding in his ears, scream locked in his chest.

Bright shining green dimmed, fading shade by shade, darkening to a glinting flash of rough cut emeralds. The smile vanished with a flick of the man’s narrowing eyes.

“How disappointing.”

Fingers disappeared from his face. Dress shoes clicked across the floor. Will let out a breath, a shudder dancing across the front of his chest, tracking the figure’s movements. Nicolas crossed to the other side of the room, pausing.

“I am accustomed to having the things I want, Will.” Nicolas turned his head slowly, gazing back over his shoulder.

“What can I say…”

_Shut up, Will. Just shut up. Shut up._

“Life isn’t fair.”

A bolt twisting closed reverberated in silence with a resounding click. Will inhaled sharply, holding his breath, heart slowly picking up tempo to pound in his chest.

“Such insolence…” Nicolas turned on his heel, advancing with one foot carefully placed in front of the other. “Should never be allowed to remain unchecked. It breeds contempt.”

A thin wooden cane propped at an angle against a metal chair. A navy cashmere jacket slowly peeled down tensing arms. It folded obediently across the back of the chair.

“One last chance, William.”

Bile rose in the back of Will’s throat, filling his mouth with an acidic yellow flavor. A pale grey tie unwound with a hiss from a starched collar. It coiled around the jacket.

“Beg for my forgiveness and perhaps I will be merciful.”

Nimble, manicured nails slipped white buttons free in rapid succession. Silver cuff links flashed. A dress shirt fell away, fluttering to join its counterparts. Will’s insides twisted with a sharp knife, weighing heavy in the pit of his stomach.

Nicolas turned, chest bare, shadows darkening the right side of his face. “What is your decision?”

Will’s mouth quivered, muscles ticking tight inch by inch down his arms, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “ _Fuck. You_.”

Teeth flashed in a smile, belt winding through loops. “That’s the spirit.”

Leather pushed between his teeth. Will gagged. It strapped down with a hard jerk, tears springing to his eyes.

Green eyes locked on Will’s. “A grand improvement…” Reaching above his head, Nicolas smiled, fingers wrapping around a dangling chain. “Fitting…” Light shifted with each swing of a lamp. “Isn’t it?”  

A click sounded. The room doused in shadow. Pitch black flooded in.

“All bark…” Wood scraped along the floor as a shadow of Nicolas drew near, his dark voice following. “And no bite.”

 

* * *

_“Will?”_

_Rushing water filled Will’s ears, staring down as a setting sun bathed a wide stream in hues of burning flames. He knelt down, trailing fingers across its rippling surface. Foam gurgled red._

_“Will?”_

_Will rose stiffly, squinting through a line of thick winding trees forming arches of ivory stone. A shimmering cathedral flickered with candlelight. The older man emerged, a soft glow tracing outlines of his solid frame. A crème wool suit clung tight, etched with delicate curving lines of broken plaid. A blood red dress shirt dipped low beneath a waistcoat, a paisley noose tied neatly at his throat._

_“What are you doing here, Hannibal?” Will asked quietly, staring at his feet, shoving trembling hands around his body, arms crossed._

_Maroon eyes flickered with a gentle smile. “I came to find you…”_

_“A little late for that, isn’t it?” Bitter resentment dripped off of Will’s quivering tongue, eyes swinging up, glittering daggers._

_“I am only a man, Will.” Hannibal answered softly, stilling to a sudden stop. “Flesh and blood.”_

_“That’s not really accurate, now is it?”_

_“Will?”_

_“You are nothing. You’re dead!” A scream erupted from Will’s lungs, lunging forward. “You fucking promised!” Nails clawed into sharp lapels, hauling forward. “You left me in another fucking prison, Hannibal!” His fingers curled around a thick throat, tears stinging. “Y-you left me… alone.” _

_“I…” Hannibal’s hands curled around his shaking wrists, tears misting his eyes. “…cannot take back the mortal wounds I have dealt you. I cannot save you. I cannot… save myself.” Fingertips stroked through blood blossoming under Will’s right eye, trickling down his cheek. “I miss the way morning sunlight warms your eyes and glows upon your lips, William.”_

_“Just go,” Will breathed out, turning his face away. “ Please.”_

_“Will…”_

_His eyes fluttered closed, red unfurling in a gash forming on his left eyebrow. “I don’t need you here.”_

_Shaking hands reached for his face. “And if I need you, William?”_

_A gaping scream erupted from Will’s lungs, burning blisters down the back of his throat. He fell to cold ground, wet dirt seeping across bare knees. His fingers curled in squelching soil._

_“William!” Hannibal’s alarmed cry echoed through trees, dropping to the ground beside him._

_“N-no…” Will whispered hoarsely, pushing at hands fluttering at red forming jagged blots of antlers at his back. “Go.”_

_“I am not leaving you here.” _

_“Get. Out of here. Hannibal.”_

_“You’re in pain!”_

_“Don’t look at me, Hannibal! Don’t touch me!”_

_“Will, you are bleeding!” Desperate hands tried to lift him to his feet, tears clouding steady even sounds of rushing waves. “ Let me help you, please!” _

_“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, HANNIBAL!” Will screamed, nails scraping along an angled face, shuddering with another blaze of pain. “You’re dead to me!”_

_Agony crumbled beautiful angles of Hannibal’s face. Tears spilled from aching eyes. Cracks formed along the planes of cheeks, racing in jagged lines down his body. With a splintering sound, his figure shattered. Ash drifted through the tree line on a whispering breeze._

_“I’m…” Will sobbed, curling tight into the earth. “…s-sorry, Hannibal. I don’t want you to s-see me like this…”_

* * *

“H-hann…”

Blood spattered breath inhaled sharply. Hoarse whispers filtering out in shaking curls of darkness. Cold seeped into deadening skin. Numb. Drowning. Suffocating, Fading. Pulled in and out of consciousness.

“You’ll have to forgive me, William. I simply lost track of the time. I am afraid I must be going.” Icy fingers lingered at a cracking, aching throat. “There is a gala I need to attend, and I am afraid a generous host must always look his best.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... 
> 
> Sorry. 
> 
> :winces: 
> 
> This is really dark. I actually feel the need for a shower. Going to go... do that.


	54. Chapter 54

* * *

_“Would you please stop crying and tell me what happened, Nicolas?”_

_Cecil knelt at the foot of a bed, carding his fingers through long strands of blonde hair. Sobbing echoes shook shoulders buried beneath them, hands strapped across knees with sharp nails._

_“Is this about the girl your father introduced you to at your seventeenth birthday gala last week?” His eyes narrowed. “Was she… Did she hurt you, Nic?”_

_“M-my mother… is dead.”_

_“Nic, I…” A rush of breath stilled in Cecil’s throat, reaching to curl a protective arm around the shaking figure. “I’m sorry…” He offered weakly, tears stinging his eyes._

_“He won’t tell me how she died.”_

_“She was ill for a long time, Nic. I know you were close.”_

_“His cruelty will return now she is gone…” A weak noise whispered beneath fingers._

_A low growl rose in Cecil’s chest with a billowing heat. He jerked away, rolling forward on the balls of his feet. He glared at closed doors, feeling his limbs preparing to move through them, to bury a blade deep beneath shoulder blades._

_“N-no, Cecil…” Fingers curled at the starched collar around his throat, yanking him back. “Please s-stay.” Cecil hissed, gathering the older boy into his arms. “I don’t want… to be alone.”_

_Nicolas reached up, tears streaking out of the corners of his eyes. He pulled close, leaning up to brush lips their lips. Cecil’s mouth trembled as warmth dragged their mouths in unison, drawn into a steady rhythm. Legs tangled around his hips, clawing buttons apart, until a shirt fell open._

_“W-what… are you doing, Nic…?” Cecil stilled the hands running down his chest with an aching breath, mouth quivering._

_“Really?”_

_Nicolas pushed him down onto soft carpet, climbing on top. A tear stained sweater peeled away, revealing porcelain skin shimmering in dim light. Cecil’s hands shook at his sides, curling them into fists, pressed tight into his thighs._

_“Nic…”_

_“After all these years,” Nicolas whispered, pressing his lips to his throat. “Now you want to have a voice, Cecil?”_

_“I… don’t want to hurt you…”_

_Larger hands curled around his own, forcing them to wrap around a narrow ribcage. Nicolas stared down, teard floodinh eyes. “Do you care for me?”_

_“I…” Cecil felt a sharp pang of emotion in his heart. “…love… you.”_

_“Then stop talking.”_

* * *

_“Come in.”_

_“Yes, Father.” Nicolas stepped into the cold office, closing the door quietly behind him. “What is it we needed to discuss?”_

_“You.”_

_“Have I done something wrong?”_

_“I believe that is a matter of personal opinion.”_

_“Sir?”_

_“Nicolas, you do know that I love you, correct?” Thick fingers pulled off a pair of wiry metal frames, pushing at tired eyes. “Perhaps not as your mother loved you with her kind eyes and gentle hands…”_

_“I know, Father.” He replied stiffly, bruises aching along his shoulders, buried underneath layers of fabric._

_“You are nearly a man now. In the event of my death, our sole family business will fall to you. Along with each sordid affair of those dealings. Understood?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“You are my son,” His father noted, spreading his hands across the desk, looking up. “Idle gossip is hardly a matter of concern, especially given you are not in a position of scrutiny now.”_

_“Gossip?”_

_“Whispers, Nicolas.” His father rose with unsteady movements, balancing on a cane as he stepped forward. Nicolas rooted his feet firmly to the floor as he advanced, determined to stay where he was. “It does not matter to me what you do behind closed doors, my son. However, be aware others eyes are upon you.”_

_“You mean… Gabriella?”_

_“No, my child.”_

_A hand settled on his cheek, pushing hair from his eyes, touching a bruise on his cheek. Nicolas flinched._

_“The shadow which trails after your every footstep in quiet contemplation.”_

_Nicolas jerked away, shoving hands in trouser pockets, shaking with a sudden fire in his bones, the soft sound of Cecil’s breathing filling his ears._

_“What are you trying to insinuate, Father?”_

_“I am merely suggesting you are more cautious with the display of your affections. Our hearts do not choose whom we love. Your beautiful mother, god rest her soul, taught me as much. You have my blessing under one condition.”_

_“Conditions for unconditional love, sir?” Nicolas growled, biting down on his bottom lip._

_“You will marry Gabriella when it is time for you take your rightful place at my right side.”_

_“And Cecil?”_

_“You may keep him at yours. Discreetly.”_

_Nicolas turned away from his father, stalking towards the door with blurring vision._

_“Nicolas?”_

_He stopped at the door, fingers curling around its handle. “Sir.”_

_“Keep your private affairs private… Richard Casanova is not a forgiving man. You put your friends life in your hands. And yours.”_


	55. Chapter 55

Dark ashen clouds floated gravely in a procession of misting shapes across the sky. Hints of fading light permeated thick layers, cascading in rays of golden glows. Slow bubbling waters of the _L’Aigue Brun_ river brushed through the forest with gentle murmuring. Soft sighs of snow floated from above, blanketing tops of fir trees and barren ground in cold silence. Chirping quietly, a small grey Sardinian Warbler ticked with tiny hops, pausing to ruffle its feathers in a mist of white. The bird quirked its head to the side, blinking beady eyes, following a trail of crimson drops staining alabaster white. It skittered along a path leading to a decaying barn of twisting timbers.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick_. Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open. An aching breath followed in a sickening cough. His gaze followed the thin sound to find a tiny bird clattering on the other side of a dirty window. His head fell back, hay rustling as he wound tighter into a thick wool blanket, shivering. He glanced over at a leather medical bag and black cell phone disemboweled of its battery and chip. His sole companions. He stared up, clouds of breath rising up to reach wooden rafters.

_“You don’t look well, Hannibal…”_

Hannibal turned his body towards gentle whispers of comfort, groaning, a rush of pain ebbing in. Will was huddled in a corner of the stable, head tilted back to stare down out of the corner of his eye. His form was brushed in a muted cornflower blue sweater, grey scarf and wool jacket pulled tight over his shoulders. He reached out, placing a soft hand across his forehead, mouth tugging into a thin line of concern.

_“You’re warm,” He whispered, stroking at blood matted hair._

“I think you mean cold, William,” Hannibal replied with a weak smile.

_“Why aren’t you sleeping in the car?”_

“One should never take chances on the mercy of fossil fuel or wavering life of a battery when on the run, Will.”

_Blue eyes pierced his. “You threw a few sweaters in the car…” He glanced up, a draft whistling through the barn door. “You could wear those.”_

“There will be plenty of time to layer when I reach the cabin,” Hannibal answered firmly, wincing, rolling onto his back. “Dressing at this moment in time is rather difficult without help, and I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to afford myself a shower. Though I am amused by the irony of you being concerned with my state of dress.”

_The younger man tilted his head to the side. “Our cabin?”_

“A different property entirely. An hour’s drive from here. I will switch automobiles there as well, as a matter of precaution.”

_Shivering, Will tucked his face deeper into the scarf, aching eyes peeking out. “The intricacies of tangled webs in your mind continues to elude me…”_

Hannibal placed a hand near Will’s eyes, misting. "Pull a single thread of a man and watch him unravel…” He whispered softly, gazing up.

_"Knock down his walls and watch war spill in?" Will answered quietly, giving consideration to the weight of his words with a roll of his neck._

“Are you crumbling, Will?”

_“Well, Doctor Lecter… I don’t know. Are you?”_

“I am…” Hannibal swallowed hard, closing his eyes briefly, to block out tremors of pain. “…lost…”

_“You merely lack a compass, Hannibal.”_

Hannibal opened tear filled eyes, staring back at the younger man, voice a whispering flutter of snow. “You are my compass, William.”

_“Then you aren’t lost.” Will’s fingers curled into fists, jaw clenching. “What are you waiting for?”_

“The sound of your voice.”

_“Real or imagined?” He quipped, shifting his gaze away to stare at stains of red surfacing on the wool blanket. Hannibal looked at him, cheek flinching. “Right. My point exactly.”_

“I am uncertain of what path to pursue,” Hannibal growled, dragging up to rest back against a wooden beam.

_“Then follow the signs. Close your eyes. Think back to our crime scenes. When you pretended to be me interpreting the evidence.” The younger man spread his hands with a flourish. “So interpret the evidence, Hannibal.”_

“Where are you, Will?” Hannibal asked, voice cracking with a note of tears.

_A sharp glare answered. “ Not the correct question.”_

“Where are…” A steadying breath filled Hannibal’s lungs, allowing a calming hum to filter through his mind, settling in with a blank slate of quiet. “…we?”

_“Yes.” Will nodded thoughtfully, gazing at a wiry black pistol with a silencer attached in his lap._

“Marseilles?”

_“He said you worked for him, didn’t he?”_

“A faceless transaction between mirrored glass, William.” Hannibal rubbed gloved hands together to create friction, eyes drooping with exhaustion.

_“It looks like your compass is no longer spinning,” Will replied, lips quirking up._

“Will, I…”

 _ “Not now, Hannibal.” _ _Will shifted, drawing a knee up, eyes rolling. “I think you enjoy the sound of your voice more than you enjoy the idea of coming to my aid.”_

Teeth clicked together in Hannibal’s mouth, peeling away the wool blanket, growling, “A gross lie and blatant manipulation, William.”

_“Well…” The younger man smiled, shoulders lolling into a shrug. “One of us has to bruise your ego to keep you in check.”_

A bloodied cough racked his lungs, wheezing as it subsided. “I would prefer the softness of your tone at this particular moment in time…”

Shuffling to his knees, Will crawled over. He gently tugged wool fisted in Hannibal’s hands away, parting fabric. The younger man inhaled sharply, carefully pulling up the corner of a dress shirt. Small trails of blood leaked out from tight stitches forming across his ribcage.

_“Still bleeding,” Will noted, voice up ticking with a hint of anger. He gingerly touched at blots of purple mirroring the other side, bound with tight wraps of gauze. “Still broken.”_

“Not as bad as they were, my dear boy…” Sighing softly, Hannibal gazed back into wavering pools of blue. “Not broken. Wounded. I will heal in time.” His cheek flinched. "Physically. If I lost you..."

 _“Look…” Fluttering shadows of hands framed his face. “You can talk to me in person after you nearly beat to death some French men for information, alright?” Will said softly, blinking back tears. “Just… don’t fucking die first, alright?”_  
  
“As you wish...”

Hannibal’s voice faded away, chin drooping to his chest. Waves of throbbing pain and a need for sleep washed over him in shades of grey fading to black.

_“They're are so many dogs, Hannibal.”_

“…Nnn…”

_“They're getting fur all over your color coordinated, immaculately organized, closet of suits.”_

“W-what…?” Hannibal croaked, eyes struggling to flutter open.

_“Hundreds of thousands of dollars between us.” Will smiled back at him, rocked back on his heels. “And not one single lint roller.”_

“My dear boy…” Hannibal let out a pained breath, drawing the wool blanket around his body, voice weak. “Would you please explain what on earth you are prattling on about?”

_“I’m not prattling.” The younger man crossed his arms, mouth pulling into a pout of flushing cheeks. “I’m rambling.” _

“I…” Hannibal whispered with a slight laugh. He grimaced, choking out a cough and sputtering curse. “Need to sleep now, Will.”

“No, you need to take your antibiotics,” The younger man corrected, voice a low growl. “And that morphine.” He pointed to the medical bag near their feet. “Then you can sleep.”

“Will…” Hannibal hissed, struggling to open the medical bag.

He rummaged through its contents, unsteady hands drawing out an unmarked bottle of pills. With a gulp, he swallowed down two bitter white pills, tossing it back into the bag with a glare.

_“Morphine too. Hannibal, don’t give me that look. Just take some, you stubborn ass. You’ve been stabbed, beaten, nearly strangled, and have at least two broken ribs. Just do it. For me.”_

Gritting his teeth, Hannibal tied off a band around a bruised bicep. He drew out a needle, pulling out a small amount of clear liquid into it. He flicked at the syringe to clear out air bubbles. Pumping his fist with a series of curses, the needle slipped in with a sting. He capped the needle, placing it back in the bag with a heaving sigh as tingling warmth spread through his body. His eyes slipped closed.

_“I want a dog, Hannibal.”_

“I beg your pardon?”

_“A dog. No. Dogs. Yes, plural.”_

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered, catching glimpses of a fading face staring back. “Do you consider now… an appropriate time… to be having this conversation?”

_“I figured now is the only time we might be having this conversation at all, Hannibal. And given the circumstances, I thought you might be more amenable to giving me what I want half conscious.”_

“You are…” His voice weakened, fading.

_“Beautiful like eclipsing stars? Glowing candlelight? Radiant as a setting sun? The love of your life , who if you actually loved, would allow to have a dog?” Will paused, considering with a soft mutter. “Which then quickly turns into a pack of dogs.” _

Hannibal choked on a laugh, eyes slipping closed with a smile. “Frustrating.”

_“Is that a yes?”_

Groaning, Hannibal rolled himself up into the blanket, curling in on his side. “I will consider it if you allow me to rest in peace.”

_“Sounds like a yes.”_

“Will.”

_“Alright, alright…” The younger man’s voice softened, edges blurring with a faint humming light. “You’re such a cantankerous old man when you’ve been stabbed and sleep deprived, Hannibal.”_

“Remind me… to have a word with you about your utter lack or respect… later.”

_“Yeah, I love you too. Go to sleep.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reappearance of: Sassy!PhantomWillGraham, here to regal us with short quips of humor to ease the aching in our hearts. And annoy the hell out of, and boss around, Hannibal to keep him alive. 
> 
> Lovelylaceandlilac, thank you for inspiration for the dog bit, it's perfect!


	56. Chapter 56

* * *

 

_Bullets whizzed by, bouncing off of trees, echoing with each gunshot. Six glass bottles remained lined up along slab of rock, unscathed, gleaming in afternoon sunlight._

_“You’re going to have to straighten your posture if you hope to hit an actual target.”_

_“Excuse me, your majesty,” Cecil answered the voice at his back, swinging around to find Nicolas smiling, leaning against a tree with crossed arms. “I would like to see you try.”_

_“I am inclined to go back to the days when you wouldn’t speak more than two words to me at a time, darling…” Nicolas stepped forward, fingers curling around Cecil’s in a warm pressure of heat and longing._

_“Well, one can dream,” Cecil replied quietly as a small silver revolver was tugged from his fingers._

_Shrugging shoulders, Nicolas widened his stance, planting his feet carefully over wildflowers peeking from frozen earth. His arms rose, fingers curling around a handle, steadily holding the gun._

_Cecil drew in a breath, a shudder of danger raising his skin in bumps. “Has anyone called you Godfather Lisandru yet?”_

_“Darling Cecil, this is not one of your noir novels.”_

_“Do you miss him?” He asked quietly, staring at flexing shoulders.  
_

__Green eyes glanced back over his shoulder, wavering._ “My father?”  
_

_“Yeah…”_

_“At times,” Nicolas replied softly, squaring his shoulders. “Though… more often I miss an idea of him.”_

_“Sometimes I think… I can see him looking back through your eyes.”_

_“If you only think you see him, Cecil, then you aren’t looking hard enough.”_

_“Did you kill him, Nic?”_

_A succession of careful gunshots rang out as Cecil clamped hands over his ears, taking a step back. Glass bottles shattered one by one. A single beer bottle remained at the farthest edge of the rock._

 

_Nicolas turned with a smile, revolver lingering at his thigh. “Simply not a question I can answer, darling.”_

_“God…” Cecil let out a breathy whisper, stepping in for a kiss._

_“Not now, my darling.” Nicolas laughed, pushing him away, shoving a cold barrel into his hands, curling it up between their bodies. “Perhaps I will reward you if you are good…”_

_Cecil stared longingly at his hard lined, punishing mouth before turning away with a low growl._

_“Straighten your legs.” Wing tip shoes nudged at his muddied boots, pushing his feet into place. “Angle your shoulders.” Palms guided them into position. “Curl your thumb here.” Long fingers settled around his own, guiding them into the correct position, stroking softly as they fell away. “Aim. Take in a deep breath." Breath fluttered at the back of his neck. "Envision your target firmly in your mind."_

 

_Aching bruises throbbed, up his shaking arms, down his rigid thighs, coursing through his heart, as the image of his father filled the back of Cecil's mind, a blur of fists and bright red rage._

 

_"Now."_

 

_His hands steadied, letting out a breath._

 

_"Shoot.”_

_A single gunshot rang out, glass splintering upon impact._

_“What a quick learner you are, Cecil. Very good.”_

_Dropping a revolver to the ground, Cecil swung around, pushing the older man into scraping bark, fingers shaking along a navy jacket. “Tell me again.”_

_A glimmering smile answered, fingertips stroking his cheek. “What a good boy you are?”_

_He fell to his knees, yanking open a belt buckle, jerking down black trousers around pointed hips._

_“Oh Cecil…” Long fingers carded gently through his hair, running a tongue across a throbbing cock. “Nnn, ahhh…”_

_His mouth plunged down its length, eyes slipping closed._

_“G-good… so…very… good.”_

 

* * *


	57. Chapter 57

_“I never considered you to be stupid, Will.”_

_Will swiped at flecks of drying blood staining faded grey denim, ragged and torn open. Beneath fraying threads, faint yellowish bruises gave way to bloodied scabs covering his knees. He tugged a thin camel jersey sweater down to his wrists, hiding splotches of scars and fresh bruising. He shifted uncomfortably in a creaking leather chair, eyes flicking back and forth to focus on the sound of heeled boots clicking._

_“Depends…” He answered, raising eyes slowly, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “…on your point of view.”_

_“From where I’m standing…”_

_Beverly turned her head over her left shoulder, wide dark eyes surveying his body with a gauging sweep. Slotted white blinds clanked together, swaying, as she pulled her hand away from a small rectangular window._

_" This is stupid.” _

 

*

“Will, my associates are losing their patience. As am I. Tell us where the money is.”

Ice cold concrete sank into knees, running up the length of Will’s thighs striped in fresh pink bleeding marks. He inhaled sharply, fading in and out, an echo of sounds bleeding from corners of the room, both real and imagined.

“S-sorry, Nicolas…” Will’s hoarse voice answered, struggling to lift a pounding head rattling with heavy millstones. “I didn’t hear the question.”

“Where is—“

“My… apologies,” Will interrupted, cutting him off, raising unsteady eyes from tips of gleaming black boots. “Were you asking if your associates would remove your fingers first? Or your whole hand?” His lips twitched in a half smile. “I imagine a lot of things are a lot less pleasurable without—unnnn—“ 

*

_“What are you doing, Will?”_

_“Is this a secondary interrogation, Beverly?”_

_“I am being thorough. Answer the question.”_

_Beverly knelt down beside the chair, briefly touching his knee. Wafting scent of white lilies rose from an azure chiffon blouse clinging to her frame. Supple charcoal leather hugged curves of her arms she placed on an armrest, chin tucked neatly on her hand. Will stared at her fingers, stained in red trickles flowing down his right forearm, wrists clamped to the chair with iron fetters._

_“Embracing… my nature…” A wayward smile followed, chains clanking as Will drew forward. “Or embracing the rude?”_

_She blinked slowly, watching a bright flash of blue light his chest ablaze. “You think now is an appropriate time to make jokes?”_

_“Might be…” Will groaned, closing his eyes, body shaking with a short burst of an electrical current. “… the … only time…I have.”_

 

*

A palm smacked hard across his face, leaving behind a stinging sensation in its wake.

“William,” Nicolas growled, eyes glowing bright, holding tight to a taser flashing with blue light. “I am going to need you to focus.”

“A little…” Will gasped for breath, eyes fluttering, body jerking uncontrollably. “busy… at the moment…”

“Where’s the money?”

The shadowy man placed a hand on a carefully stitched shoulder, silver eyes flashing between Will and Nicolas with a wavering tremor of pain and silent pleading. His hand was flicked away. Clanking chains faded to a metallic rustle as Will’s flailing body stilled, limbs jerking with aftershocks.

“Could be…” He swallowed down a dry ache. “Anywhere.” 

*

_Soft palms cupped the sides of Will’s cheeks. Beverly studied dark circles clinging to his eyes, brushing away wet tear tracks mingling with blood. Her fingertips calmed with each icy stroke of death._

_“Why are you doing this, Will?” She asked softly._

_“P-passing the t-time. It’s what I have left, right? Time,” Will snapped bitterly, teeth clenching as his body seized. _

_“That time is going to become a lot more excruciating the longer you let this go on. He’s got you hooked up to intravenous fluid and blood transfusions to keep you alive at night, Will. This guy is in for the long game. Stop playing around.”_

_“I’d rate the accommodations… nnn… three stars at best.”_

_“Will, please.” Beverly’s dark eyes sparked with blue light flowing over his skin current after current. “Give him what he wants. He’s allowing you just enough time to heal so he can break and batter the same places over and over again. He could…”_

_“Kill me? Yeah… think that’s the general idea.”_

_A shaking palm fluttered over her face, voice quavering. “You could be this way for months before your heart gives out.” Black pin straight hair fell across her cheeks. “For longer… if he’s careful.”_

_“My heart… gave out… about two weeks ago, Beverly.” Will let his head fall back, groaning as flashing pain subsided. “What the hell is the point of living…” His eyes slid down to her face, heart clenching. “…if he no longer walks this Earth beside me?”_

_“Hannibal is not worth it, Will. He’s dead.”_

_“So am I. Who I was no longer exists.”_

_“You are not defined by what Hannibal made you!”_

_“By what he made me?” Will’s eyes narrowed, leaning forward. “I merely embraced what I always was, Beverly.” His lip curled with a flash of teeth, claws shredding leather around her shoulders. “There is no need to fear darkness if you are the nightmare.” _

_She looked up. “That isn’t who you are.”_

_“Are you questioning the vengeful madness he unleashed within me, Beverly? What this nnn…” His teeth snapped, shaking. “…unleashes? Of what I could become without his firm hands to keep it sewn tight inside my skin? Could you not see it in his eyes before the last gasps of life left your body?”_

_Beverly drew her hand away, eyes darkening. “You can’t martyr yourself for a dead man, Will.”_

 

*

“Nnn…”

“Cecil, I would advise you to take a seat.”

Will groaned, drooping, light and sound blurring into a white light of suffering heat. His stomach rolled, nausea quivering in the pit of his stomach. Spit trailed from his bottom lip, dripping into a pool on the floor. His limbs flailed, jerking as he struggled for each breath.

“Do you need a reminder about what happens when you disobey me, darling?”

His vision blurred, trying to focus on half nightmarish growls drown out by the sound of thunderous rage. Ringed fingers clutched inky black strands tight, forcing Cecil’s head back by the roots of his hair, small of his back contorting with each twist. Silver eyes flashed, short nails digging into black cashmere cuffs.

“If you would like both of us to keep our limbs, I would suggest you step back,” Nicolas snarled, releasing the other man with a shove. “Unless you would like to take his place.” Green eyes locked onto a fist, shaking, clenched around a phone. “Is that what you would like?” He took a step forward. “Are you feeling neglected, my darling?”

A gloved fist connected with the side of a clean shaven face in a resounding smack. Nicolas closed his eyes, face turned, hand print surfacing bright on the left side of his cheek.

“You…” Nicolas sucked in a deep breath, glittering eyes slipping open slowly. “…know very well I have a fundraiser to attend this evening, Cecil. Filled with press, drunken socialites, and our good friend Captain Wyman…”

He lunged, dragging the younger man in by a fistful of a denim jacket.

“Tell me…” He growled, forcing a grimacing mouth open. “What kind of punishment do you prefer for such crass disobedience, Cecil?”

A tailored knee sunk into the shadowy man’s stomach. He choked out an inhuman sound, skidding back, phone toppling to the ground. Gunmetal eyes glittered, teeth bared. Cecil drove a shoulder up into a chest.

Will’s nostrils flared. The two men struggled, grunting and skidding closer and closer to where he knelt. He let salty sweat of skin fill his lungs, points of teeth slipping out from a mouth creaking open with a quiet breath. He closed his eyes.

Sharp sets of elbows jerked into his jaw. Head whipping forward, Will sank his teeth into blurring flesh and ripped, spurts of blood spraying across fluttering lashes. A demonic howling filled his ears, eyes opening to narrowed slits.

“ _Get up_!”

Blood gushed from ripped denim clinging to the other man’s forearm, sprawled on the ground. His wild eyes filled with tears and unspoken pain, mouth working soundlessly.

“Once again you brought this upon yourself.” Nicolas towered over Cecil, tuxedo stained bright red, staring down with cold eyes flickering with hints of something else. “Get out of my sight, Cecil…”

Scrambling to his feet, Cecil clutched a bloodied arm to his chest, hobbling towards the door. Soft whimpers of pain trailed in his wake, door clicking quietly closed. Will shuddered inwardly, stinging heat of blood dripping, stirring with satisfaction and twinge of guilt on his tongue.

_“He may be dead, Beverly…” His eyes swung to a flickering figure blurring with shadows, slowly fading away. “But I would never dishonor Hannibal’s memory by embracing a sweet and easy death.”_

Dark eyes slowly slid back to stare down. Warmth lolled on Will’s tongue, head cocking to the side to study the face looking up, storm clouds rolling across in black brush strokes. Laughter bubbled up from his tongue, escaping as his lips widened in a smile. He laughed harder, gasping slightly as his aching ribs shuddered, hot flashes of pain following.

“Given I haven't had a decent meal recently…” Will noted, licking at the corner of his mouth, pale face bright with glittering blood. “I do appreciate… the snack, Nicolas. I can see the appeal. He is rather… tasty.”

Ringed knuckles slammed into his jaw with a crack, pain exploding upon impact.

“You will pay…” Nicolas stood above him, dark eyes glittering with fire. “… _dearly_ for that, Will.”

“Sorry…” Will groaned, sagging. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Copper flooded his mouth, grimacing. Will gingerly touched bleeding gums. A broken molar clung to ragged flesh. He pried its pieces loose, tongue digging in, with a half curse.

“H-hell…especially given I’m running out of…” Sucking in a shaking breath through his nose, he spit out bits of teeth to the concrete. “…unmarked flesh and bone, nnn… for you to play with…” His mouth quivered, a murderous scream perched between clattering teeth. “You should just fucking kill me.”

Long fingers curled around Will’s jaw as Nicolas tipped his weak head up, voice dropping perilously low. “I believe you are _intimately_ aware there are far more avenues to explore to make a man scream.”

Acid curled in the pit of Will’s stomach. His numb legs quivered, trying desperately to shift away. He blinked hard to keep a tremor of fresh, bruising panic trapped inside his lungs, trying to claw its way out.

“I imagine Cecil has even less to say on the authenticity of that claim than I do,” Will replied, choking out a shaking laugh as fingers squeezed tight. “Given you have yet to draw a sound out of me, I can’t imagine you do a whole hell of a lot for him.”

“And here I remained under the impression you were disinterested in continuing our physical relationship, William,” Nicolas answered with a thin smile, slowly circling his body. “Or were you simply disguising your pleasure beneath a shroud of ragged breath and lack of consciousness?” Fingertips trailed along chains. “Do let me know… if you are having trouble breathing.”

“Nnghh…” Will choked out a half cry, collar tightening around his throat, hauling his neck up right, eyes stinging.

“Very good,” Nicolas said darkly, black satin tie unraveling at his throat. “Well…” A blood spattered Longines watch flashed. “I believe I can spare a moment for you, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where I feel the need for a showerrrr. Yech! 
> 
> Oh Hanni, where are you? Can you please stop bleeding out long enough to stop having conversations with PhantomWill to save RealWill now, thank you? And for the love of god, please get that man a hundred dogs. (I already know the answer to this and it's going to be glorious I assure you...)
> 
> emptyheart noted the time of dream passage blurring with reality in Chapter 53 was a little difficult to distinguish, so hopefully these asterisks help for a better fluidity!


	58. Chapter 58

* * *

_Rusted bed springs creaked as Nicolas clamped onto metal iron of a headboard for better leverage, slamming into the younger man trapped beneath his arms. He pulled on Cecil’s hair, eyes tearing away from the rhythm of their hips, locking onto his with pools of grey._

_“Ah… Nic…” He whispered, hands curling around flexing biceps, drawing him in._

_“How can you possibly be this quiet when I’m fucking you, Cecil?” Nicolas growled down, biting words above his collarbone._

_“Would you prefer, ah… I scream to bring your guards running?”_

_“I would prefer you allow me the sounds of your pleasure.” Nicolas drew out, thrusting in deep with clanking teeth. “Impertinence I will not tolerate, my darling.”_

_“When you say it that way…” Cecil’s eyes slipped closed as fingers dragged along his leaking cock, letting out a low moan. “How am I supposed to resist?”_

_Arms locked around his frame, flipping with a dizzying spin._

_“My quiet disposition does not mean I take less pleasure in it…” Cecil perched on top with a half grin, climbing up to rub their shafts together in a wet glide. “I simply enjoy watching pleasure unfurl from your beautiful mouth…”_

_“Cecil…” Strong hands pinned hands to his chest._

_“Just because you rule a boardroom, or are respected in the streets of Marseilles as leader of the Brise de Mer_ _…” Cecil sucked gently on the head of his cock until Nicolas moaned, hips thrusting up to meet his mouth. “…doesn’t necessarily mean you dominate in the bedroom.” Grey eyes flashed up, lips curving. “Here you are just a man.”_

_“How very impolite of you to assume I do not rule in all forms, Cecil. The position was given to me.” Nails sank into his neck, forcing a throbbing length to the back of his throat. “As you were given to me.” His voice pitched into dark shadows. “You are mine to do with as I see fit.”_

_Licking up to the tip, Cecil tilted his head, allowing it to fall from his mouth, shivering. “Will you think of an appropriate way to punish me for my insolence, Nicolas?”_

_“I will allow you to decide your punishment.”_

_A cabin door shuddered open, banging into a wall. Spindly limbs of a tall man flickered with shadows, towering over their entwined figures._

_Nicolas glanced at the open door, a winter draft seeping through. “Have you not heard of knocking?”_

_“Y-you… filthy, disgusting creature!” Richard Casanova snarled, advancing with dark fists swinging at his side._

_Cecil swallowed hard, scrambling to a side of the bed, arm barring a path to Nicolas. His shoulder blades stretched, rising to unsteady feet as the figure drew closer._

_“F-father… I love him…”_

_A back hand rang out. Blood splattered across Nicolas’ ankles._

_“You perversion of nature!”_

_Yelping, dragged forward by hair, Cecil was shoved to his knees in front of a crackling fire. He stared at the floor, cheeks blazing bright red with shame. Nicolas inhaled sharply, teeth grinding slowly together as he drew up his knees, eyes flashing._

_“C-close your eyes, Nic…” Cecil whispered softly, fingers tensing along his thighs. “I don’t want you to see this.”_

_A fist rammed into his face with blurring speed, nose gushing with spurts of red. Cecil remained silent, even as he crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, deadened weight crumbling. Tips of boots rammed into a ribcage, eliciting rushes of breath as the younger man curled inward, clutching at his waist, eyes screwed shut._

_“Unworthy piece of shit,” His father growled down, lifting Cecil up by the throat. “You shameful little twitch! You will beg me for mercy once I have beaten you within an inch of your life!”_

_“Mr. Casanova…”_

_Nicolas rose from the bed, arms shaking at his side, locking eyes with grey ones pleading, tears leaking into a quivering mouth. Rage simmered his blood, flexing his fingers one at time, stepping close._

_“G-go… N-nic” Grey eyes slid to the corners of teary eyes. “…R-run.”_

_Lip curling, Nicolas took another step forward, hot breath filling his lungs. “Take your hands off your son, Mr. Casanova.” A cry echoed as the hand tightened around Cecil’s throat. “I will not ask you again.”_

_“You’re next, you filthy fuck!” Richard shouted, lunging forward, dragging Cecil along the floor with him._

_“It would be most amusing to see you try…” Nicolas growled, eyes narrowing to focus on a butterfly knife slipping out from beneath a sleeve._

_Digging heels into wood, Nicolas slammed his fist into the old man’s stomach, other hand ensaring Cecil’s body. He dragged him away, hurling his body protectively over the younger man’s, toppling them to a corner of the room. A flashing knife followed. His arms and limbs curled tight around a smaller frame. A blade slashed across his back. He gritted his teeth, burying hisses of pain into soft hair. Serrated edge sliced down the length of his arms before burying deep in the back of his calf._

_“God!” Nicolas hissed, coiling tighter, arcing his back into the pain._

_“N-nicolas,” A muffled voice cried out._

_A flailing hand clawed at the mattress, twisting in sheets. Hot desperate breath panted into the curve of his neck with sobs muffled by the press of his shoulder. The hammer of a gun clicked into place. Nicolas stiffened, drawing back. His eyes followed a shaking arm pointing a gun at the wiry frame standing over them. A faint smile touched his mouth, stroking fingers down the side of Cecil’s face._

_“You should leave, Mr. Casanova,” Nicolas snarled, gently prying the gun from Cecil’s hand, pressing a kiss into his cheek. He turned, lying back in surrounding arms with a slick of trail of blood. “If you value your life, you should leave.”_

_“Or you’ll do what, you swarthy faggot?” A glinting knife dripped with his blood._

_“Well Mr. Casanova…”_

_Nicolas smiled, rolling his head around on an aching neck. He pointed the revolver squarely, hand steady, gazing down its gleaming barrel. The thin man stared back, fingers clenching around the knife in his hand. A bullet ripped through the center of his forehead with a deafening gunshot._

_“That for starters,” Nicolas answered coldly._

_The body dropped to the floor in a loud thud. A shrill, hoarse scream reverberated against his ears. Hands shoved at his torso, scrambling along the floor. Cecil bent over the lifeless body of his father sprawled near the fireplace. He shook it violently against the floor, mouth gaping open._

_“F-father…?”_

_“Come here, Cecil.” Nicolas commanded, eyes narrowing. “I said come here.” Hands flashed out, yanking him back by the hair. “Get away from him.” _

_“Y-y-you…” Cecil crumpled into arms drawing near with a cresting sob of agony._

_“Quiet now.” Nicolas whispered fiercely, pressing a gentle mouth into his forehead, streams of blood twining around their threaded bodies. “He’ll never hurt you again.” He coiled tighter, trapping the younger man in his arms. “Quiet.”_

_“N-n-ic, you… you…”_

_Nicolas kissed the words from his mouth, dragging a fluttering sheet from the bed to cover them. Bright red blots formed on ivory Egyptian cotton with widening stains._

_“So much blood, N-nic… God…”_

_Pounding boots rang out, voices rising in harsh pitch and intensity, guards barreling through the door with semi-automatics swinging in their hands._

_“My love,” Nicolas whispered, lacing their bloodied hands together. “ I would suffer an eternity of horror to keep you at my side…”_

 

* * *

 

_Fluttering hands ran across scars, dancing in sharp rises and falls down the length of a torso stretched across silk sheets._

_“I love you, Nicolas…” Cecil whispered, pressing his mouth into each wound with hot tears._

_“Come here, my darling…” Hands curled in his hair, placing his head above a steadying heartbeat. “You are such a beautiful, fragile thing. You have done my bidding so very well, Cecil.”_

_“N-nic… please…”_

_Nicolas murmured into his temple, stroking hands down a shaking body. “Without question. Without fail.” He laced their fingers together, dragging scabbed knuckles to his lips to kiss each one. “What a lovely thing you are.”_

_“I would die for you…” A broken sob shook against him._

_“How very beautiful.”_

_“You are my whole world…”_

_“Forever, Cecil?”_

_“F-forever, Nic.”_

_“As it should be, always, my darling.”_

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget to mention Richard Casanova was actually assassinated in real life by a rival gang?


	59. Chapter 59

_How very lovely._

Luster of dark charcoal merino wool gleamed beneath a swinging light with a broken hum as it flickered in and out. Jetted pockets slanted up to mirror on either side of covered buttons. Peaked satin lapels swept down in a sharp angle outlined in a fine pick stitch. A fully canvassed silvery grey bemberg lining peaked out from behind simple linen covered edges of a wooden tailor’s form.

_An absolute bespoke masterpiece._

A gagging sound brought Hannibal’s attention back from the suit. He smiled down with a nod of approval. Bright brown eyes stared up, blinking rapidly. It seemed a shame to cut the young apprentice’s promising life short. His simple black name tag read, _Henri : Tailor, Cutter, & Sons, 72 Rue du Colisee_. He would have liked to ask how much his master charged for such a fine specimen had the boy’s mouth been able to speak.

“You are blossoming talent overshadowed by a mighty oak, young man,” Hannibal noted quietly, head tipping to the side.

A measuring tape tightened with a languid pull, cutting into sides of a wiry neck. Nails clawed at it. The boy’s pale face turned a shade of crimson then purple. Another gurgling sound rose. Grey shoes kicked out, scuffing black lines along the wooden floor. Hannibal considered plunging heavy bodied metal shears into poor Henri’s neck for the sake of brevity. The idea of painting such fine suits in blood was more than he could bear. It would have ruined a perfectly divine set of shears as well. A travesty to be avoided at all costs.

Hannibal released. The lifeless body crumpled to the floor with a thud. Yellow tape spiraled from his gloved hands, falling around the apprentice’s pale hair like a saint’s halo. His eyes strayed to a corner of the studio.

_It would be a terrible shame for such beauty to gather dust…_

In a single swoop, Hannibal snatched black cashmere wool into his arms. He stepped over the body with another lingering look of remorse, and gently carried a fine suit jacket from the shop. A door clacked behind him. Sparking light swung after his shadow gliding out into the alley.

_“Honestly, Hannibal, you are shopping at a time like this?”_

Inhaling sharply, Hannibal stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes slipped closed, letting out a slow hissing breath. A shudder ran down the length of his spine, curling his fingers into tight fists. He opened his eyes, tipping a chin over his left shoulder.

_“Still not talking to me, I take it?”_

Brushing unruly brown locks of hair from his forehead, Will leaned back into a crumbling brick wall, propped up firmly by a shining black wing tip dress shoe. Faint fluttering snow brushed the corners of his upturned face, staring up into a black sky. His dark blue eyes glided down, settling on Hannibal’s face. A midnight blue tailored jacket swung over his shoulder in light touch of elegant, gloved fingers. A pale silver tie hung loose at his throat. Stroking gathers of fabric stretched tight across the younger man’s lean chest. He smiled as Hannibal’s eyes made their way down his body, before turning abruptly away.

_“Aren’t you going to invite me out from the cold, Hannibal?” Will called out to his back._

Heat spread through Hannibal’s chest, teeth clenching, voice a low hiss, “I cannot focus with the shadow of your soul lingering at my back, Will.”

His shoulder jerked, turning away as he stalked down the dark alley. Hannibal wound down another side street, listening to a set of ghostly footsteps trailing behind him in unison. Blood red metal rose up from the depths of a sloping hill, wide silver teeth glinting in a vicious smile.

_"You can't leave me here, Hannibal..." Shoes clicked on the pavement. "You are being incredibly rude."_

Carefully, Hannibal slipped into immaculate leather confines of a Bentley Arnage, closing the door quickly behind him to drown out a murky figure drawing near. He smoothed out black cashmere across the passenger seat before slipping out of a grey jacket, tugging it down his arms, and placing it neatly folded in the back seat. Hannibal adjusted a double Windsor knot of black silk dupioni at his throat, studying blue eyes staring out silently at him from the review mirror. He tugged on the tuxedo jacket, fabric molding to crisp cotton in a second skin. His diamond cuff links glittered as he tucked a pale ivory invitation, wrapped with red ribbon, emblazoned with gold filigree stamping, inside its piped jacket pocket. A generous gift from the dead boy.

 

 _La Dolce Vita:_ Bal Annuel de Charité

_3 janvier 2015_

_Palais Garnier_

_Place de l’Opera_

_9 th Arrondissement_

_Paris, France_

 

_“Still pretending to be something your not?” Will shifted in the back seat, arms crossed, glaring. “Or are you merely accustomed to slipping into the skin of dead men, Hannibal?”_

“You ought to hold your tongue, Will.” Pulling sharp keys from a trouser pocket, Hannibal shot an icy stare into the mirror, slotting them in.

_“Is that what you advised Luca Baptiste’s son to do as he choked on his own throat?”_

The burgundy Bentley quietly pulled away from a cobbled corner, slipping through dark streets of Paris. Hannibal’s fingers flexed along textured stitching of the wheel, clenching and unclenching, as a sickening roil of heat ticked down the length of his spine and buried deep in his stomach.

_“This surely won’t be another fools errand,” A cool voice addressed him. “An utter waste of time.” Blue eyes darkened, narrowing. “A waste of life one might say.”_

Hannibal’s eyes flicked from the road to the rear view mirror. “Cruelty does not become you, William…” His knuckles cracked, tightening on the wheel. “I believe it is time for you to take your leave.”

_“Well…” Will’s lips upturned in a harsh angle, studying his nails. “That’s truly the beauty of all of this, isn’t it? You may not have to ask me to leave ever again. Three weeks and what have you accomplished?” He spread out, arms splayed wide along the back seat, breath icy. “ Nothing.” _

An engine roared, car swerving, as Hannibal pressed down on the accelerator, growling, “And how towering must a broken pile of bones be to create an appropriate homage for you to validate my efforts, Will?”

_The younger man shrugged, staring out a tinted window with disinterest. “Stacks of bodies are about as useless to me right now as your withering displays of inadequate affection, Hannibal.”_

“William…” A sharp knife twisted in his chest. Hannibal ground his teeth, car swerving around a sharp corner. “Do you not believe I am intimately aware of my desperate shortcomings? Of how utterly… I have _failed you_?”

_“Promises, promises.” Will brushed at lint on the corner of a sharp knee. “Simple words falling from your lips._

Nails scraped along the wheel, eyes flashing up in pain. “I…” Hannibal swallowed down burning tears. “I am trying to bring you home, Will,” He replied, voice cracking and raw. “What more can I do to prove I am trying?”

_“Evidently…” The younger man answered coldly. “Not hard enough.”_

A foot slammed onto brakes, sending the Bentley swerving to a side of the road in a screech of tires and blaring car horns. Palms slammed into a wheel over and over. Fists pummeled a sleek dashboard, flesh tearing open across knuckles. Gaping screams ripped free from Hannibal’s blistering lungs, teeth snapping, blood filling his mouth with a sharp bite to his inner cheek.

Crumpled grey newspaper cowered in a corner of the passenger seat. A grainy black and white photograph stared out from its pages. A handsome face with light colored hair and a perfect row of teeth smiled up.

 

 **MILLIONAIRE AND PHILANTHROPIST HOSTS ANNUAL CHARITY BALL AMID SCANDAL**  
Nicolas Lisandru pledges wealth to provide free mentoring program and university scholarships to at risk youth of Marseilles.

(Left: Nicolas Lisandru, Middle: Countess Marchessa De La Fontaine, Back Right: Luca Baptiste)

 

“I believe…” Hannibal sucked in a steadying breath, shoving his head back into a seat rest, face tipped up as red slowly receded from his vision. “It is time we are formally introduced, Mr. Lisandru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. I think we all can agree, this does not bode well for anyone.


	60. Chapter 60

_“I want to know who she was to you, Nicolas! Who the fuck was that girl I saw you with?”_

_Fine china splintered above the figure leaning back in a leather chair, swiveling to gaze upon a three thousand dollar Ming vase lying in pieces above a fireplace._

_“None of your concern, my darling.” A cold voice rang out, fingers digging into arm rests with tensing shoulders. “A matter of pure aesthetics.”_

_“None of my concern?! I am your partner, Nicolas! You are my life! I love you!” Cecil screamed, lunging forward, caging the older man in with trembling arms. “I deserve to know if office hours are now a time where you bring whores into ou—“_

_“Mind your language, Cecil,” Nicolas looked up with blazing eyes, hand wrapping in warning at the base of his throat, squeezing the last words out. “Or I will mind it for you.”_

_Hot breath rushed of Cecil’s nose, throat clogging with stinging tears, blinking hard. “Nicolas…” His hands fluttered at fingers around his neck, eyes laced with pain and confusion._

_“You are my life companion, yes. My business partner. Certainly. That does not, however, provide you the privilege to make demands or conditions on which those avenues of our friendship can exist.” Hands pushed him away. “Is that understood?”_

_Cecil touched gingerly at his throat, staring back with aching eyes. The older man tipped his head, staring down the bridge of his nose, lifting a glass of scotch to his lips. His tongue weighed heavy in his throat, choking._

_“Answer me, Cecil. Or would you prefer I bring Gabriella back in to finish what we started with you tied to a chair in the corner for your sheer impertinence?”_

_Lip curling back, Cecil spit through his teeth. “You are a fucking prick, Nicolas.”_

_Blinking slowly, Nicolas rose, pulling out a pocket square, dabbing lightly at his cheek. He took a step back as arms reached forward. Hands pulled him in, stroking down his hair. Cecil melted into the touch with shaking knees. He let out a sigh as lips pressed into his, pulling away slowly, tenderly touching each corner._

_“And…” Nicolas regarded him with a tilting head, green eyes glowing, caressing his cheek softly with a thumb. “I love you, darling._

_Pain exploded across Cecil’s face. He stumbled with a sharp cry, hands striking out to break his fall. His elbows slammed through a glass table, yelping. He rolled away with a sob, curling in, clutching at blood gushing out from a broken nose._

_Shining black shoes straddled his hips. “Cecil…” His eyes rose with a wounded sound, trembling against the floor. Blazing eyes bored down into his. “Get out. I have matters to attend to.”_

 

 

* * *

 

_“Quiet now, my love…it was an accident…”_

_“D-don’t fucking touch me, Nic…” A shaking voice called, curling to the other side of the bed._

_“Would you deny me the opportunity to hold you close? To beg your forgiveness?”_

_“I-I don’t want your apologies anymore…” A sob broke through. “They’re j-just words coming out of your mouth.”_

_Lips moved across hunched shoulders. “Cecil, my love for you fills me with such passion…” Hands tugged at a quivering waist. “You blind me with your beauty and sharp tongue.”_

_“Your love is violent, Nic.” Hands pushed away. “You’ll destroy us both.” Tears streaked down cheeks. “You’ll destroy… me.”_

_“Never would I allow any harm to come to you, my darling. You are mine. Am I yours?”_

_“Nicolas, please.”_

_“Do you love me, Cecil?”_

 

_"D-don't..."_

 

_"I love you, Cecil. Do you love me?"_

_“…A-always…”_


	61. Chapter 61

Will startled awake to distant rising voices yelling in the hallway. He let out a weak noise, eyes flicking to the left and to the right, filled with a terror of enveloping darkness.

_Where… am I?_

He struggled to breathe, blinking hard. Confusion thrummed tendrils of heat inside his hazed mind. His dimming gaze fell on a thin crack of light shining on the other side of the room, eyes straining in the dark.

_Where… Hannibal… where?_

Rustling chains immediately reminded him where he was. Who he was with. Waves of nausea twisted in his stomach as agony of burning skin tingled to life with consciousness.

_Oh god… no…please._

“Cecil!” Thunder roared outside. “You will look at me when I am speaking to you!” A door banged open. “ _Cecil_!”

Bright white light flashed, bulb sputtering and popping as Will snapped eyes closed, temporarily blinded, hissing in pain. He let out a yelp as a blurring motion advanced, fading in and out, forming into a set of hands reaching for his throat. He sucked in a fragile breath, holding it tight in his chest, remembering the warmth of Hannibal’s eyes in sunlight and brush of their hands entwined. He felt a small smile pull at his lips.

_I’m ready, Hannibal…_

Chains spiraled loose from the ceiling, releasing in crashing twangs of metal. Will’s body dropped to the floor in a crumple of limbs and cracking bones. His palms fluttered beside his head, gasping, choking, sucking in lungs full of thick, damp air. He groaned, face hidden by heels of boots stepping in front of his face to shield.

“Blatantly disobeying my orders again, Cecil?”

Will struggled to open his eyes, to see through streams of tears, body seeping cold and still on the concrete. He followed lines of jean clad legs up to a burgundy leather jacket caressed by wiry curls glinting with wet dripping water droplets. He dragged another steadying breath in. Scent of damp earth and rainwater clung to his skin.

“Step away…” A low voice commanded. “Oh really?” A silver phone flashed. “That’s charming, Cecil. Absolutely darling.”

Cecil swiped a hand towards a figure outside of Will’s vision.

“I gave you… an order.”

Something cracked across the shadowy man's knee, splintering. Pieces of a wooden cane landed near outstretched hands as Will tried to weakly push up from the ground, groaning as his body throbbed in response.

“A dangerous choice, Cecil,” Nicolas growled, stepping into the tilt of Will’s upturned eyes. “Terribly bold…” Fingertips stroked down sides of the shadowy man’s face, bright red filling his gaze, shaking. “I feel you ought to have learned by now to follow my explicit instructions to the letter.”

_Don’t…_

Crackling electricity filled the air, covering Will’s naked skin in a stranglehold of ragged breathing and curling fists. A feeble noise stuck in Will’s throat, trying to reach out to pull the shadow away.

_Please don’t…_

“Are you certain? I feel you may need reminding, my darling.”

Long fingers scraped through droplets of water, yanking at fistfuls of hair, forcefully dragging Cecil forward. He grunted, skidding on the back of his heels. A sharp hand smacked across his face. Rough hands threw him to the floor. Nicolas glowered down at the man, standing over his body, jerking at a black bowtie at his throat to straighten it.

“Stay there and give _grave_ consideration to what you’ve done, Cecil.” Green eyes strayed over to Will’s tangled limbs, growing colder. “If you will excuse me, I would hate to be late.” Dress shoes echoed across the floor. “I will deal accordingly with _each_ of you when I return.”

Ice settled into Will’s cheek, brows trembling low on his forehead as he stared across a stretch of concrete at a pile of clothed bones lying still on the floor nearby. Tendrils of choking anger welled up inside his chest, heating his face in a flush. Breaking silent cries welled in his throat, stifled deep in lungs. The side of his face burned hot with a phantom imprint of palms and fingertips.

“You…” Will winced at the fragile, hoarse crack of his voice fluttering out. “…didn’t have to do that.”

The crumpled body did not move, sinking further to blend into gray sinking shadow, black curls sprawled in thorny branches.

“It’s not love…” Pain coursed through Will’s body as he struggled to lift his head, hand inching towards twitching fingers. “That’s not… love…”

The hand jerked away the moment Will’s fingers were close enough to feel radiating heat. Torn leather shoulders pushed up, elbows drawing in, as knees struggled to find feet to balance on. Cecil swayed, kneeling briefly, before throwing the weight of his body against the wall. He leaned back, breath shaking out, too weak to stand. Trembling fingers raked down pale skin, palms hiding eyes dripping in shallows of frozen, melting lakes.

“I’m not saying you don’t love him, Cecil…” Will croaked out, gathering his limbs, groaning as he struggled into a sitting position.

Silver glinted out between spaces of fingers.

“We…” Will traced raw lines chaffed at his throat from a leather collar. “…do not choose with whom we fall in love. Only whose hands we place our hearts in…” He rubbed weakly at blistered wrists, eyes drooping closed, breathing whispers. “Why would you give it to a man like that?”

Trembling fingers pulled out a small silver phone, thumbs timidly, slowly, pushing at clicking keys.

 **I gave a boy my heart once. He smiled softly when he spoke my name. He held my hand tight to shield and guide. I…** Cecil’s thumbs hovered, blinking slowly. **He is my heart. My home.**

Will licked dry lips, squinting at the screen. “An idea of a man…” He answered weakly. “…does not make up the fiber of his skin or structure of his bones. It is not _who_ he is.”

**It is who he is to me…**

“He is mirrored perception of your past, Cecil. Don’t you understand? Or can you truly not see him?”

 **He saw me. I saw him.** Cecil’s mouth quivered. **I owe him my life.**

“Do you owe him your soul in death as well?”

**Our souls are forever entwined in love… in hate… In seeking my death, his will surely follow.**

“You don’t have to… die for him,” Will growled out, fingers tightening along chains.

**Then what reason do I have for living?**

“What… the hell…” Will eyes locked onto grey ones rippling with tears, a wavering ache settling deep inside his heart. “…happened to you?”

Eyes slipping closed, Cecil rested his head against the wall, fingertips fluttering at the corner of his mouth, silent.

 

* * *

_Warm light breeze rustled through twining branches of grey trees, sending a shower of feathery pink petals and fresh fallen drops of rain scattering to the ground. A small pale golden bird plucked at cherry blossoms, snapping an unfurled bud beneath its beak before flitting away on tiny wings. Grey eyes followed the willow warbler’s path, a soaring shadow caressing tops of green shrubbery and bending wildflowers shivering in sunlight._

_Faint laughter filled the gardens, tiny and shrill shrieks of gentle adoration and clinging hands trailing around sparkling water shooting up from an ivory stone fountain. Cecil lifted a crumpled line of a cigarette between his trembling mouth, watching shimmers of the past fade away in another cascade of petals. He inhaled deep, bitter smoke curling inside blackened lungs, half heartedly hoping this would be his last. Before it was merciful. Before it finally killed him._

_He pitched the cigarette away, eyes glazing over. Glowing sparks skipped across cobblestone, sputtering red then black with trails of ashy smoke. Its deformed body rolled to join seven others at his feet. Cecil shifted, elbows digging into thighs, fingers curling over a trembling hand to still it. He drooped his head low, fingers interlocking around the back of his head. Warmth of sunlight cascaded across white jersey covering his spine, spreading down bent pale arms, covered in muted black inked tattoos mottled with fresh and fading bruising. A shadow reminder of still, gentle cruelty. Painted strokes of controlled violence coiled within him, wielded by another._

_Sucking in a breath, Cecil drew out another cigarette, tapping it briskly on top of an empty crinkling carton, looking up. “Anyone got a light?”_

_Five pairs of glittering eyes regarded him in silence, thick arms straining beneath the weight of black rifles and leather holsters._

_“Guess that’s a no…”_

_“Did I not specifically instruct to remain interrupted for the rest of the day, gentlemen?” A terse voice rang out. “Or was I not clear enough?”_

_Scuffed combat boots parted slightly, guards shifting in unease. Cecil lifted his eyes from the ground, swallowing hard, chest tightening with each faint heartbeat. Sheen of wispy light clung to golden flesh rimmed in a faint halo framing harsh lines and piercing green eyes._

_“Someone please tell me. What needed my attention with such haste that it simply could not wait until I concluded conducting my business with Victor Castille?” _

_Nicolas carved heavy footsteps along a winding path, shoulders forming a tight sharp line, clawing at a pale grey tie at his throat. Cool rolling fog clung to his torso in jagged drapes of fabric, swaying with each motion, accented by razor sharp satin lapels and stitching._

_“Any of you?”_

_The older man stalked forward, slowing, jaw clenching as he glowered at a sea of guards. Flicking open a suit jacket, button by button, a steady hand rested on a silver revolver strapped tight to his chest in black leather shoulder holsters. Cecil ducked his head, eyes stinging, never more aware of his broken heart then when it pulsed in admiration for dangerous beauty filling the eyes of all he loved._

_“Would any of you care to explain!”_

_“S-sir…” A guard held up an unsteady hand._

_Nicolas slowed to a stop, nostrils flaring. His eyes flicked away from a guard’s face, pushing the man out of his sight. Green eyes moved slowly, trailing around a protective circle of worn brown leather suitcases surrounding Cecil’s figure, perched on an edge of one, staring at space between his feet._

_“What’s this?” Nicolas asked, stillness fluttering with serrated edges._

_Cecil felt sharp heat of eyes locked onto his bent head, tucking a dry cigarette into the corner of his mouth. “Am I prisoner here, Nicolas?”_

_Two fingers tipped his chin up. “You are my partner,” Nicolas replied slowly, flicking open a gunmetal zippo lighter carved in spiraling initials._

_“Then…”_

_Cecil leaned into the flame, teeth nipping into the cigarette. It glowed red._

_“…why can’t I leave.”_

_“Why would you want to leave?” The older man tipped back, sun at his back, bathed in black shadows, slipping the lighter into a breast pocket. “This is your home.”_

_“This, Nicolas…” Cecil took a drag, eyes gliding over surrounding black figures, traveling over high walls of green shrubbery glinting in soft petals and light. “This…" He waved a hand around, gesturing at the guards. "...is a cage you have built to keep me in.”_

_Soft fingers dragged the cigarette away, pushing it to lips drawing down in a thin line. “You… belong at my side,” Nicolas answered quietly. “Your place is at my side.”_

_“My place is an undetermined fluctuation of your ever changing desire and whim.” Nicolas tipped his head back, squinting, staring at sunspots glowing in dark eyes. “I belong at your feet, to be crushed by the cruelty of your heels, ruled by your hands.”_

_Grey ash glowed red, exhaled in a furl of smoke. “Would you like me to take you to our bed and display the patterns of my devotion to you, Cecil?” A voice faded, eyes glimmering with hints of pain. “The scars lanced into my flesh as I covered my body with your own?”_

_“Devotion requires emotion, Nicolas,” Cecil growled out between clenched teeth, snapping the cigarette away, hoping smoke choked out the remaining thrum of his aching heart, clouding his eyes with tears. “Emotion requires a heart to give. You lost both long ago.” He lifted eyes slowly, steeling shaking hands trying to reach out to pull the older man near and bury his face against his side. “You… have no heart.”_

_Stinging fingertips slashed across the side of Cecil’s face. “Leave us,” A dark growl commanded._

_Cecil blinked hard to keep tears at bay, staring at his boots, palm pressed tight to his cheek. He felt the pressing protection of violent bodies ebb away in a shuffling procession. Long casting shadows loomed over his form, blocking out light._

_“I want to leave, Nic,” Cecil let out in a shaky voice, smoking between breaths with a tremor of fingertips. “Put a bullet in my back if you have to…” He looked up into cold emerald stones, shivering. “But I’m not staying.”_

_“You may leave…” Nails curled around either side of his face in a biting embrace, stroking pink lines into flesh. “…when I give you permission to do so, Cecil. When I am through with you.”_

_“I am not a possession, Nicolas.”_

_“Are you not?” Nicolas tilted his head, balancing a quivering tear on a fingertip._

_“I am a person.”_

_“You are mine.” Green eyes flashed, nails biting in. “You were given to me.”_

_Cecil jerked away, tears flinging from his face, tucking a chin into his shoulder. “Fuck you, Nic!”_

_“Would you…” Hot breath inhaled. “… like to repeat that… my dear Cecil?”_

_“You are nothing more than a parasitic host draped in fine clothing…” Cecil clutched at an edge of a suitcase, knees locked in place. “…bathed in the scent of riches, and a smooth voice dripping with gilded lies and endearing flattery.”_

_And you are slowly drowning me…_

_“Is that how you see me?”_

_Consuming. Until there is nothing left…_

_“This isn’t love.”_

_Until I am nothing._

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_Only yours._

_“I don’t love you anymore, Nicolas,” Cecil snarled up, rising slowly to his feet, heart splintering bit by bit, arms bathed in fire to pull in and hold tight, to set them both ablaze. “You are just like him. It just took me a lot longer to see it…”_

_A jaw ticked tight with a snap of teeth. “Take it back.”_

_“No.”_

_“Cecil.”_

_Cold chrome of a snub nose revolver whipped up, muzzle pressing hard into the divot of a temple. Cecil drew in a deep breath and leaned into it. He curled a hand around a leather belt and pulled the older man closer, pressing fingertips tight into the small of his back. Green eyes sparked with soft fluttering of warm skin entwined, aching mouths seeking heat and gentle breathing. They filled with rain fall clinging to upturned faces held tight in sheltering embrace to keep their nightmares at bay._

_“I am warning you.”_

_Black pupils dilated to pinpricks, narrowing visions to bruised knuckles, hot jealous screaming echoing into a void. Of hands dragging the other down into a crushing weight of dirt covering their heads, clawing against the other to break free, forever entwined in last breath._

_“ No.” He answered quietly, touching the side of the older man’s face with a weak smile, brushing a thumb along a quivering bottom lip._

_“Take. It. Back.” A hot mouth pressed into Cecil’s cheek, teeth scraping, unsteady hand tearing at his bare shoulder. “Or I will ensure you can never take it back again.” Nicolas pressed their foreheads together, drawing in a deep breath, locking their eyes, voice clouding with tears. “Do you understand me?”_

_“I…” Cecil’s eyes closed for a moment, heart slowing to a stop. “…fucking hate you, Nicolas.”_

_“Oh darling…” Broken breath died on lips._

_Eyes flooded, collecting dewdrops clinging to ivy leaves. Nicolas dropped the revolver to the ground, hands shaking, cupping the back of Cecil’s head. He pressed their lips together, slowly, in a reverent pull of fluttering softness. He tasted of choking ash and suffocation. Hands curled in folds of fog draping over strong shoulders as tears fell from Cecil’s open eyes, trying to memorize the shape of arms surrounding his frame, holding tight, trapping him in place._

_His knees shook, slowly pushing carefully, tenderly at lines of buttons and silk. Head bent, Cecil dropped a cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot. His heart pounded as he stepped away, casting one last look at empty suitcases surrounding them. All he truly ever had to call his own, to call home, stared silently at his back, watching as Cecil walked away._

_“Take it…” A choked sob called out. “…back.”_

_Taking in a burning silent breath, soft sweetness filled his lungs as Cecil stepped through a thicket of cherry blossom trees, heavy feet leading him into swirling sweet pink._

_"I-I...l-love... you. P-please."_

_He blinked back stinging tears, stuffing hands deep in tattered jean pockets, trying hard to block out the broken echo of his heart's reply._

_“C-cecil…t-take it… b-back…”_

_“No, Nic…” He whispered softly to surrounding trees, eyes fixed on freedom in the form of an idling blur of a car in the distance._

_Breath rushed out of his lungs. Nails clawed at his shoulders. Cecil cried out, slamming into a broad trunk of a tree, rough bark jamming into shoulder blades. A knee connected to his stomach. Cecil crumpled to his knees, choking out, stunned. Thumbs jammed into soft tissue beneath his jaw in bruising force, pushing his head up. Tears streamed down a face flashing with pain, twisting in dark shadows of rage. Nicolas crushed their mouths together, violent heat bloodying their lips._

_Clawing at the older man’s shoulders, Cecil struggled to rise. Sheer, brute force kept him on his knees. His eyes widened as fingers forced his mouth open wider, jaw creaking open in bursts of sparking pain. Sharp incisors nipped along the length of his tongue. He slammed a blunt end of his fist above a hammering heart, a cry stuck in the back of his throat, suffocated sobs flooding his mouth. Teeth clamped down onto his tongue. A smolder of pain blistered, rising, as pressure increased. Heat spreading, tearing, ripping, a wildfire ravaging in hot spurts._

_Raw howling agony blistered Cecil’s throat as their lips parted, eyes dimming black, world tilting as he crumpled to the ground. Soft hands lifted his lifeless body, propped against a gnarled tree, stroking hair, head dropped to his chest._

_“You may leave…” Hushed whispers warmed his cheek, lips pressing into his own. “But you will never speak to me in that way again, my darling.”_

_Thunder of boots pounded along the ground, voices shouting, vibrating through numb legs._

_“You there, gather these bags and show Cecil up to his room.”_

_“S-s-sir?”_

_“If someone is so inclined…”_

_Cecil’s eyes fluttered open, hazed red then white, focusing on a moving mouth drenched in blood, pouring down stitching and buttons. Liquid heat remained pooling and gurgling through his teeth, dripping down his chin and splashing on words forever to remain unspoken, clinging to a muscle discarded in the dirt._

_“Perhaps call a doctor on his behalf.”_

_“W-where… are you going, s-sir?”_

_“I have a board meeting to attend.” A trembling hand wiped away tears from Cecil’s fading eyes, voice soft. “Don’t wait up for me, darling.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Landfill" by Daughter (The song I had stuck on loop writing this chapter. I mean most of Daughter can be stuck on loop and applied to everything Hannigram like "Smother" for example.) (Go on, go listen to them and be filled with even more resolute sadness!)
> 
> I... had to do this chapter justice. Or at least try? I tried. This will be the last of dream sequence flashbacks for the original characters. See, it all had a purposeful deviation of sorts. 
> 
> It didn't seem right to build up the intrigue of two characters, particular as Cecil x Nicolas mirror a much darker version of love, a different path, one conceding parallel and intersecting some, with the one between Hannibal x Will, without giving some definition and flesh to them.


	62. Chapter 62

Incandescent twilight orbs of gilded torchères, twisting and turning, reached out to silently witness a sea of figures moving through quiet halls. Silent bronze bodies surrounded murmurings of voices rising, cascading up towards heavenly ivory arches of stone. Tendrils of glowing light caressed vaulted ceilings flickering with drifting shadows and whispers. Gloved hands smoothed up a lustrous banner, ascending slowly, one step at a time in purposeful admiration. A maroon gaze lifted, blinking eyes closed and then open, filled with broad brushstrokes of Apollo and Minerva looking down on the world below.

Hannibal’s heart clenched tight in his chest, rising as spectral dark notes of a piano thrummed above, cresting, sinking deep into a haunting fall of _Moonlight Sonata._ Brushing suede gloves dragged his floating corporeal form back to reality. He forced a smile back at rosy cheeks flushed in an indulgence of champagne, mutely nodding, agreeing to a comment he hadn’t heard.

Brown shining hair was pulled up in a stranglehold of a diamond tiara, a single manicured curl placed above a prominent thin brow. He tilted a thin champagne glass by its stem in the young woman’s direction, watching her red swathed lips twitter in laughter, prominent chest framed by low cut silk. Her voice, like the rest of her, was gaudy and ill placed, grating on Hannibal’s soul, raw and bleeding, as his eyes flicked away in another direction.

Thin fingers curled along his bicep. He glanced down. Hannibal took in a deep breath and held it between glittering teeth in a friendly smile. Hazel eyes glinted at his undivided attention, red lips moving in unheard words. He looked down at the hand once more then returned to the woman’s flushed face encrusted in disgusting displays of greed. He smiled once more, nodding, staring at a long stem of the champagne glass, intrigued by possibility. He wondered if anyone would notice if he buried it in her neck, ripping open flesh. How lovely her long manicured hand might look tangled in her vocal cords as diamonds glittered in her windpipe.

_Surely it would be just to fill your mouth in rich cut stone given it grates and slices along your tongue with each word nesting upon your vulgar lips._

“Oh Nicolas, you made it darling!” A high pitched squeal sounded above his head.

“Ah yes, I do apologize for my tardiness.”

Slowly, Hannibal drew his teeth together in a quiet click, eyes drawn up once more. He recognized the voice instantly. He forced his face to remain still and passive, a hum of violence stroking at the corner of his cheek seeking to bare teeth. Hair on the back of his neck prickled hot, scanning the crowd to locate its source. Fingers tapped insistently at his elbow. Hannibal’s eyes flicked back to cold hazel eyes. He withdrew the hand placed on his arm, delicate wrist clutched between forefinger and thumb, smiling outwardly. It would snap with such ease.

“Pardon me, madam,” Hannibal said, flourishing his champagne glass in another direction. “I believe my attentions are being called away.”

Red lips pursed, eyes narrowing. “Unless your name also happens to be the one of our host, I think you may have misheard,” A sultry American accent dripped blue blood and old money from the woman’s drooping mouth. “What is your name anyway?”

Bowing low, Hannibal flashed his teeth once more. “Excusez-moi, madam. However…” He purred, turning purposefully on his heel. “There is a delicate balance of formality in exchanging names. Mine is only given to those I consider my equals.”

Cold eyes followed as Hannibal blended into a sea of black and white, threading a path through raised glasses and gloved hands. He gracefully sidestepped waiters rushing through with endless glasses of champagne perched on gloved hands. He smiled charmingly into flushed faces as he stepped over and around voluminous ball gowns. His eyes scanned blurred faces, tuning out each voice one by one, blurring into a humming ball of noise, focusing to locate a distinct cadence.

“Why of course you were late! What an ordeal! And having to change your tux at such short notice, all because you had to take your poor friend to the hospital!” A large voluptuous woman flapped white satin gloves in distress near a balcony edge. “Why it’s just awful, Mr. Lisandru!”

“How very kind of you, Miss…?”

“Betty! Betty St. Clair!”

Skirting the edge of a crowd, Hannibal followed high pitched noise thrumming beneath a smooth, sprawling formality of a French drawl. He stalked forward, placing his full champagne glass on a passing tray, eyes narrowing to slits.

_How soft and elegant will your words sound, Nicolas Lisandru, as I tear them out from your throat?_

He continued, eyes flicking to count shadows of black milling amidst the crowd, adorned in clear spiraling earpieces and gleaming guns tucked into holsters. He slowed, eyes falling on a line of four armed guards standing, arms crossed, in front of a thick red velvet rope barring entrance to a spiraling staircase. Ducking back into an alcove, Hannibal pressed into the shadows, gazing up into darkness to quiet a bright red flash of rage.

“In what other way might we display our kindness then shower the less fortunate with our affection, sir?”

“Or our pocket books!” A bright voice answered.

“I hear there’s some speculation on your particular kindness in that regard…” Wiry glasses flashed above a thick beard.

“Whatever are you implying, Mr. Thatcher?”

“The paper said—“           

“Lies and conjecture. Nothing more,” A dark voice rang out. “Ms. St. Clair, it was a pleasure. If you’ll excuse me.”

Burning breath released from Hannibal’s mouth in a rush, carefully following an echo of footsteps sounding above his head. He rubbed a thumb fiercely into his palm in rhythmic friction to cascading notes of a piano, to keep his stride even and casual. Sets of shoes clicked down jutting stone steps. He rounded a pillar, feet nailed to the floor in his tracks.

“Good evening, sir.” Bright green eyes flashed in his direction in an accompaniment of blinding teeth, as a young man addressed him in passing.

A man in tailored black nodded, smiling, guards flanking three sides of his body in close succession. Blinking slowly, Hannibal watched the figures walk by, a slice of cold sinking into his skin, eyes locked on a sway of angular shoulders and white teeth. Bulbs of light sparked off, camera shutters clicking all around. Streaks of red hazed his vision, swallowed by a violent rising pound of piano keys. Hannibal slipped an unsteady hand into a trouser pocket, smile plastered on his face, vision dimming. His fingers curled around a titanium folding knife.

_Screams surrounded the grand staircase. A red flood dripped down ivory stone, trickles of blood staining one step at a time. Hannibal plunged a knife into white bone, whittling it away bit by bit. He cracked a sternum open, splaying ribs, smiling down into fading green eyes. He stroked a single fingertip over bloodied lungs rising and falling, struggling for breath.  
_

_“I made you a promise, Mr. Lisandru” Hannibal noted darkly, smile widening._

_“A mild correction…” Gleaming black wing tip shoes appeared beside thrashing hands. “You made me a promise.” _

_Incisors clicking together, he glared up into Will’s cold blue eyes, silent._

_“Hard to locate my corpse if you kill this piece of shit first, don’t you think?”_

_“ Will.” Blackened demons burned the back of his throat. _

_The younger man shrugged, toeing curiously at the side of their host’s lolling head._

_“Of course, you have always been unclear about the appropriate order of things…”_

_He smiled coolly, nodding towards a knife clenched in white knuckled fingers._

_“Though I must say… that spindly gentleman over there…”_

_Glowing blue fire strayed towards a shadowy figure slipping through blurred bodies._

_“Might be, shall we say, open to conversation. Wouldn’t you agree?”_

Sharp breath dragged Hannibal back to his surroundings. His eyes snapped to a lone guard weaving down a staircase, unsteadily taking two steps at a time. A fresh, fair face flushed red, barely a semblance of a boy’s transformation into a man. Gaze locked onto his back, Hannibal strode after the lanky figure, purposefully blending into weight of bodies he gently nudged and pushed aside. His focus narrowed entirely to his prey, silently rounding a corner. Hums of hot blood pulsed heavily in his ears as a desolate hall gave way to shadows arcing around an open balcony.

Crushing weight of a single palm wrapped around a face to smother out a scream. Metal bounced to the ground, filling the night air in an acrid scent of cheap vodka seeping from a small silver flask. A scrambling hand whipped down to pull at a firearm strapped to a leather belt. Hannibal flicked open a glinting knife with a snapping wrist, planting it firmly at the boy’s crotch.

“At your own peril…” He hissed into the shell of an ear, ripping out an earpiece with his teeth.

“O-okay, man,” The guard choked out between his clenching fingertips. “E-easy…”

Inch by inch, the guard removed a hand from the gun, sucking in a breath. He raised hands, palms flat, fingers trembling.

“L-look…” The boy sucked in a breath, staring straight ahead as Hannibal removed the hand over his mouth. “I-I-I haven’t seen your face. You can just go. Just go. You don’t…” Fingertips twitched on his right hand. “You don’t wanna mess with my boss, man. Trust me.”

“On the contrary…” Hannibal growled, pressing the tip of his blade in, reaching for the firearm. “You and I have a great deal to discuss in terms of your current employer.” He tugged out a black glock, tucking it into his waistband. “However, the manner in how you answer each question determines how eager you are to remain as God made you.”

“W-what do you want to know, man?”

“Firstly…” Eyes narrowing, Hannibal stepped into his line of sight, lip lifting in a flash of teeth. “Where. Is. Will Graham.” His fingers curled around a straining throat. “Secondly, your lack of manners is appalling. You call your betters ‘sir.’ _Not_ ‘man.’”

“Y-yes, s-sir!” The boy choked out, wide eyes flashing.

He squeezed on a fragile wind pipe. “Where is Will?”

“W-who?”

"Where..." Hannibal trapped a breath in his lungs, ticking by seconds with ticks of his tongue, before exhaling. “Your generous benefactor, Nicolas Lisandru, took someone… very… dear to me,” He hissed, nails digging in. “And I will gut every single one of your fellow comrades in great ostentation of mounting bodies until I am presented with the correct answer.”

“S-sir…” The boy paled two shades, blinking rapidly. “O-our family has always practiced the proverb of keeping enemies c-close.”

Teeth grated in Hannibal’s skull, stepping closer. “How. Close.”

Crackling voices whispered into darkness. The boy glanced fearfully out of a corner of his eye at an earpiece dangling at his shoulder. His gaze slid farther to rest on the knife. It slowly returned to Hannibal’s glittering eyes, swallowing hard.

“T-they… are calling for me t-to check in.”

Swooping the earpiece into two fingers, Hannibal pushed it into the boy’s ear. “It would be terribly rude of you not to answer.” He twisted the point of a blade in warning. “I would suggest you lay their fears to rest. No, no. A deep breath first. Then you may continue. Yes, good boy.”

“All clear, Christophe. Just taking a leak. Give me a minute, would ya?”

The boy grimaced, licking his lips as the earpiece hummed back a reply.

“You can tell Nic to piss off. It’s not like I haven’t heard this exact same speech for the last ten goddamn years.”

Sharp feedback answered.

“Jesus, Nic! Talk a little louder!” The boy’s eyes slid to the corners, watching Hannibal closely. “Yeah, sure. Well, I’d like to have a word with you too. I’ll be up in a minute.”

“I believe that’s our cue,” Hannibal noted, curving the blade around a quivering back, resting its point between shoulder blades.

“O-our cue?” The boy sputtered, forcibly ushered into the hallway.

“Yes,” He hissed back, ripping an earpiece away as they made way down stairs towards an open door. “You are going to take me to Will…”

Smiling at passing couple, Hannibal herded the boy out a door, arm curved around his waist, towards an empty street. He crowded into ribs as they rounded an alleyway, staring at a glistening grill flickering under a sparking light.

“Or I am going to disembowel you and string you up to the nearest lamp post as donation to your employer's cause.”

Swinging a door open to the Bentley, Hannibal gestured for the trembling boy to get in to the driver’s seat with a flash of keys. A shaking hand touched a leather headrest, eyes flicking back down the alley.

“Was I…” Hannibal took a step forward, knife flashing in his palm. “…in anyway unclear?”

“N-no, sir…” A tear filled voice answered. “I’ll d-do it. J-just don’t kill me.”

The door slammed shut behind lanky, quivering limbs crumpling in. Heels dug into cobblestone as Hannibal rounded the car, throwing his bones, shaking with restraint, into a passenger seat. He tugged a gun from his waistband, resting it on his knee. Clinking keys fumbled for the ignition.

_“You hate guns…” A cool voice echoed from the backseat. “Too impersonal.”_

Without looking, Hannibal’s fingers tightened around a cold handle, stroking a trigger, teeth gritting out a reply. “Oh Will. This is very, very personal…”

“S-sir?” The boy nervously glanced over, engine purring to life.

Safety on the gun clicked off.

“Drive,” Hannibal ordered, glaring into blue eyes shimmering in the rear view mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phantom Will, do you think you manage to be helpful in a way that is slightly less of you being a dick again? No. Okay. No problem, we all know you are just a representation of Hannibal's fear and rage. Got it. 
> 
> Also, why wouldn't I place this event in the Palais Garnier? (Besides its haunting beauty and well, origins of Phantom of the Opera of course!)
> 
> Chapters might be sparse the rest of the week, if any, due to the holiday, but primarily due to the mass amounts of hours I will be working. Because nothing says Christmas like corporate greed. So assuming I survive another year, and don't threaten anyone with serving them for dinner over the course of this weekend.... 
> 
> Well. I can't promise that. 
> 
> Sorry to leave you, me, Will and Hannibal in a state of purgatory!


	63. Chapter 63

_Blood red glass flickered eerie casts of rising shadows on a stone wall, a trembling flame lowered silently to a wick. A feeble, deformed ivory body melted in pools of tears at its base, wavering as a fragile soul glowed to life within. Another snuffed out in a puff of air, tendrils of restless smoke trailing in an ascent to mingle with muted frescos._

_Setting a smoldering match aside, Will stepped back to gaze at a single votive candle burning low in dim light. Unlit prayers of petition remained dormant in hundreds of other surrounding glasses, falling upon deaf ears and blind eyes gazing down from arched ceilings above. He cast eyes towards a dozen empty wooden folding chairs filled with ghosts bent in silent attention to an abandoned pulpit._

_Shoes echoed across an ornate tiled floor, quieting as Will lowered unsteadily to a chair in the front row. He breathed deep, staring out at a black gleaming casket framed by smooth pillars and gilded unlit candles. His eyes flicked to an abandoned chair on his right, heart throbbing in a dull ache before looking down and away. A skeleton painted on the floor clasped its hands in supplication to an unknown force, black gaunt eyes searching, gazing back at all it was leaving behind._

_“What are you doing?”_

_Drawing in a deep breath, Will gazed up to find a shimmering specter clothed in crème chiffon tucked neatly in place on stone steps, red jewels glittering on a slim neck. Faint stars radiated on pale skin curtained by silky brown amaranthus, strands clinging to small cherry blossom petals curving in a small smile._

_“Taking it all in,” Will answered slowly, eyes drifting through the chapel in one final sweep of longing. “Or admiring God’s work in his absence. Wondering if he finds beauty in the moments of silence stretching out before Death comes to claim.”_

_“He isn’t here.” Bright blue glimmers of light looked around. “Is that why you came? To find him?”_

_“I am…” Will ran a hand back through his hair, elbows resting on bent knees to clasp his unsteady hands between them. “…no longer certain if he was ever here to begin with. If he was ever real at all? If what I imagined was that, a simple act of creation inside my mind.”_

_Fragile wings of a sparrow fluttered. “Isn’t that what some would consider faith?”_

_“Blind trust is more fitting,” Will replied quietly, stroking a finger along a jagged scar following his cheek. “Faith is so… insubstantial and feeble, bent on a man’s tongue with the sway of his wavering constitution.”_

_“I never considered you to be a religious man.”_

_Placing shaking hands over his face, Will stared back into darkness as stinging tears rushed to the corners of his eyes. “Not all gods belong to the heavens, Abigail…”_

_Soft fingertips laced over his, a warm hand resting on his knee. “And not all men deserve to remain on Earth?”_

_“Men torn asunder do not live,” He answered roughly. “They are merely beings of anatomical functions of breath and blood, a pretense of existence without feeling. Deserving to live is a matter of perception.”_

_Gently, his palms were pried away one finger at a time. “Has your pretense of existence become one of surrender?” Abigail asked, kneeling at his feet, wide blue eyes gazing up._

_“Why do you imagine I am surrendering?”_

_“You are wearing the suit of a man on the verge of giving up.”_

_Rows of fine stitching weaved thickets of oxford blue around Will’s body, draped in gentle sloping lines of fabric and carefully placed buttons of finality. Sharp white lines of an ascot collar hung loose at his throat, tie coiled tight in a trouser pocket, patiently waiting to choke out breath. His eyes traveled back up to her searching eyes, taking in a short breath to steady his hand reaching out._

_“One should always strive to look their best at a funeral, Abigail,” He said softly, cupping her cheek gently with a faint smile._

_“He wouldn’t want this…”_

_“Give me a reason to stay…” Will closed his eyes a moment, tears clinging to corners of his lips, head tipped up to stare at painted visions of immortality. He looked back down, voice cracking. “And I will give you two reasons why I should go.”_

_“I won’t come back if you do,” Abigail replied curtly, eyes narrowing, rising to her feet. “I won’t do it.”_

_Staring at the floor, Will reached out to catch her by the wrist. “You don’t mean that…” His fingers glided down her trembling fingers, looking up slowly afraid for what might be looking back. “…do you?”_

_“No…” She answered quietly, falling into a chair beside him. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not angry.”_

_“Would you begrudge my last moments in the face of your anger, Abigail?” Will asked, swallowing hard, gingerly touching teardrop rubies clinging to her throat. “Because I couldn’t save you…?”_

_The young woman’s face softened, flushing shades of rose hips, eyes filling with glistening dewdrops. “Why would I blame you for the brief moments that brought us together as a family?”_

_“Will you…” Will reached out, cupping her small hands in his larger ones, struggling to breathe as pressure increased in his lungs. ”…stay with me until the end, Abigail?”_

_“I won’t stay,” She answered softly, touching a fallen curl on his head, running a finger along open gashes splitting his brow. “But I will wait for you.”_

_“Is…” Will looked around the chapel once more, fingers digging into bare skin exposed between an open placket, sharp pain seizing his heart. “…Hannibal with you? He hasn’t…” He blinked hard, tears streaking down his cheek. “I haven’t seen him.”_

_“Hasn’t he always been with us? A part of our very souls?”_

_“Abigail, please…”_

_“Dad.”_

_“Yes?” Will touched a hand curled around his cheek, mouth trembling._

_“Someone’s coming.”_

Ragged, uneven breath fell from trembling lips in trailing puffs of air, chains tinning softly as Will swayed forward on scraped, bloodied knees. His head lolled forward, neck straining to support dead weight, chin digging into a corner of his chest. A heart fluttered in a trembling ache, pulsing for oxygen he struggled to breathe in. He drifted in and out of consciousness, only aware of broken sobs echoing back from concrete as hot streams of tears ran down the length of his body. Constant numbing pain of agony sparked to life each time his mind rose to the surface, clawing to bury himself deep. His tongue clung to the back of his throat, dry, choking on each cry burning up from weak lungs, desperate to call out Hannibal’s name clinging to silent lips.

“Nnn…”

Dry palms tapped the side of his face, soft grunting stirring warm on his forehead.

“…H-ha…nn…”

Chains thundered on a concrete floor as strong arms came up under drooping shoulders as Will fell forward, eyes fluttering, straining to open. Damp warmth pressed into wounds over his forehead, brushing away dirt and tear tracks clinging to his cheeks. He winced, unable to push hands away. He stirred as metal chains fell away from his wrists, leaning into gentle palms, struggling to open his eyes.

“H-hann…” Cracking tenor rose from Will’s lips, forcing weight from eyelids, a tremor of hope fluttering inside his chest.

Misting clouds of grey looked back, shrouded in burnt twisting thorns. Cresting sobs bubbled forth, rising in clenching lungs. Will let his head fall back to the floor, squeezing his eyes tight, desperate to return to where he knew Hannibal waited behind closed doors.

“K-kill me,” Will begged between sobs, curling inward, scraping his temple along concrete. “P-please…”

Cecil touched the corner of his right shoulder nimbly, kneeling forward, dabbing a dripping rag across cracked, dry lips.

“W-why are you doing this?” Pushing weakly at the rag, Will stared up helplessly, limbs fading into stone, vision dimming black. “If you have any decency…” He reached out, hand trembling, touching a shadowy wrist. “H-he’s all I have. L-let me join him.”

Inhaling sharply, Cecil touched a wrist to his forehead, eyes misting in mirrored flickers of pain, shaking his head fiercely.

“W-would you deny me mercy, then? A chance of peace… to be with all… I love?”

The young man shook his head even more slowly, brows drawing low. He pushed the rag aside, tugging at something hidden beneath a denim collar. Silver flashed as Cecil jerked at a small chain looped around his throat. A small key spiraled out from unsteady fingers.

Will’s eyes widened, breath sticking in his throat, hand trembling, palms flat on the ground. “P-please, C-cecil?”

Black curls swung in cascading waves with another shake. The young man tapped a nail against glimmering teeth and then looked pointedly at his bandaged forearm.

Pressing his cheek harder into stone, Will closed his eyes, heart sinking, weakly letting out, “Fair… enough.”

Unsteady fingers pried open his fist. Cool metal pressed into skin. Will looked up into the young man’s eyes filling with tears, carefully forcing his fingers to curl around the key. Cecil squeezed his hand gently, swallowing hard. Averting his gaze, the young man shuffled to his feet, turning to walk away. Sharp points bit into his palm as Will squeezed the key harder, vision blurring red and then white, breath burning with a gathering storm of ebbing strength.

“C-cecil?”

The young man paused near the door, back to him, hands stuffed in ragged jacket pockets.

“Run.”

Grey mist strayed over a squared shoulder, slightly turning to stare back. Eyes whipped towards to the door, faint anguished screams rising from somewhere beyond. Three successive gunshots rang out.

“Cecil,” Will called out, struggling to rise to his knees, crouched on all fours. “Run.”

Unsteady fingers reached weakly at a collar chaffing at his swollen throat. Will swallowed a faint scent of blood caressing his lungs.

“From Nicolas…”

A key scraped against metal, searching for a lock.

“From me…”

Clicking, a padlock swung open.

“From both of us.”

Will looked up, teeth digging into a corner of his mouth, clawing off the collar at his throat and throwing it to the ground.

 “ _Just run_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where we revisit the Norman Chapel of Palermo one last time with an appearance of Abigail. 
> 
> Oh we are so close to reuniting our Murder Husbands. I think it's safe to say screaming is always a good indication of Hannibal's arrival. 
> 
>  
> 
> Congratulations! I survived a horrendous holiday work weekend, and am inviting everyone to a cordial dinner where meat is most certainly on the menu.


	64. Chapter 64

High pitched feedback rang out. Hot spurts of blood gushed from a mouth twisting open wide, spraying across high cheekbones twitching in a snarl. Fingers spasmed around a silver handle, desperately searching for a trigger. A sickening crunch rang out as a wrist slammed into stone, gun skidding across the hall. Wide brown eyes stared down, screaming, as a glinting knife buried deep in flesh and twisted. Glistening intestines unraveled at kicking feet, slipping in a waterfall of fluid and blood, blade jerking up to split open a sternum.

 Maroon eyes flicked up, lip curling. The body dropped to the floor, twitching in an orchestra of gurgling chokes. Hannibal slammed an elbow behind him. It connected on impact with a loud crunch. A yelp and curse threaded through the ringing in his ears. He whirled around. A guard stumbled back, blood gushing through fingers pressed into a hidden face. He smiled, lunging forward, jamming a knife into a temple. The man crumpled to the ground, sprawling across grey marble to join six others.

"Blessed Mother in Heaven…”

Streams of blood trailed to a razor sharp point of a blade, covering a flashing watch, dripping quietly to pool below. Flexing his fingers along a pearl handle, Hannibal looked up from admiring his work to a blanching white face, obscured by a trembling barrel of a shotgun and long blonde hair. The man touched his forehead, quickly pressing fingers into each shoulder in the sign of the cross.

“If you would be so kind…” Hannibal tilted his chin up, licking at a split lip, regarding the guard staring back in abject horror with mild curiosity. “Would you direct me to where I might locate a young man by the name of Will Graham? I seem to have taken a wrong turn at some point.”

“P-put your hands up!”

Shadows rimmed his eyes in a veil of darkness. Hannibal’s teeth glittered as he placed one foot in front of the other, slowly advancing in a steady pace of grinning silence.

“Put your hands up! Or, or, or, God—“

Long stained fingers wrapped around a barrel. Red eyes glittered back in a mirrored glass reflection outlined in thick gold frames. Spatters of blood speckled Hannibal’s bruised and swollen cheek, clinging to upturned lips in a dark smile. Cascades of blood spread bright on crisp cotton, turning to dark gleaming shadows in black satin, encrusted in diamond cuff links winking in light.

“Or what?” Hannibal growled, pressing a cold muzzle into his shoulder, eyes narrowing to slits. “God will not lay your weary head to rest tonight.”

“I’ll—oh shit—“ A shotgun dropped in the space between their feet.

Talons swiped forward. They latched into blonde hair, wrapping it around a fist. Hannibal dragged the man’s retreating figure back by its roots. He buried a howling face into an ornately carved pillar. His nails scraped into a scalp, slamming harder and harder. Yells quieted. Teeth popped from a jaw, skittering across the floor. A skull caved in an explosion of red painting the pillar.

Hannibal exhaled a swirl of heat through teeth, releasing stands of hair. He brushed flecks of blood from his cheek, gazing down at the body in disdain. Turning on his heel, he stalked forward, stepping around and over tangled figures of broken limbs. An echo of heels filled deafening silence.

Pressing a free hand into aching ribs, Hannibal winced. Tangles of heat thrummed into a flat palm, twisting up a battered shoulder rolling back to seek relief. He slowed to a stop. Strangled cries drifted through a nearby hall, fading softly to gurgling chokes. Stepping noiselessly forward, he slipped through a narrow row of pillars, blending seamlessly in shadows.

He pressed into a cool wall, edging closer and closer to a corner. His fingers caressed the blade in his palm, flipping it carefully in fingers, preparing to strike. It gleamed appreciatively, waiting patiently to plunge into skin. A broken lamp buzzed, flickering unsteadily. A final hiss doused the hall in darkness. He glanced around the corner, raising the blade up. Hannibal flung back into a pillar, breath rushing out, grasping at anything to keep from crumbling to his knees.

_I don’t know if I can save myself…_

Naked quivering limbs straddled flailing legs pinned to the floor. Exposed tendons withered in fraying coils, snapping apart in ebony jets of a throbbing jugular. White points of teeth buried deep, crunching into a windpipe with another tear. Muscles ripped open to expose glistening bone. Tangles of long brown curls matted to a forehead pressed to a throat, falling across flashing blue flames darting up and then back down.

_And maybe that’s just fine._

“W-will…” Hannibal breathed out, dragging a choking tie from his throat.

Shoulders jerked back, head rearing up, wide blue eyes darting in the direction of a voice, swathed in shadow. Black blood cascaded from a quivering mouth, opening in a threatening glimmer of teeth. One step at a time, Hannibal carefully crept closer, slipping the knife into a trouser pocket, palms held up to show they were empty. Snarling leaked out from a tensing throat, growing louder as each step closed distance between them.

“Will.”

_Oh god, you’re alive…_

“Can you hear me?”

_Do you know where you are?_

The younger man rolled off the body, crouching behind its lifeless bones like a shield. A blood stained navy dress shirt clung to thighs, bunching, coiling, preparing to spring, to attack. Slowly, Hannibal lowered to the floor on his knees, careful to hunch his posture into an nonthreatening form of submission. He flattened palms to floor, arms aching, screaming, begging to drag the younger man to his chest, to crush their bones together in a fine ash, to drink in whatever remained.

“Do you…” Hannibal asked quietly, pressing a knuckle to his mouth to still quivering lips. “…know who I am, William?”

_Do you know who you are?_

Low growling answered. The younger man dragged sluggish legs forcefully to his chest, arms wrapping around them to protect vital organs upon instinct. Blood trickled from a wound, completely unaware of a small knife protruding from his right shoulder. Long lashes fluttered, teetering on ebbs and flow of adrenaline, and lost blood.

“William?”

_Come back to me._

Hannibal bit down hard on a knuckle, grimacing, mind racing, calculating how quickly he needed to move to subdue the younger man. He stared steadily back into swirling pools of blue, unblinking, unmoving, still as death.

_How quickly will you become aware of the knife in your shoulder and use it against me? How am I to protect you from threat if you fight against me, Will? Do the sounds of your survival merely echo rushing blood and breath without the presence of your mind? Can you hear me, Will?_

"I have come to take you home,” Hannibal whispered, extending a hand, palm upturned. “Won’t you allow me to take you away from this place?”

_One way or another._

Blinking slowly, Will tilted his head, regarding the offering warily.

“ _William_ , please…”

“While I appreciate the sentiment…” Blue eyes rose from depths of the sea, stirring soft crashing waves, voice a hollow void filled with jagged cliffs. “There was really no need…” A shaking hand pushed away hair, stealing Hannibal’s breath as Will looked directly back with a piercing gaze of rage. “…to dress up for the occasion this time, Hannibal.”

“How long have you been bleeding, Will?” Hannibal demanded, choking down a sob of relief, forcing his breathing to remain steady.

“I don’t know,” Will replied curtly, eyes rolling. “Awhile.”

Incisors clicked together, drawing back, lungs inhaling, stilling as he breathed in suffocating ice cold ravines, ripping in shallow muted tones. Hannibal closed eyes briefly. One by one he shut off a buzz of emotion clamoring inside his mind, quivering in his heart, until nothing remained except a hum of quiet darkness.

He opened his eyes, voice dispassionately removed. “Will.”

“I don’t know.” Blue eyes strayed to a protruding knife, confusion glimmering.

“ _How long_.”

“A really _long fucking time_ , Hannibal,” Will snarled, ripping the knife from his shoulder, shower of hot blood hitting Hannibal’s face. “Which you would know if you had come to see me again instead of just disappearing in a dramatic cloud of dust, leaving me utterly fucking alone!”

Unbridled heat tore through Hannibal’s bones as his arms lashed out, dragging a flailing form up a wall, pinning it in place. His hands shook around limp shoulders, jamming a palm over the wound to stem bleeding. A damp forehead fell forward into his chest with a weak groan. Lashes fell over blue eyes.

He pressed a pounding head into marble behind the younger man’s limp, hanging body. He struggled to breathe, to regain a numbing concentration. He pressed to fingers into a pulse. It threaded weakly below. Warm blood leaked into his mouth. Sweat filled his lungs. Cold folds of skin clung to his front. He trailed fingertips over curls, lips warming in a feverish heat radiating from Will’s unconscious face.

_How long have the ravages of sickness seized your body without treatment, William?_

Looping a trembling hand around the back of his neck, Hannibal caged the younger man’s waist in his other arm, supporting all the weight in a heave of shoulders. Curls brushed into the point of his chin. Tangling bare feet dragged along the floor, smearing trails of blood in their wake. He squinted, slowly winding a path through darkness.

_Stay with me, Will. Please._

“Nnn…” Will let out a moan, eyes fluttering to stay open. “That’s… a lot of bodies…”

Gritting teeth, Hannibal lifted the younger man off the ground to keep his feet from touching vile, mangled corpses. He grunted, stumbling into a wall, bearing sharp pain with a hiss. Both his arms came protectively around Will, limp body falling into his chest, molding as one.

“I guess people will say we are a good team,” Will mumbled into his shoulder, body sinking, shuddering in a shiver of skin. “ _Were_ … a good team?”

Shining blue light gazed up. Quivering tears flooded in. Hannibal’s arms tightened, jaw clenching tight to keep from screaming, to keep from covering jagged gashes and blackened bruises with his mouth.

_I will slit… every… last… one of their throats…_

“Do you think anyone will write a eulogy for us?” The younger man quavered softly, trembling fingertips threading in lapels of a suit. “Or… will they just bury us in some shallow unmarked grave?”

Hannibal blinked slowly, stilling, as Will gently touched his mouth.

“I…” His throat tightened, choking. “…would have liked to write your eulogy, Hannibal, and lain beside you, clasped tight in death...”

Blades scoured the inside of Hannibal’s lungs as he ceased to breathe, control threatening to snap, to smother the younger man in searching hands and mouth to wrench cruelty from quivering lips.

“Do you imagine our souls will be ferried into darkness by all the souls reaching out? All the ones we have taken between us?”

“Quiet, Will.”

Positioning the younger man back into a fireman’s carry, Hannibal wove carefully through another murky corridor. He side stepped a shotgun, kicking it down another end of the hall.

“So much for maintaining a low profile,” Will muttered, eyebrows rising in a level of disbelief and admiration. “Even imagined, your carnage borders on the grandiose level of pretension, Hannibal. Actually… that one over there is rather exquisite…”

Eyeing him sideways, Hannibal’s gaze followed fingers pointing to a corpse surrounded in a glistening bed of entrails and blossoming guts, biting down on his tongue to remain silent.

“Between ripped out throats and well… your form of art… I’m guessing local police will be a bit less likely to believe this is a rival mafia claiming new territory. Not like you to expose us to scrutiny, Hannibal…” A barking laugh turned into a gasping wheeze. “Not like me… to eat people. Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

Fire burned the back of Hannibal’s throat, erupting in a snarl, nails digging in. “A risk which could have been easily avoided had you the ability _to listen and obey_!”

“Are you ser—”

“ _Quiet!_ ”

Flattening them behind an open door, a hand flew up to cover Will’s sputtering mouth. Clicking footsteps rang out.

“Oh William…” Hushed tones resounded.

Will whimpered softly, limbs quaking, sinking to the floor. He gathered the body to him in a single arm, locking tight. Hannibal tipped his head forward, nuzzling into a straining throat to comfort. The younger man trembled harder, squeezing his eyes tight shut, whimpering louder.

“Is that you?”

Peeling away a rumpled collar, wide bright angry marks encircled a swallowing throat, chaffed in white blisters. Hannibal bit the tip of his tongue between teeth, caging in a blood thirsty roar, digging out the knife from a pocket. His vision sparked red, breath coming out in a harsh snarl.

_They will pay with their lives, William._

A sing song cadence floated through damp air. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Glancing through a narrow crack in the door, Hannibal looked out at a silver revolver glinting in a white gloved hand. Nails scraped into skin. Will clawed at the hand over his mouth. He increased the pressure to muffle out rising whimpers of terror. Emerald eyes strayed to the door in a faint smile of recognition, gazing through its adjoining wall as if seeing straight through. A smiling figure and a gun blocked their only means of escape.

Hannibal pressed a splayed hand above a hammering heart, holding the younger man tight to his chest. “Will, this is the only way,” He whispered softly. “Hold onto me, do you understand?”

“P-please…” Will whimpered, lifted effortlessly by the waist, helpless to retreat. “Don’t.”

“I am with you, William.”

Hannibal gritted his teeth in a silent stare. He kissed the back of Will’s head briefly before stepping through, and back out into the hallway.

 

* * *


	65. Chapter 65

“What a terribly pleasant surprise!”

Nicolas turned around, spinning on his heel. He beamed, smiling, eyes bright as Hannibal pushed them into faint light. The man was still dressed in the same tuxedo he had seen him in only hours before. Green eyes wound their way down Will’s figure clasped in rigid arms, darkening.

“The good Doctor I presume? How delighted I am to meet you at last. Or rather to introduce ourselves in person.” He waved a gloved hand in their direction, smile widening. “Did you enjoy yourself at the gala? Had I realized who you were, I would have had my men escort you for a more intimate meeting.”

“Tasteless mockeries of old world charm do not often afford my attentions, Mr. Lisandru, least of all my enjoyment of them,” Hannibal answered in a thin lipped smile, knife flashing near his thigh. “Your men on the other hand were more than attentive to my requests.”

“Is that so?”

“Quite.”

Ragged, panicked breathing fell from Will’s lips as they drew closer. His limbs were rigid, straining against each drag that moved them forward. Hannibal brought a gentle arm around a waist, molding his chest to the rise and fall of shoulder blades pressing back. He pushed the younger man back into his arms, to fall into a steadying pressure. Hannibal drew in measured breaths, releasing each one slowly. He pressed a flat palm above a rapid thudding heart, stroking in soothing circular rhythms. Will’s breathing slowed, falling into sync, giving way to the arms supporting his full weight.

_Just breathe, Will. I am right beside you._

“And the rest of my men?” Green eyes glanced around, nodding.

“ _Dead_ ,” Hannibal replied warmly, eyes narrowing. “You will join them shortly.”

“A fantastic statement of epic proportion!” Hollow laughter rang out. "It is so difficult to find good help these days. And you are so very good at what you do, Doctor."

“ _A promise_.”

“I must say. I do appreciate you doing all the heavy lifting for me, Doctor,” Nicolas said, drawing near, looking around the hall littered with bodies. “It would have been a lot more difficult to announce my retirement with so many pairs of eyes looking on.”

“Might I be the first to congratulate you on the permanency of your retirement, Mr. Lisandru,” Hannibal countered cordially, digging his heels into the floor, tensing.

“How very kind. Though all of this could have been easily avoided had your partner merely minded his manners,” Nicolas noted darkly. “Before I fly off into the sunset, however, there is simply one more matter to discuss.”

“And what might that be?”

“Our mutually shared passion of interest, Doctor,” Nicolas locked their gazes, stepping forward. His eyes trailed over a face staring at the floor, lips turning up in a blinding smile. “ _Will_.”

Hannibal brandished the knife, rolling shoulders forward, gazing up from harsh shadowed angles of his brows, lips curling back to reveal jagged teeth.

“You see…” Nicolas drawled, swaying closer, waving the gun in their direction. “I have become rather attached…” A muzzle traced down Will’s jaw. “…to his figure gracing my presence.”

It jammed into Hannibal’s forehead, hammer drawing back in a click. Will jerked up right, eyes flashing from the gun back to the man wielding it.

“Will offers such a wide variety of entertainment. And I would be grieved to part with him.” Nicolas smiled back, green eyes glowing bright. “As I imagine it would grieve Will if I were to put a bullet in your brain, Doctor.”

“L-let go…” A broken whisper thrummed out.

“You may pry Will’s cold dead body from my lifeless corpse,” Hannibal snarled, arm snapping in a stranglehold of embrace.

“Well.” Nicolas flashed another smile in Will’s direction. “That would make things a lot more simple if I do say so myself. For one of us." His lips fell into a straight line, glittering eyes glancing at a gold watch. "You take care of the men coming after me in oh, about twenty minutes, and I spare your life. And in return, I promise not to kill our dear, darling Will. A fair trade, wouldn't you agree?”

Trembling fingers wrapped around his hand, mouth pressing into white knuckles holding tight to his shoulder. “I love you,” Will breathed into skin softly before wrenching away in a violent twist. “Please… don’t ask me to watch you die.”

“William!” Nails bit into palms curling into shaking fists, unable to drag the younger man back in time.

Gloved hands swept around Will’s crumbling form, snatching him away in a swoop of gleaming metal. “Very wise decision,” Nicolas purred, placing the muzzle of the gun at his throat, arm dragging around his chest. "You are learning after all." 

“Hannibal…” Will let out weakly, gazing up, tears falling to the floor. “Get out of here!”

“Close your eyes, Will.”

“Hannibal, pl—“

“Close. Them.”

“How easily William bends to your commands, Doctor. A trick I have yet to master. We have plenty of time to learn however.”

“Say his name…” Red eyes glowed. “…once more and I will carve it out of your lungs…”

“I suppose the insinuation of carnal dinner plans you promised is out of the question then?” Nicolas asked, laughing, stroking vile fingers through the younger man’s hair. “Or are we simply undecided upon a date?”

Will’s eyes snapped open, lip twitching. “Meat… is entirely still on the menu. At least as a main course in the spectral buffet of my imagination.” His eyes rose up to meet Hannibal’s, blown black, glittering visions of blood. “Trust me, Hannibal, I took a swipe at his throat. He tastes about as terrible as he looks.”

“I will be the judge of that, Will.”

“On the subject of judge, jury, and executioner, dear Doctor.” A forearm came up, locking the younger man’s throat in a bruising grip. “If you would be so kind as to return my cousin, Dimitri, before Will and I take our leave… well, I would be much obliged.”

“God… there’s more of you, J-jesus.” Breath choked from Will’s trembling mouth, blue eyes flashing up, tears streaming down reddening cheeks. “D-don’t look, H-hannibal…p-please.”

“Ah! The doctor has a name. It is a pleasure to meet you, Hannibal.” Black dress shoes shuffled backwards, bare bruised feet dragging along after. “But I really am afraid Will and I must be going. You know how skittish men become when their fellow comrades have been torn limb to limb. Particularly when about a hundred violent Corsicans are descending upon my property to remove heads and limbs to find me.” They rounded a corner, stepping into a long corridor. "They simply were not satisfied with my pressing insistence that Will simply would not give up the location of their money."

“Focus on me, William,” Hannibal growled above wretched sobbing, advancing steadily, blade gripped in shaking fingers. “Eyes on me. Only me.”

”Come along, Will. Our helicopter eagerly awaits.”

“G-go, H-hann…” Blue eyes blinked rapidly. “D-don’t t-think of me…don’t remember me l-like this.”

“Keep. Your eyes. On me.”

“Please…” Will’s head fell in resignation, halo of twisted curls hiding a tear stained face. “Tell Abigail not to look for me. Tell her. Tell I love her…”

“There, there, Will.”

Hannibal snarled, teeth snapping, as a mouth pressed into Will’s temple. His fingers wound around a slicing blade, dripping in blood, focusing on the pain to keep present, to gaze steadily into shattered a shattered gaze, dragged further and further from his vision.

“I promise we can send Hannibal photos of our escapades on your birthday and special occasions to ease the ache of separation. Would you like that?” Nicolas carded fingers across his forehead, stroking down to the side of Will's neck, squeezing hard. "The good doctor will do as advised or he will find you bit by bit in pieces littering his mailbox." 

“S-save yourself, Hannibal, just go.” White teeth clenched tight. “Please!”

“I would rather die a thousand deaths then leave without you by my side, William.“ A knife flashed in the light. “You. Are. Coming. With. Me.”

Shadows emerged from darkness, gathering into a single blurring shape of a man. Grey eyes flicked side to side, silent, assessing the situation in rapid strokes.

“Oh Cecil… there you are, darling,” Nicolas called, venom clinging to a mouth drawing down in a steely line. “It will forever be a mystery as to how our guest slipped from his locked bonds, would you not agree?”

Cecil blinked slowly. He looked at Hannibal. Hannibal looked back, tensing as a pistol appeared from under a denim jacket. Will gazed up at Hannibal, sobs filling a stretch of stillness gathering in their midst. Cecil glanced down at him for a moment and then back up to green eyes.

“What are you waiting for!” Nicolas snapped, jerking his head in Hannibal’s direction. “ _Kill him_!”

“N-no, you can have me, just let him go,” Will cried, crushing the forearm at his throat, eyes wild.

“Enough, Will!” Hannibal snarled, eyes swinging between the three men in a steady calculation.

Tipping his chin up, Cecil drew back a hammer on the gun with a stroke of his thumb. Hannibal eased in a lungful of air and held it, rolling his shoulders forward, preparing to lung. Grey eyes traveled over flesh crumpled in defeat, hanging in black cashmere arms.

“For your sake…” Hannibal’s gaze strayed from the barrel of a glistening gun to a smirking face, fingers curling into fists. “Pray, Mr. Lisandru. As I am going to savor tearing you limb to limb with my bare hands right after I force feed you pieces…” He looked at the other man, tongue ticking in his mouth. "Of him."

“P-p-please.”

Taking in a deep breath, Cecil raised his right arm, elbow bending then straightening to aim the gun directly at his head. Teeth ground together in Hannibal’s skull, legs tensing.

“Now, Cecil!”

A faint smile touched Cecil’s lips, eyes misting. He swung the gun away, pointing it at Nicolas.

“You aren’t going to hurt me, Cecil…”

Nicolas straightened, shuffling the younger man in his arm, swiveling to put him in the line of fire. Low growls seeped from Hannibal’s mouth, eyes darting from the younger man back to the one with the gun. His heart hammered in his chest, mouth dry. Slowly, Will drooped in the arms that caged around him, resigning with a soft cry.

_Hold on, William._

“Whoever will love you as I do? As you are now? As I made you?” Head ticking to the side, Nicolas met the gun with a level stare, gazing back into grey eyes. “You gave me your heart, Cecil. You made me a solemn promise.”

Strangled grunts replied, gun shaking, safety clicking off.

“Yes, I took away your voice…” Nicolas whispered softly, tenderly stroking away tears running down a cheek, eyes dimming. “Is it fitting for me to take away your life as well?” Nicolas pointed a gun in return, fingers moving for the trigger, voice dropping an octave. ”As you have taken mine from me?”

_“Will!”_

Driving a shoulder forward, it impacted into a chest in a sickening crack. Hannibal tackled Will to floor, covering his body as gunshots rang out. He curled hands protectively around a shaking head, shoulders curving in, pressed into a heaving chest below. His ears rang, drowning out sobs vibrating into his shoulder from the younger man’s quivering mouth. He locked an arm around a gaunt waist, dragging their bodies away. Shoes scraped along the floor. Grunting rose as fists crunched into bones. Clothing tore in resounding rips. A muzzle flashed, gun going off once more. Howling filled the corridor, drowned out by a second bloodied scream of agony.

“Hold on to me, William!” Hannibal growled, nails digging into a hip, dragging into a kneeling position.

Cold fingers fumbled weakly at his shoulders, nails at his throat as Will clawed to clutch tight. Hannibal stumbled to his feet, lifting the younger man into his arms simultaneously. Blood pounded in his ears, slipping, colliding into a pillar. His head slammed into stone. He groaned, steadying Will in his arms, flattening his body over the younger man’s to shield, allowing bare toes to touch a pool of widening blood. He blinked, trying to regain a spinning balance.

“C-cecil… please…”

Anguished howls brought Hannibal’s hazing vision up from the floor. Cecil crouched over the other man, blood pouring from his shoulder, hands lifted, staring at fingers drenched in blood. He tore at a shredded tuxedo, ripping it open, revealing a series of slashing stabs flaying flesh open. Strangled sobs wracked the shadowy man, shoving palms over wounds, tears streaming down a pale face.

“Cecil…” A golden hand rested on his cheek, gasping for breath. “It’s... alright. Let me go.”

Cecil stared back, eyes wide, silent, shaking his head fiercely, a blur of hands trying to undo the damage.

“My…love…” Nicolas whispered, blood spattering thin lips, smiling weakly.

Inhaling deeply, Hannibal heaved the younger man’s body into his arms, cupping the back of a head to his collarbone. “Release me again and I will kill you myself, do you understand me, Will?” He pressed the words into a shell of an ear, teeth scraping along a throat in warning.

Will pressed sobs into a trembling palm, clinging tighter to the neck his arm looped around. Pools of shattered blue gazed up, mouth quivering before the younger man looked away, to stare at the scene unfolding behind them.

“Would you allow me to die in your arms… my darling?”

Broken fading whimpers answered, echoing through a hall of blood and ghosts.

“Tell me once more, softly, Cecil, please…”

“L-l-v-e…”

“I… love you too, Cecil… Only you.”

Harsh, tortured cries followed their retreating footsteps. A single gunshot rang out. Will jerked, burying his head under shaking wrists, fingers twisting tight in matted strands of hair. Hannibal stepped through an open door and out into an inky sky flickering with faint stars. He gazed up, biting down a burning sensation, safely hidden from wounded eyes looking back.

“I-is this Hell…?” Will sobbed, body wracking violently. “Or are we merely gazing into our Fate?”

Clamping a hand over his mouth, Hannibal strode out into the night with Will in his arms, eyes fixed to the sky, scream snared between snapping teeth.


	66. Chapter 66

“William, please! I am not trying to hurt you! It’s for the pain.”

_Ding ding ding._

Shaking palms shoved looming shadows out an open frame, unfurling in a blur to blend into night sky. Dirty heels dug into pristine leather, scrambling back. A heart hammered inside a heaving ribcage.

_Ding ding ding._

Steady hums of an open car door alarm pulsed inside ears filled with crashing waves of ragged, short breaths. Will flattened to a passenger door in the back seat, curling in a tight ball, pressing knuckles into his temples to push out an overwhelming panic clawing its way out of his throat in a low growl. He blinked back, gathering tears, eyes darting side to side to search for the nearest escape. 

_No. No. No. No._

Drifting shadows swirled beyond the car, gathering up to form shoulders of a broad sweeping figure advancing. Will sucked in rapid shallow breaths through his nose, exhaling it through small noises out his mouth. He rolled shoulders as far back as the confined space allowed, until they ached with the bite of a car door. He pressed his cheek to the window, breath fogging glass as a shiver overtook his body. Will felt a presence shift beneath a jagged crescent moon hanging beyond a rearview window.

“I… can’t, please,” He begged softly, eyes fluttering closed, fingers twisting in a belt strap.

“My dear boy, it's Hannibal. Do you know where you are?” Warmth caressed his forehead. “Will, you must—“

“D-don’t touch me!”

Pain exploded across Will’s right knuckles, flesh tearing open, impacting in an angled jaw. He whimpered, snatching a throbbing fist away, cradling its bloodied surface to his chest. His eyes opened slowly, carefully, hand winding behind his back searching. His fingers curled around a cool surface to clutch a door handle. Hannibal cradled his cheek, crouched on the back of his heels, face blanketed in a quiet mask of winter air and rising bruises. Bright red faded to glowing embers of ashy firelight. Will stared at his fist, guilt flushing the arches of his cheeks.

“How am I to attend to your injuries if you refuse to let me touch you, William?” Crimson eyes flickered deep shades of burnt twining thorns, falling on palms outstretched to keep him away, voice dropping to a shaking whisper. “A mere glimpse of my gaze fills your eyes with inconsolable terror of shattered images. Please?”

Will shook his head weakly, gaze locking on a syringe half concealed in a right hand. “N-n-no.”

_Please. Please. I can’t._

Arms braced on either side of Will in a blurring motion, scattering contents of a leather medical bag to the floor in a clatter. Will gasped for breath, trapped into a corner of fine stitching and bloodied crisp cuffs. He pushed back into a rocky chest, suffocating underneath close radiating heat of skin pressing in.

Will pleaded a little louder, whimpering, “H-hann…”

“William, this is for your own good,” Hannibal growled softly, staring down into his eyes. “I do not wish to restrain you. Please do not require me to force you.”

Breathing rapidly though his nose, Will watched as a dripping silver needle drew closer to his arm, eyes widening. A door handle dug into the small of his back, shrinking farther away, gripping tight to its surface. He let out a strangled noise of protest. Head whipping forward, his teeth sank into a shoulder, yanking open the door at his back. Sharp cursing followed as he tumbled out head over heels. Breath knocked out of his lungs in a dizzying spin. Concrete ripped open scabbing wounds upon his knees, seeping red across fresh fallen snow.

“Unn…”

His eyes fluttered open, body sluggishly stuck to wet, cold ground. Shoes scraped along gravel. A needle flashed. Blindly, Will struck a fist out, letting out a howl. Glass shattered against a side of the car, shards glistening in moonlight. Violent growls echoed above his body. His gaze whipped up, following sharp lines of black trousers straddling either side of his legs. Hot breath filled his lungs seizing in tremors of panic, skin sparking in a thrum of pain as he tried to roll away, to kick out, to escape.

_Run. No, please! Don’t…_

Crushing fists clamped down on his wrists. Knees dug into his ribcage. Will groaned, arching up as fingertips pressed into fresh bruises hidden beneath a bloodied shirt. Tears leaked out down the side of his face. Ice seeped across his back, stinging and numbing fresh wounds. White jagged light flashed behind his eyelids in a swirl of heat. Remaining strength drained from his bones, slipping away in a wave of agony as his body went limp.

“J-just kill me already!” He hissed out between clenched teeth, staring hard into the back of his eyelids.

Crushing weight of the older man’s body vanished. Icy wind rustled through a cloud of drifting white, skittering across his stinging cheeks. He opened heavy eyes with another groan, waiting for the sky above to cease turning in a whirl of constellations. Head falling to the side, Will braced himself to find a desolate road, alone once more drifting through currents of his mind. Blood stained hands buried a face, knee drawn up to a chest slumped into a car door. Hannibal clutched at his side, puffs of ragged breath unfurling from parted lips.

“Have you become accustomed to a set of rules lacking compassion, William? Or have you simply embraced the art of manipulation?” Blazing shadows gathered around the older man’s figure, fading into night, red eyes gazing out between spaces of fingers falling away. “How blinded you are when fear poisons the depths of your soul. Or do you truly imagine you alone have suffered wounding beyond physical manifestation?”

Will winced at the unfeeling mask gazing out. “Y-you’re idea of comforting cruelty is muddled by the constant threat of my death…” His head turned away to stare up at fading stars, mouth quivering in shaking words. “It has become difficult to imagine a world we exist in where I am able to believe in your mere words, Hannibal.”

“Are you questioning the nightmares I would face to keep you alive, William?” Head tilting to the side, Hannibal crouched forward on one knee, right side of his face blazing red in taillights. “Or do you no longer accept my cruelty in its entirety of devotion, denying what I might endure to ensure you remain at my side?”

“I hadn’t realized your compassion came with conditions,” Will snapped back bitterly, glaring out of the corner of his eye. “Where was your devotion to be found when I was living waking nightmares, Hannibal? You are merely fragile dust gathering across disappearing starlight to drown me in darkness.” He drew in a quick breath, staring up at stars, voice fading in another shiver of skin. “You left me to a fate worse than death. You left my battered heart filled with unattainable promises of protection you could not keep.”

“How careful you are with your words now, Will,” Hannibal answered quietly, looking up at falling snow to blink back a glimmer of tears. “How beautifully you wield them, maiming all which you once held dear, to create the greatest amounts of suffering.”

Sparks of light faded from dark eyes as the older man flinched, turning his cheek to stare down a dark road. The path was shrouded in a fine mist of rainwater and deepening shadows emptying out in a murky ravine of unknown. Deafening silence filled Will’s ears, damp rainwater clinging to his face, breath shuddering out in gasping grey smoke. His stinging eyes slid over, bones stiffening to see if he was alone. The older man gazed back, dark eyes glazed in unseeing depths, drifting farther away in each passing moment.

“The accompaniment of my companionship is a privilege I am willing to revoke if you find yourself suffocating beneath its weight,” The older man replied coldly, rising carefully to his feet, fingers curling slowly around keys. “If mere cruelty and banality of verbal exchange is what you seek, it is yours.” A roll of gauze landed on Will’s chest, unfurling in wide strips. “Bind off your wound. Enough time has been wasted.”

“If we disagree on the terms of our arrangement, what then?” Chin tipping up, Will stared up into unblinking eyes, acrid bile burning the back of his throat. “What if I am more inclined to lie here on the side of the road accustomed to the sole pleasure of my own presence for comfort?” His fingers curled in frozen snow. “After all, I am most familiar with the vision of your disappearing figure given how often you leave me.”

Maroon eyes flickered red, dimming black in a glaze of placid quiet. “By your command.”

“I…”

Hannibal swung away, blood spattered dress shoes crunching over shattered glass.

_Wait… I’m sorry. Wait._

Mouth trembling, Will struggled to peel his burning skin from cold snow and concrete to follow imprints of dipping hollows. Footsteps faded in a brush of drifting snow, figure disappearing in a veil of white.

_Please don’t leave me this time, Hannibal._

His fingers twitched. His knees trembled, straining to bend and rise. His bones remained bitterly rigid and unyielding to mounting commands screamed inside his brain to move. He pressed shoulder blades back into a snow bank, staring helplessly up at the moon. Bitter tears ran down sides of his face, fingers balling up gauze bandages in a shaking fist. Biting on his bottom lip, he hurled the matted ball at a disappearing shadow.

“G-goddammit,” He cried out, vision blurring, fire burning down his bicep.

Heavy footsteps scraped across concrete. Nails twisted in his dress shirt, curling fabric into fists. Will groaned, rigid arms locking around an aching chest to lift him from the ground. A harsh shove sent him sprawling into a passenger seat. He groaned louder, eyes fluttering closed. Damp gauze wound fiercely around warmth trickling down his shoulder. Will’s eyes creaked open. Red pinpricks glowed in pulsating darkness, teeth tearing gauze into long strips. He cried out as fists dragged his shoulder forward, binding jerked hard in another throb of pain.

Teeth flashed beneath a curling lip. “Foolish boy!”

“Nnn…” Will swayed forward, vision blurring, caught by rough hands.

“Will.”

“…What?” His eyes fluttered, mouth dry. A strap bit across his chest, snapping into place. “ _Fuck_!”

His teeth clacked together, other hand lashing out upon instinct to wind in fine strands of hair. Hannibal shoved his palm over Will’s, jamming it deeper into the wound on his chest. He bit down another curse, hissing as another blotting pain sparked down his body. Wet warmth seeped into his palm. He yanked on the older man’s hair harder, drawing close enough to hear a growl rising from his lungs.

“If it is not rendering you unconscious…” The older man removed the hand from his hair in a swift jerk, strands coming out by the roots. “…you are not pressing hard enough to stem the bleeding.”

Nostrils flaring, Will lunged forward, teeth bared. A hand jerked on the belt, restraining him in place. “An unwise course of action!” Hannibal growled, ticking a tongue across an incisor, pulling violently until he ceased struggling. “Take these.”

Will clenched his jaw shut, eyeing three muted colored pills in an upturned palm inching towards his mouth. “Fuck off,” He snarled, head swiveling away to glare out the driver’s side window.

“William.” Hannibal dragged his face back, eyes glittering inches above his own, nails digging into his shadowed jaw. “So help me God… I will force them down your throat.”

“Christ!" Will jerked away. "I think I preferred the proverbial silence of your absence, Hannibal!”

Swiping the pills away, Will met the glint of teeth with a set of his own, snarling. His fingers curled around a handle. The door slammed shut in a resounding clatter of metal, nearly catching the older man’s face. He threw pills into an open mouth, snarling as he choked them down a dry, scratching throat. Two more doors banged shut, car shaking in each increasing reverberation. Will crumbled into a leather seat, curling tight into the passenger door, aware of a looming presence standing out in the frigid night as his eyes sank shut.

 

* * *

Swimming through turmoil of roiling waves and gentle sea salt breezes, Will jarred awake to a lungful of briny sweat and metallic blood. He blinked slowly, head lolling to the side. His bones tingled awake. Billowing heat radiated across his body, warming every inch of throbbing skin. Biting pressure pulled at his chest. He gasped in a rush of panic. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

_Where am—_

“Nnn…”

His blurring gaze focused on white knuckles clenched around a leather wheel. A bright glow drew his attention, squinting, blinking once then twice to make out a jumble of melting numbers. _4:32 a.m._

“Hannibal…?” He croaked weakly. “Is that… you?”

Fading crimson slid over to his face, flicking away. Blurring white lines rushed in mirrored images across a windshield.

“W-where… am I?”

Throbs of pain rippled in his bones. Will swallowed back nausea flipping in rimmed edges of his stomach, pressing numb fingers into vents blasting heat.

“Hannibal?” Will pushed a weak hand into aching eyes, rolling an aching back into soft leather. “Goddammit…” He let out weakly, staring hard at filtering black shapes. “Answer me.”

Shattered lines gathered up in a slow turn, connecting curving lines and right angles to form a set of glinting eyes rimmed in dark circles staring straight ahead. Pale moonlight skin flushed light peach over rigid peaks. Thick brushstrokes pressed into rigid concentration, dappled in fresh split skin and dried blood. Wavering cashmere clung to bones locked in a bent position, shaking hard.

“Hannibal, please…” Trembling fingers reached out to fall through misting ink. “Please don’t do this to me.”

An avalanche of blinding white crashed over the windshield as a fist yanked hard on the wheel. Gravel sprayed beneath spinning tires as the car swerved, skidding to the side of the road. Pain bit into the side of Will’s head as his temple banged into a passenger window. His ears rang, moaning from another crackle of pain. An engine whined loudly. He blinked slowly, vaguely aware of snow drifting in from an open driver’s side door glowing in pulsing lights.

_Ding. Ding. Ding._

A flash of talons dragged Will from the car. He gasped, limbs trailing lifelessly after his body, bare feet sinking in an icy snow bank. Breath left his body in a wounded cry, slamming into the burning hood of a car.

“Do you wish to meet death with such wild, reckless abandon!” Points of teeth lowered close. “How dare you insinuate this, any of what was done to you, was my doing, William!”

Harsh winter wind whipped strands of hair in a faint halo of silver tangles doused in encroaching ebony antlers. Rimmed light brushed in violent creases, brows drawing low. Milky, sunken white eyes glowed down, outlined in smooth ebony skin. Will’s eyes widened, snapping shut as claws twisted around his throat, winding tight in his hair.

“Have you any idea of what would have happened had I lost you!”

Shadows breathed cold across his cheeks, choking beneath tightening pressure. Will forced welling eyes open, veiled black mask of skin flickering to reveal the older man’s face flashing in a thundercloud of twisting agony. A burning mouth crushed onto Will’s lips, releasing a splinter of jagged pain, drawing breath out of his lungs in forceful suffocation.

“Do you, Will?” Red eyes burned bright, hand closing around a windpipe. “Answer me!”

Weakly, his fingers cupped ones at his throat, stroking in a flurry of skin, choking out, “H-hann, I… l-love… y-you…”

Black eyes widened in a burst of light, caving beneath timbers smoldering out in flickering sparks. Gasping for air, Will sunk to his knees in a pillow of snow and puddles of rainwater. He cowered lower still, allowing a chill to shake its way up his knees and tremor through his arms. Fists slammed into metal, raw screams erupted in blustering billows of white and frigid rain. Outlines of Hannibal’s figure burned low in headlights, braced against the car, both hands planted on the hood, shaking violently and gasping for breath.

“Hannibal, I…” Will whispered to the ground, vision fading dark.

Gentle arms lifted his crumpling body from the snow, carefully tucking each limb back into the seat. A belt tugged across with a click. Warm wool settled around his shoulders, dusting of snowflakes evaporating in a glimmer of faint light. Wincing, Will caught a retreating wrist, fixing his gaze on a shattered glass watch face.

“You can’t, Hannibal…” He released slowly, tears flooding his eyes. “You’ll freeze to death.”

“So be it,” The older man answered roughly, closing the door as he retreated.

Will dragged eyes up from a ticking digital clock, tracking the older man’s movements blinded in garish beams. The driver side door shuddered closed gently. Snow glinted, fading, as lights dimmed in the interior. Hints of copper and patchouli filled his lungs. Will nosed against the coat’s collar, clinging tight to its draping surface, holding it close.

Hannibal lowered slowly, sitting on the hood of the car. Black cashmere jerked off his arms, disappearing in wooded thickets of snow with a fling. A rigid curving spine arched up, plastered in widening spots of spitting rain. The older man leaned forward, fists clenched between tensing thighs, frigid breath outlining the back of his bent head. Will shrugged deeper beneath the coat, arms and throat thrumming in a dull ache.

“Please come back…” He whispered, vision blurring in tears.

Hannibal pushed a hand to his face, statue still, framed in snowy dust filtering through headlights. Rising to his feet, the older man silently slipped back into the car. He shifted into gear, pulling carefully back onto a dark road with sliding tires. Will stared hard into the window’s reflection, at wet tear tracks staining the face mirrored in his own. A rough hand dragged around his, forcing it into a shaking grip. Will glanced back once, trying to fight a shuddering urge to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Will said quietly, averting his gaze from a muddied reflection of himself.

The older man stared straight ahead, silent. Fingers dragged noiselessly across a wheel. Hannibal held tight to the hand, shaking slowly beginning to subside. Teeth nipped at his tongue as Will tried to distract himself from an ache in his heart, of skin blistering around his own, of need pounding in his head to steal way from being touched. Light banging drew his attention to the rearview mirror, glancing in the back seat.

His gaze flicked back to Hannibal. “What the hell is that?”

“Not your concern,” The older man answered sharply, odometer skipping a beat.

“Who is in the fucking trunk, Hannibal?”

Narrowed maroon eyes glided away from the road and settled on Will’s face, vein ticking fast in a creasing forehead, silent as an engine roared loudly in warning.

“Really!” Will yanked his hand away, voice grating shards of glass. “I was tortured, beaten within inches of my life, bleeding to death, and _you stopped to get a goddamn snack_?”

“Your next dose.” A lip curled, glancing down at the hand snatched from his grasp in a possessive sweep. “Take them,” Hannibal growled darkly, digging out an unmarked bottle from the middle console, thrusting it in his direction.

Will stared blankly at the bottle. “Are you drugging me to ensure you don’t have to suffer the sound of my voice?” He glowered at corners of the older man’s mouth dipping dangerously low. “Or endure this vein of conversation, Hannibal?”

“I recall having this particular conversation in vivid detail…” The bottle pressed into his palms with a shove, icy gaze returning to focus on the road. “…enough times to divine its recourse of action and consequence, Will.”

“I know I am a bit hazy on the details, but isn’t your entire practice built upon conversation?” Will bit back bitterly, swallowing down two pills before tossing an empty bottle into the back seat. “Whom exactly have you been sharing the intimate details of our lives with?”

Dark eyes followed the movement, narrowing. _Rude…_ He heard a hiss inside his mind.

“Oh, I see. You too prefer a blindly obedient and silent partner now.” His eyes locked on hands shaking against his thighs, acid dripping across each word. "Forgive me for wanting to have a choice." 

“I am more than happy to oblige choking the life out of you for silence,” Hannibal replied coldly, jamming into the next gear.

An engine roared louder beneath a howling wind. He shoved the coat away, defiantly, throwing it in the backseat to join the bottle. He ignored a low growl emanating from the other side of the car. Will curled tighter to stave off a chill creeping in, fading into scents of melting snow and cold breath seeping from frigid throats.


	67. Chapter 67

“Hannibal…”

A fading voice rose from aching lips. “What… Will?”

“I can’t sleep.” Weak broken wings fluttered.

Rousing slightly, Hannibal stirred in a stretch of aching bones, blinking away exhaustion weighing heavy coins over his eyes. He looked up from where he was folded across a wide backseat. The younger man stared back a few feet from him, stock still, draped in a wool jacket and wide awake. Blue pools of clear water glanced up and then over furtively to the trunk, widening. Banging grew louder, more insistent. Scores of muffled yelling followed.

“Trial after tribulation.” He growled, drawing a hand over a tired face. “What I would give…” Hannibal’s eyes followed the sounds, glaring into leather. “…for even a moment of peaceful rest and silence.”

Struggling up into a sitting position, Hannibal swung stinging limbs to the floor, stretching and rolling his ankles until feeling returned. He watched the younger man out of a corner of his eye, who was carefully measuring and gauging the distance of their bodies in hash marks of stitching. Will had made it clear to stay on “his” side of the car.

He felt tensile strength of Will’s phantom neck pressed into his palms, denied the gentle caress of comfort, succumbing obediently instead to a snare of violence. Frigid breath remained in his lungs, spreading in a numbing ache. A bloodied organ shivered in an off beat inside his chest. It rang hollow inside a cage of bones.

 _Will you ever allow me to touch you again? Or has all I once allowed to see me vanished with the presence of your physical body from our home?_ His eyes stung. _Are you rebuilding your walls to keep me out once more?_

Hannibal dragged uncooperative legs from the car, swinging a door carefully behind him in a quiet click. He rolled a stiff neck around on his shoulders, letting out a brittle breath of fury. Stalking through crunching snow, he placed palms carefully along the Bentley’s trunk, staring down as reverberations trembled beneath them. His gaze rose, meeting a tremble of blue staring out behind frosted glass. He let out a slow breath when Will looked away, hiding behind a palm as if mere gaze buried talons in his chest and clawed at battered flesh. His hands began to shake, red seeping into his vision.

 _I should have slit their throats…_ His fingers curled into fists, staring down unseeing at the trunk. _Both of them. You should have allowed me retribution, William._ _To split open their chests, to gather glistening organs to their mouths, to force them to drink each other in as they watched. They would have been whole then. As you and I once were._

The trunk flung open in a shudder. Hannibal clawed fingers around a thrashing throat, lifting a light body from the car, deliberately slow to drown in a ring of gurgled protests. Blood surged through his veins, pounding loudly in a steady drum of violence snarling out in snapping teeth. Screams quieted in a flutter of drifting snow. He felt hot blood pour down chin, filling his mouth and slipping down his throat in rushing spurts. Bones crumpled to the ground, sprawling in seeping tones of crimson. Coldly, Hannibal stared down at the gaudy display of emotion threatening to tear open his chest. The young guard stared up with glassy eyes, light hair clinging to color draining from a frozen face. He had intended to allow Will to decide his fate. He slammed the trunk closed.

A muscle ticked in Hannibal’s jaw. In a low sound of disapproval, he gritted teeth at the lack of restraint and turned back towards the car. Keys dug into a palm scrounging in his pocket, enclosing tighter until jagged pain shot up his wrist in a fraying bundle of nerves. His gaze fell on a huddled figure outlined entirely in draping wool, crouching low in the back seat. His eyes flicked up to the sky, hand stilling on the driver’s side door to suck in a mouthful of air to bury rising emotion in burning cold.

Hannibal swung behind the wheel of the car, jamming a key into an ignition. His fingers swiveled over knobs in twists of frustration, blasting hot air through vents, pointing each one to the back seat. Tiny, muffled whimpers rose from the younger man’s figure cloaked beneath the jacket.

“Go to sleep, Will,” Hannibal instructed roughly beneath a squeal of tires.

Wiping a sleeve across his bloody face, Hannibal squinted hard to find the center of a desolate road through trails of blinding snow. He rubbed aching eyes. It had been nearly five hours on back roads passing through rocky terrain giving way to winding mountains of Lyon to avoid tolls and unnecessary scrutiny. At least another two remained. It would be unwise to draw attention to a car covered in blood filled with battered men.

“H-hannibal I-I—“

“Will.” He warned dangerously, fraying nerves clutching at the steering wheel.

Soft noises quieted in a rustle of fabric. He ground teeth, wondering how long his body would allow him to survive on sleep deprivation and pure adrenaline.

 _I can sleep when I am dead. When he is safe within the walls of our home._ His eyelids drooped, guiding the car around a winding pass. _Will you hide from arms that once offered you protection,_ _ma fleur d'hiver, never allowing me to gaze within windows dimming dark one by one?_

Hannibal rotated aching hips, slipping slightly forward in the seat to ease a throb of healing ribs on his right side. He shifted into the next gear. He lightly touched red seeping on the left side of his abdomen from split stitches. He pressed nails into it, hissing slightly, each fresh throb of pain sharpening his focus.

 _Better…_ He shook his head hard, returning his hand to the wheel.

Flurries of snow drifted away with each swish of windshield wipers, ticking sound marking time in every passing sweep. Dark eyes rested for a moment in the rearview mirror, staring at puddle of fabric quivering in the backseat. Twinges of a knife scored edges of Hannibal’s heart in fine paper cuts, promising a slow and painful death.

Whimpering echoed louder in a shivering coat, collar sinking to reveal a mop of tangled, blood matted hair. Hannibal glanced back in the mirror once more to find slits of blue flooding with round, heavy tears blinked back. His foot lifted off the accelerator, taking in a steadying breath. Small wounded sounds rose in tenor and pitch between parted lips, shaking hands curling around the coat. Casting his gaze back towards the road, Hannibal winced as a noise of sheer terror shrieked into a gaping whine.

An engine ground loudly in a hideous groan as feet tangled in the gearstick, pitching it forward. Hannibal gripped the wheel tighter to keep from swerving into a ditch as the younger man clambered over the console and fell in a tremor of limbs into his lap. He blinked hard as fingers wound in his bloodied shirt. A forehead pressed sharply into his collarbone. Hannibal shoved back into the correct gear, nearly colliding into a guardrail. He averted it with a yank on the wheel. Breath stole from his lungs as he looked down, steering the car onto a flat, straight strip of road.

Will sank pitifully into his lap, curled into a small ball of violently trembling flesh. Aching sobs pressed into his chest in hot fluttering breath. Knees squeezed tight around his waist. Hannibal grit his teeth to stuff down a hiss of pain, throat clicking in an echoing sob choked down at the back of his throat. His body began to shake from heat of skin, breathing in muddled scent of pine.

“William, if you allow me a moment…” Hannibal let out in a rough whisper, steering the drifting car to a side of the road.

_I will hold you in my arms._

“D-drive, Hannibal,” The younger man choked out, thumping a hand into his ribcage.

“W-will.” He swallowed hard, wincing, reaching out to pull close.

“Don’t t-t-touch me,” Will stuttered out, figure freezing rigid until the hand retreated. “T-take me home. I want to go home. Take me home.”

Swallowing hard, Hannibal stared over the top of matted curls and tried to regain a sense of focus. He blinked back tears, relief and fury clashing within in his chest to claim and release. Will’s sobs rose in a stretch of reverberating sharpness as time ticked by a harsh drag of minutes. Bit by bit they quieted to a hum of aching cries.

_What can I give you to heal the wounds of your soul, Will, except to split open my chest cavity and shelter you inside its broken, splintering bones?_

Slowly the younger man’s body stilled. He felt warm breath warming his throat. A pounding heart resonated to answer a slowing rhythm inside his chest. He gripped the wheel to keep fingers firmly rooted in place. Clenching his jaw, Hannibal steeled his mouth from pressing into skin clinging to his chest.

“Are you…” A broken, hollow whisper threaded violently around his heart. “… _real,_ Hannibal?”

Hannibal choked, swallowing harder and harder until his knuckles turned white against the wheel. He moved a shaking foot away from the accelerator, eyes darting down to stare at the top of a head.

“I am…” He searched for words, releasing aching fingers from the wheel and digging them into his thigh in a bite of nails. “…all that surrounds you.”

“Is this real?”

“Will…”

“ _Hannibal_.” Fingers wound around the hem of his shirt, shaking once more.

“Yes, William… this is real.”

“I…” Shattered moonlight gazed up.

_William, please, let me touch you._

Trembling palms settled on Hannibal’s face, staring at a corner of his cheek. He stared passed the younger man’s tear soaked skin, inhaling sharply to focus on the road. He gripped his thigh harder, desperate to slam on the brakes and trap Will between the wheel and his mouth in search of salt and skin.

“They told me you were dead.”

Rage whipped up in dark scattering ashes inside Hannibal’s lungs, punching a foot down on the accelerator. The car lurched forward, engine whining in protest.

“I-I don’t want you to be dead.” Will choked out, hands turning his face to force him to look back into broken, splintering mirrors. “Are you, Hannibal?”

“No, Will,” Hannibal answered in a rush of breath, hand lashing out to search through the middle console in a frenzy. “I am here with you.”

“Am…” Spectral ghosts drifted across his cheek. “Am I?”

Hannibal cursed inwardly, realizing the last of percocet rested in an empty bottle rolling somewhere in the backseat. His fingers curled around a leather glove. He tugged it onto his right hand in a pull of teeth. He pressed it carefully into the back of the younger man’s neck, a feeble offering of panacea. Whimpering protest answered. He increased the pressure until Will fell forward, head pressed above his beating heart. He rested a chin against soft curls, easing the car back to a steady pace.

“Sometimes I imagine how Death must look to God,” Hannibal said softly, tangled gloved fingers in hair. “In its still silence where it has no beginning and no end filled with temporal timelessness.” His lips trailed to the side, dragging them away at the sound of a sharp breath. “If perhaps he considers it beautiful reciprocity to tear asunder? To see if one withers or blossoms beneath soft brown earth raining from above to cover our heads.”  
  
“I d-don’t want to die without saying goodbye,” Will sobbed, hands twisting at his sides.

“Do you imagine I would allow your corporeal form to cross such a horizon, to blossom red beneath this earth, without you in my arms, William?” Hannibal bit down on his bottom lip, touching gingerly at a warm forehead with his bare hand, careful to keep his voice in a flowing edge of soothing waves. “Did I not give you my word to search heaven and earth to bring you into the confines of my protection?”

“I wanted to protect you. I tried to protect you. T-this is my fault. I-I wanted… I t-t-tried, Hannibal.”

“Will,” He admonished harshly, twisting in his seat.

“P-please.” Fingers pulled desperately at his shoulders. “Please don’t leave me again. Stay this time. Stay.”

“William,” Hannibal breathed out, pressure of his palm steadily increasing until the younger man stilled, quieting in a sinking form of crumbling skin. “I am yours. If you want to part our souls you will have to cut out my beating heart.”

“I…t-tried… to get away.” Will let out a yelp as the gloved hand moved to the small of his back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m s—“

“Enough, please,” Hannibal replied sharply, mouth tremoring in a curl to reveal teeth, returning both hands to the wheel.

Hollow breath filled an absence of time crawling in long drawn out minutes. Hannibal clicked off the windshield wipers, staring out into a clear night sky tinged in hints of faint light flickering at the horizon. Will rested against him, head tucked to his chest, breathing softly.

“Are you able to feel the beat of my heart calling out to you, Will? Have you not known the ache of loss grieving inside my chest in hollow desperation?” Hannibal whispered, pressing a small kiss into curls with stinging eyes. “Do you hear the pressure of my lungs quietly filling with life at the mere brush of your skin blanketing my own?” He fingertips skimmed down a limp arm, fingers threading around fingers in a gentle squeeze. “William?”

A surge of panic filled Hannibal’s mouth in a flood of metal. He tore his eyes from the road, glancing down. Long lashes rested closed on upturned cheeks hidden by thickets of thorny, red stained curls. He lightly pressed a thumb into a faint pulse. He let out a shaky exhale, realizing the younger man had passed out from exertion. For the first time since Hannibal first laid eyes on Will again, he looked peaceful in a state of unconsciousness. His fingers curled around a chin, tipping it slightly to touch lips to his forehead. Quiet murmurs answered.

“We are nearly home, Will,” Hannibal breathed gently, palm resting at the nape of a curving neck, gazing out into a rising sun. "Let me drift with you a few moments longer until you ask for release once more..." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the long absence, my loves. I've missed you!! After this course of antibiotics, hopefully I will be renewed to return to a regular pace of writing once more.


	68. Chapter 68

_Thwum. Thwum. Thwum._

 

_I enter noiselessly. I am a shadow. I do not make any sound. I will kill the man crouched on the floor without a flourish of satisfaction. This isn’t personal. Just business._

_I pepper shots after a disappearing figure, riddling an oak desk in a fine mist of missed bullets. I reach for a clip at my belt to reload. To wound him. To ensure I capture him alive. Just like the other. I fall to the ground, jaw splintering, watching his figure retreating down a narrow hall._

_I am multiplying shadow peeling from a kitchen wall. My knife tears just below his ribcage in a gush of blood. His eyes narrow in surprise. I crumple to the floor in a glisten of unraveling entrails moments later, a knife twisting firmly in guts. I belong to his design._

_I tackle his body to the wall. He will know what pain feels like wrapped around a bullet. The butt of my revolver slams into his forehead in a sickening crack. A gunshot echoes in a spray, painting white walls red in blood and brains. He is the Devil. He is the last image I see burned to my retinas._

_I follow a set of winding stairs. I will ensure he dies a slow, agonizing death. Camaraderie among thieves. My fist connects with soft tissue of a kidney. The old man goes down silently, crumpling to the floor. I stand over him, jamming my feet into his sternum until cracking echoes of ribs greet me. He will suffer for the life he has taken from me. He will be blessed by his own destruction._

_I smile, dropping to my knees to draw close. I want him to watch as I take his life. My fists slam into his chest, careful to work my way to broken ribs. He is fragile now. Bent to my command. My hands enclose around his windpipe. I will watch the last breath leave his body. He gasps in a lungful of air, limbs striking out at my face. A knife plunges into my neck in a fountain of spurts. His eyes burn blackened ash on my dimming mind._

_Crossing a path of bodies, I rise from the floor and stalk after a limping figure retreating behind a closed door. They are all dead. Each lying in their rightful place. He is wounded. I can smell blood clinging to his skin like a shark in water. He will not last long. My shoulder rams into a bolted door. He will bleed out in an hour. I have to get to him first. He is my prize. He will hang beautifully above my master’s mantle place._

_The door splinters beneath my weight. He is nearly within my grasp. I point a gun squarely at his heart. Pools of red surround his feet upon rising. Maroon shadows fill his eyes in gathering spirits. He is not ready to give way to death. He believes he is Death. Yet he will die knowing I have already taken what he loved away from him and given it to another._

 

_Thwum. Thwum. Thwum._

* * *

 

“G-god, I’m s-sorry… sorry… sorry…”

“Can you hear me, Will?”

Leaves rushing through a dark forest called out in hushed tones of glowing ember. Cracking timbers reached out in snaking branches over and around thrashing legs. Rivers of crimson wound beneath feeble underbrush, bubbling up over rocky embankments and soaking soil in spreading stains of lost souls. Budding oleander twined tight in knotting loops around wrists to keep shoving hands bound to a heaving chest.

“Will?”

“No. No! Put me down, H-hannibal. I can’t be here. I can’t be here! No let go. Let go of me!” A broken, howling voice broke through gathering storm clouds, thundering in hysterical sobbing.

“William.” Vines twisted tight, drawing blood in seeping thin lines pinned to pillowing wildflowers. “You are having an episode. Listen to the sound of my voice. Let it draw you back.”

Will blinked harder, swimming through a haze of blurring shapes mounting in piles of crushed bones and scatterings of limbs torn apart by teeth. Pressure increased around his wrists, pushing down into a soft mattress. He followed a dim echo of sunlight filtering through torrential rain. His gaze dilated, rushing back to consciousness in labored, gasping breaths. Crimson covered mountain ranges of looming shadow looked back.

“Don’t touch me, Hannibal,” Will let out weakly, another sob wrenching free, throat burning in a hoarse voice. “For God sake, please. I’m begging you.”

_It hurts. You... hurt to be near to._

Flickers of pain filled maroon eyes. Hands vanished upon command without a trace. Will felt the broken connection in a wave of relief before a crash of emptiness skittered across his skin in textured bumps. He blinked back tears, staring hard at a swinging chandelier above his head to focus on anything except blood soaked floors and walls stained in drifting after images of murderous intent.

“William, I…”

Moving to a corner of the bed, Hannibal bent over to bury a blood soaked face in battered, bruised hands. He let out a shaky breath, pushing fingers into his eyes. His long fingers steeped briefly against his mouth, each one curling around knuckles in a deafening silence of supplication.

“You are not in an appropriate state of mind to make coherent decisions for what is best for your health at this time,” The older man announced in a soft whisper, glancing briefly over his shoulder before looking away. “Would you please allow me to do what is necessary?”

“I can’t…”

A hand reached out to touch his. “Do you trust me, William?”

“I…” Will pulled his hand out of reach, grimacing, averting his gaze from candlelight hissing out in a curl of smoke. “I’m trying, Hannibal, please,” He answered in a hollow plea.

He listened to the mattress sigh as the older man moved away from the bed. Shoes scuffed across a wood floor in measured time. His heart stuttered in his chest in a clamor of rising terror. The noise faded away in a hushing echo before returning in resounding clicks. A shiver ran down Will’s spine, trying to blot out a thrum of pain ebbing into the base of his skull.

_Breathe. It's not him. It's not him. He's dead. It’s just Hannibal._

“May I?”

Will gnawed on his inner lip, afraid to tear his fixed gaze away from a safe pure white patch of unblemished ceiling. His eyes slid to the side, resting on a syringe filled with a clear measured liquid. It rested in an upturned palm of offering.

“What is that?”

“A mild sedative. I will _not_ do so without your explicit permission, Will…” Hannibal met his rapidly blinking eyes with a steady, reassuring gaze, tone easing on crescents of suffused light glowing in a crackling fireplace. “I need to tend to my injuries and your own. There is threat of infection to us both. And you are in no state to be left alone.”

_I don’t want you see me like this, Hannibal… just go._

Will stared at the syringe. He sucked in a breath. Every nerve in his body coiled, preparing for weight of force to push his head beneath waves and watch him drown in every breath of seawater. His toes curled tight as fingertips brushed down the underside of his arm, running over dozens of raised track marks. The only sign of infused life being given back. To ensure physiological functions remained in tact long enough to be drained away moments later.

“Will? I have to hear you say it.”

“Fine…” Will nodded once, pressing his mouth in a thin line to bite back a scream as a needle slipped underneath his skin.

“I am going to lift you from the bed and carry you to the bathroom. Do you understand?”

“Y-yeah…”

Closing his eyes, Will felt a timid slip of a hand encircle his back, winding up to rest at his shoulders. He winced as they pressed into a fresh stripe of jagged flesh. An arm slipped carefully beneath his numb knees.

“Are you ready?”

Will let out a weightless noise of drifting clouds, body dangling lifelessly as Hannibal carried him across the room. The older man placed a leather medical bag on the sink, jostling Will into a single arm as hot water hissed to life in the garden bathtub. Pungent salts filled the tub in a rush of off white crystals skittering like sand to the bottom.

“P-put me down.” His voice came out in an ache of pain tangled in his soul and upon his skin. “I’m just in the way if you hold me.”

“Lean here if you please…”

The older man let go in a series of fingertips brushing over his waist, up his sides, and down his arms. Hannibal held on to his hands a moment longer, staring at them as if it physically pained him to let go. Will ground an edge of his tongue in a sting of resentment as his body was propped on the edge of the sink. He quickly hid red striping marks etched down his thighs beneath a set of shaking palms. He glared bitterly down at swinging feet as the older man turned away.

_I am nothing more than a broken toy unfit for amusement, to be hidden away in some corner, propped on a shelf to gather dust…_

Heat prickled down his neck. He turned his face slowly towards a mirror, inch by inch in a tremor of ticking muscles. Haunted pinpricks of glacier blue gazed back beneath twists of tangling knots plastered to his forehead. Matted blood and bits of white bone clung to his hair, dotting across sunken cheeks disappearing underneath a thick unruly beard. Will shook his head in vicious turn, trying to shake away the image. He touched dark circles clinging to drifting eyes. He gazed at red, swollen wrists touching glass. The reflection echoed each movement in lucid perfection.

Hands fluttering at his collarbone, Will pushed off the counter to escape a glassy figure he didn’t recognize. Knees buckled in creak as soon as his toes touched the floor. Dress shoes grated across tile in a spin. Strong arms wound around his waist, carefully placing him between steadying hands and knees, perched on a side of the tub.

“It may be some time before you regain full control of your limbs, William…” Hannibal noted in hushed tones, pushing back a cluster of matted hair. “Muscles tend to atrophy during the absence of physical strain.”

“A prisoner to my own body once more,” Will yelped in a bitter laugh, pulling his head away from a caressing palm. “Fitting.”

Clutching at an edge of the tub, Will pushed the older man away. Guilt flooded the back of his throat in a burning rush. He stared down at yellowish gray gnarled roots of his feet, useless to him now. A pooling dark stain spread out on the floor, another image of death burned into their lives in a widening cavern of bodies.

“Is that your blood?”

“Given how your mind works…” Maroon eyes flicked up, hands stilling on diamond cufflinks before the older man stripped out of his dress shirt. “Are you not keenly aware of the answer to such a question already, Will?”

Splotches of fresh bruising accented nicks and cuts spiraling down Hannibal’s chest. Medical tape gaped open, laying bare a purple jagged wound above his peaked hip stitched together in bloodied x shape stitches, withering and splitting in fleshy seams.

“I…”

Will tore his gaze away, trying to shake away the visceral flashing of images from moments before transforming him into killers. His guts twisted. He was responsible. For every single wound. By proxy.

_I nearly killed you. You... nearly died here. In this house. In our home of crumbling foundation._

“I want to hear you say it.”

“If confirmation is what you are looking for, I am afraid I will not be able to provide it for you,” Hannibal answered tersely, splashing alcohol over the wound in a grit of teeth. “The events of that particular morning are a bit hazy.”

“Lying to me again, Doctor Lecter?” His head tilted to the side, watching nimbly fingers stitch closed a healing wound.

“Absconding a necessary truth your mind is not capable to handle at this exact moment.”

“Where are the bodies?”

“A question I cannot answer…”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

Maroon eyes dragged up from a taunt stretch of thread held by a flashing needle. “They had been removed by the time I made it back from Marseilles.”

“How…” Will shifted uneasily on the tub's edge, hot steam cloying at his bare skin, trying to force his shallow voice to rise to a rumbling tenor, half hoping his question would fall upon deaf ears and remain unanswered. “How long have you been looking for me, Hannibal?”

Fingers stilled. Hannibal looked up slowly, eyes filling in a shimmer of ocean waves, replying quietly, “Before I even laid eyes upon you in our first moments, my soul was in transient search to find you, Will.”

“Please… not yet,” Will rushed in reply, covering his face in trembling hands to hide a score of fresh tears, words a set of thorns twisting around his heart.

Flashing scissors snipped resolutely at thread. “Approximately three weeks, four days, and eighteen hours.”

“N-no minutes calculated into that lump s-sum of existence?” Will stammered out in a flurry of aching heartbeats, staring at the older man’s arching shoulder blades and branded flesh. “Sorry.” He winced as dark eyes turned back to the sink. “None of this feels real. I see time in a constant loop of flashes on a screen in my mind of all the events before this… and after this… in a quick succession of flat space.”

“A mind tends to fragment imagery and perception when dealing with psychological trauma and the pain it causes us.”

“I…don’t know what’s real anymore?” Will let out weakly, rubbing his forehead absently between forefinger and thumb. “Are you… are you in pain, Hannibal?”

“It is nothing my body is not physically capable of recovering from.” The older man drew back his hand as Will leaned away from it in a rush of breath. “The body is an amazing creation. It can be inflicted with heinous damage to vital organs, yet in time it is able to heal itself as best it can from the inside out.” Hannibal paused, gazing out at him from the mirror’s reflection to keep a safe distance between them. “Do you fear the pain of your injuries renders permanent damage to your body, Will?”

“Sticks and stones, Hannibal?” The corner of his mouth ticked down bitterly. “I was always told scars add character…”

Will gazed down at visible marks on his thighs rising in red and white lines. He felt dark eyes following after, unaware a myriad more rested beneath a flimsy navy button up shirt. He covered red stripes with his hands once more. Shivering underneath a burning trail of heat threatening vengeance.

“Do you think they say that to negate the fact it also manifests visceral ugliness of the actions causing them?” His eyes rose gradually from the floor to meet the older man’s placid face, wincing. “W-who can love something broken beyond irreparable repair?” Will said in a fluttering smile, brows drawing low.

Lowering carefully to his knees, Hannibal looked up in a sweep of lashes and gilded soft murmurs. “You are darkness draped beneath clusters of fallen stars blanketing the earth in light, Will.”

Will stared at a corner of the sink, past light shimmering hair muddled in droplets of blood, his voice a broken whisper. “I am the hollow night sky swallowing galaxies into empty black voids, Hannibal, nothing more.”

“Perhaps one might consider an open wound as merely a way to allow light back into the body,” Hannibal answered, touching tips of his shaking fingers briefly, staring longingly after their retreat. “Do you believe the wounds of your flesh will scar over to protect your mind from candlelight held up against them?”

“Can’t… talk…” Will shook his head in slow motion, swallowing down a rising sob. “…about this right now.” 

“I understand,” The older man replied in a curt nod, reining in an emotion crackling along his tongue and falling out of his mouth.

A tentative arm draped around Will’s waist as he was guiding into the glass shower. Hannibal stepped in, deliberately drawing him in after with unhurried motions. Scuffed leather shoes sat safely on the other side of glass. Gentle palms pressed him to the older man’s front. He drooped further, sinking, hoping not to be seen, to avoid a hazed reflection, as a spray of hot water fell across the curve of his neck. A startled sound of pain and content tangled on his lips. He watched trails of blood and dirt swirl around their feet, ringing the drain in a muddied stain.

 _I am tainted…_ Stinging tears filled his eyes. _Filthy. Unfit. Unclean._

“Can you…” Will’s shaking hand hovered over the ones holding on, unable to breathe or bear being touched a moment longer. “Can you let go, Hannibal?”

His palms flattened on shower tile gratefully, a familiar sensation of cold stone running up his legs as Hannibal lowered him gently to his knees. Calves pressed around his shoulders to keep him upright. Will felt a violet shudder course through his body as fingers threaded through tangled hair, working lather into his scalp in a detached, clinical sweep. Tears filled his eyes, hunching forward as water rinsed away bone and blood alike. He didn’t dare look up.

_Will I ever become clean enough to allow your hands upon my skin ever again?_

“Will, I need to lift you.”

His tongue twisted in the back of his throat, choking, nodding.

“Come.” Soft waves caressed a shoreline.

By degrees, Will opened his eyes once more to find he had been placed back on the sink’s marble counter top. He rearranged a dripping wet shirt around his legs, tugging it down over his thighs.

“Do you feel strong enough to sit here a moment on your own?”

Will nodded silently, listening to water shut off in sputter as he stared aimlessly out into a billowing fog of rising heat. He averted his gaze as Hannibal stripped off wet clothes, gathering them in a single sweep of naked, bending flesh, before retreating out of the bathroom. The older man returned moments later clothed in grey jersey pants hanging loosely around his hips. Will mentally noted how much weight had been lost between them, a pair of skeletons moving beneath a stretch of skin.

“Drink this,” Hannibal commanded gently, pushing a glass tumbler filled with silvery liquid into his palm.

Will blinked. “S-should I be mixing three hundred dollar vodka with morphine, Doctor?”

“There are bits of flesh and bone clinging to your teeth…” The older man’s gaze strayed to a corner of his mouth, lingering. “It is not for consumption. It will act as an antiseptic for any open cuts in your mouth I am unable to see. ”

Mouth twitching, Will bent his head to hide from lips dipping close and threw burning liquid into his mouth. He swished it around, spitting out grains of bone and blood alike, cheeks and tongue filled in a thrumming sting.

“There is a small straight razor and pair of scissors in the bag nearest to you, Will. Are you able to take them out for me?” Will’s eyes drifted to a small leathery brown bag sitting near his right hand as if it appeared from thin air. “It is necessary to see if there is any damage beneath the shadows clinging to your face.”

Dragging the bag near, Will dug through its contents in a blurring haze of warm heat trickling through his blood. His eyes drooped. He pulled out both instruments and nudged them in the older man’s direction without looking.

“No.” Hannibal took the small pair of silver scissors, pressing a curving metal body of a latched straight razor back into Will’s palm. “You may hold onto this one for the moment.

Matted wet tangles and dark knotted curls fell to the floor in a ring of broken blackbirds. Hannibal snipped carefully around his forehead, stroking back bits of hair, gazing intently at each gash, bruise and cut revealed. Will tried to unsuccessfully hide beneath a curtain of damp darkness falling away. He closed his eyes tight, shoulders hunching forward in hoarse breath of defeat.

“May I have the razor, Will?” Hannibal asked quietly, touching the side of his face to lift a chin.

Will blinked his eyes open, staring at its molded form tucked quietly in its shell. He flicked it apart. Its sharp edge glinted in unspoken comfort. It felt real. A cold, metallic threat of protection.

“Would you like this one in its absence?”

Eyes flicking to a gilded pair of scissors, Will allowed the razor to be pried away from his fingers only after the other instrument rested safely in his grasp.

“Thank you, Will.”

Scents of lilac and lavender filled the bathroom, curling around Will’s figure swaying unsteadily forward. Hannibal pushed his shoulders back into the wall with a faint smile, tucking him safely into a protective corner to keep him upright. Cream lathered across his beard in quick sweeps of a wooden handle brush. A straight razor scraped in steady, careful pressure down his jaw. It swept over the corners and top of his mouth. He blinked as it tilted his head back in a sharp prod, curving across the underside of his neck. His fingers instinctively tightened around the scissors, twitching in an effort to keep still. He winced as it dragged across metal chaffed skin.

“Am I hurting you?”

Shaking his head silently, Will let his eyes fall closed as another hum of warmth flooded through his numb body. Gentle hands and warm water cascaded over his face, rinsing away a month’s worth of stubble and growth. He let out a soft sigh, pliant body slouching into the corner as drugs crawled through his system. Fingertips lightly touched a corner of his mouth.

“Does this cause you pain?”

Will eased one eye open, index finger pressing into an open split covering a crusted older one. “Not as much as the missing teeth,” He slurred, shoulders rolling in a shrug of indifference.

Hannibal's eyes narrowed, hiding a flash of red with a turning face. Will released the scissors willingly, focusing on a slurping sound of water draining from a sink. Maroon eyes darkened, sweeping down the lines of his torso and falling across his scabbing knees.

“I need to examine you, Will.”

Will’s heart clamored inside his chest, leaping up in his throat. “Nnn…oo.”

_Don’t look. Please don’t look._

“It is a matter of necessity. Not an open forum of discussion”

“Please, wait.” Will pushed weakly at fingers nimbly moving down buttons, swatted away, body a melting puddle of skin and bone.

“Will.”

Tears streaked down his face. “Don’t.”

“William…” Hannibal whispered softly, pressing a gentle mouth onto his forehead, last button slipping loose. “Forgive me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you're the best!!! All these compliments stain my cheeks red! I want to give you all the chapters, all at once, and write every single one so you can hold onto them. I want us all to go on this journey forever too! I feel like Will Graham where I need to say "You can't say those things to me" and avert my gaze, knowing I will never get tired of hearing you say them. 
> 
> Not sure how well the first part of mechanics worked in this chapter. I really wanted to recreate the implied events of the end of Chapter 48 and beginning of Chapter 52 of what happened to Hannibal from Will's perspective. Recreating the "crime scene" as it were as Hannibal fought for his life, to remain alive, after he discovered Will had been taken. 
> 
> They have such a long painful stretch of road ahead of them, to find their way back into each others arms, for Will to be able to trust human touch not to cause pain, to know Hannibal will not break him. 
> 
> Next chapter, Hannibal finally seeing what was done to Will. My heart already hurts.


	69. Chapter 69

Hannibal tried to steady his hands as they slipped down three more buttons, fingertips hovering over the last one slipping free. He lightly touched the shirt’s navy placket, curling fingers around its edges in slow motion. He glanced back up, sucking in a slow breath to hold in his lungs, a feeble attempt to temper a pounding heart. The younger man contorted in a half turn, struggling for air, to escape a penetrating sweep of eyes. Light glinted down the profile of a dark face covered in bruises and gashes. Will slumped further forward as edges of the shirt parted, breath hitching as it eased down his shoulders. It drifted away in a flutter, pooling against the tile in a bloodstained puddle of fraying seams.

Breath left Hannibal’s mouth in a hiss of clenched teeth, bit by bit. Minutes ticked by in a slow drag of what seemed like an eternity passing within a swinging pendulum. Hollow lungs shuddered inside his ribcage. His eyes slipped shut, forcing fingers to remain outstretched and limp at his sides. They curled into fists inside a violent flash of red and harsh screams inside his mind. One by one, he emptied every single thought in an extinguished curl of smoke. He stamped out skitters of emotion with crawling blood and tensing bones. Black humming blank canvas filtered back in, a widening void of starless sky. Running a tongue across his teeth, Hannibal inhaled and blinked his eyes open.

His eyes focused on thick polyps of blisters winding around the younger man’s throat in a sea of foaming crimson. A set of matching rough coral reefs clung to both wrists in perpetual cuffs bubbling up from skin. Algae blooms of sickly green and yellow hues washed over protruding ribs, melding into shades of ghastly blues and violets around his torso. Perfectly round, raised circles stamped down a stomach in constellations of healing burn marks. Two splotches of bright red scorches mirrored a shark’s teeth on either side of seared flesh clinging to a clavicle.

Teeth gritting together, Hannibal dragged eyes from chaffed rope burns around Will’s swinging ankles before lingering a moment on knees covered in scabs and dark blue bruising. The younger man made a small sound, cowering as he stepped closer. Jagged welts etched up rigid thighs in a weeping trail of the Irukandji, floating underneath the hemline of faded boxers. He pulled lightly at a fraying waistband, dragging material slightly down over a right hip to expose four distinct sworls of red. A dangerously low growl rumbled in the back of his throat.

 _Who dared…_ Hot breath rushed out of his mouth. _…mark your flesh in a burn of fingertips tearing into your flesh, Will?_

Will clambered away as Hannibal dragged flailing limbs back to the counter’s edge and in to his arms. He latched one arm firmly around the younger man’s torso, caging him to the wall of his chest. Hooking a thumb beneath the waistband, he pulled lightly, easing boxers down trembling legs. The younger man shook his head weakly in protest, holding tight to a muddied hem.

“I must remove these as well.”

Hannibal cradled the back of his head tenderly, tugging fabric away from nails ripping and clawing apart seams to hold tighter.

“P-p-please…”

_Where else are scars buried within the canvas of your flesh?_

Blue eyes flooded in a crash of rainwater. Will looked up then away and back down at a pile of torn fabric at their feet, knees giving way in a crumple of creaking bones. Hannibal caught the younger man in his arms, easing them both to their knees. He placed shaking hands against cold porcelain, watching each finger latch on tight in flurry of white knuckles. Dark curls brushed pale thighs as the younger man bent forward to create an impossibly small crescent of trembling flesh, muffling sobs against his knees.

Clusters of carnation coral stemmed from the curving swell of Will’s neck in ombré garnet hues, branching down his spine, fading to healing marks of snowy scarring. Hannibal stiffened, reaching out to touch healed scars with brushing fingertips, resting a palm on his own thigh, stroking just above clothed marks.

_Have I condemned you to an orphanage at my side as a boy, Will, to test the limits of justice for ill bred manners, to face cruelty poised on the end of a cane? To ensure we are of equal flesh in mirrored markings._

His fingertips drifted, trying to brush away a pair of thumbprints jammed into shadowy divots of the younger man’s lower back. A loud snarl sent Will jerking forward, curling into a tighter ball. Hannibal’s focus narrowed to a slit of vision, unable to look anywhere but a glowing bite mark marred against a swelling cleft. Streaks of red filtered in, fading to black, recalling the image of life quickly draining out of a monster’s body at the hands of another.

 _He was unworthy of death…_ Hannibal’s eyes strayed to a razor perched on the counter, hand trembling. _He deserved transformation of splitting bones and glistening organs erected in visage at your feet. I would have made him suffer. We would have created a beautiful design…_ His nails scraped across the other hand to still it. _They will wish for Death._ _I will lay each one of them at your feet._

He put hands on either side of the younger man’s, threatening to shatter porcelain in a violent grip, placing a chaste kiss on the back of his neck. In a single swooping motion, Hannibal lowered the younger man into a grey murky tub of steaming water, covering his face in splayed fingers.

“S-s-sorry,” Will stammered out, stuffing down a soft cry.

“I will tend to your wounds as quickly as I am able,” Hannibal answered in a strained tone, muffling rising lacerations of darkness. “Not another word, Will.”

Will bent forward in the water, hiding his face in a crook of knees, hugging arms around thighs for support. Slowly, Hannibal lowered aching feet into scalding water, winding jersey up his calves. He perched precariously on an edge, staring silently into a muddled reflection of sharp planes and ravenous dark eyes. He was grateful for the watery veil sea salts provided for them both.

“S-stings…”

“For thousands of years our ancestors have soaked in salt waters to cure ailments of the physical nature…” Hannibal cupped water into his right palm, allowing a cascade of purifying water to run down curves of the younger man’s back. “Galen of Pergamon himself believed bathing in the Dead Sea was an act of miraculous restoration.”

_Am I able to wash away our sins, William? To heal you without touch?_

“Y-you and your religion.”

For a few moments, Hannibal stared at lacerations marring a canvas of skin of all that was precious to him. His eyes stung, memory returning to a feeble form drifting away in a flutter of pale skin and fair hair.

_Mischa… I failed you both._

“I have not had any consideration of deity or belief in many years, Will,” He replied quietly, reaching out to gingerly touch a vivid blister on the side of a neck straining away. “I will need to lance some of the infected blisters on both your neck and arms. It is likely to cause you pain.”

The younger man clung tighter to his legs, huffing out a breath. “G-great.”

Reaching up, Hannibal pulled the medical bag within reach. He searched for necessary objects by touch alone, keeping a steady eye on the back of the younger man’s head. He imagined pressing his lips there, gently murmuring comfort. He plucked out a roll of gauze, a thin silver needle, and a square metal lighter.

“Can you hold onto this for me?” He asked, brushing gauze over the back of a left hand curled around a knee.

“Alright…” Will took it without looking, face turning to stare at a different corner of the tub.

Flicking the lighter open, Hannibal waited for the needle to glow red. “Are you able to place your wrist in my hand, Will?” The younger man rested a shaking arm in the outstretched palm. “Once I have drained this one, I will need you to give me the other. Understand?”

With a quick nod, Hannibal lanced festering bubbles, releasing a stream of fluid in the left wrist before following a path of blisters in quick succession on the other.

“Nn…” Will moaned as tea tree balm swiped over burning skin, quieting as gauze wound tightly around wrists.

“You may close your eyes if you wish…” Hannibal touched curls at the nape of his neck gently, longing to press his mouth to battered lips to soothe each ache with a sweep of his tongue. “I need you to tilt your head into my lap if I am to reach the ones at your throat.”

Will hesitated, staring at eyes gazing from a muddied, watery reflection. He sank in the tub with a splash, slowly exposing his throat in an arching line. The younger man gripped porcelain, staring intently at a glowing needle thrust into a flame. Hannibal offered him a weak smile of reassurement before a rush of blood and fluid released in a sharp prod of the largest blister. Water rippled as the younger man shook, hands lashing out to twist in folds of fabric, mouth pressed in a thin line.

Hannibal made quick work of the rest, swiping a ring of balm around chaffed red skin before reaching back for a roll of gauze. Will let out a strangled choke of panic, clawing at his throat as it bound his throat in a sweep of white, eyes wide and pleading.

“No, William,” Hannibal admonished softly, tying off the strip in a thick knot. He pressed smaller hands into his own, holding them together in a tight line of skin, staring down a storm of gathering agony. “It is the only way to keep it dry to stave off the possibility of further infection.”

The younger man struggled, fading into water as palms pressed tighter. “N-no, please no…can’t, can’t, can’t…”

Carefully, Hannibal gathered a set of fragile limbs to his chest, slipping down to the floor in a rush of exhaustion. He yanked an ivory towel down from a bar above, draping it over water droplets snaking across quivering thighs. Peeling away a muddied piece of gauze on Will’s shoulder, Hannibal examined the knife wound lying beneath in a thorough sweep of eyes. It was shallow enough not to scar if stitched correctly. Will stared at a curved needle, face blanching white in beads of sweat, as it was threaded in thin wiry thread. The younger man crumbled, drawing knees up to his chest.

“I will try my best to be quick, Will.”

Small whimpers resounded as Hannibal pulled last bits of jagged flesh together, snipping precisely above the wound. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet before carrying Will back to the bedroom, lying him gently on his stomach. Hannibal pulled away the towel slowly, staring at a patch of wall as he tucked sheets around legs and hips unseen.

“Please…” Will murmured in a ragged breath, burying his face in the crook of his arm. “No more tonight.”

“I would like…” His voice trailed off. Hannibal stared longingly at glass jars of soothing salves lined up neatly across a black dresser, stuffing hands into pockets, ice flooding his heart in a rush of blood. “Do I have your permission to tend to them once the medication lulls you to sleep, William?”

“F-fine… I just can’t…right now.”

“May I…” He stared at a smooth crumple of sheets on the other side of the bed, head dipping low, whispering, “May I lie down next to you, Will?”

A single nod answered. He climbed up the mattress, measuring out a safe distance between them, before stretching out on his side.. Hannibal reached out, placing a hand near the younger man’s, close enough to feel radiating heat without touching.

“You have been a phantom gliding through every waking moment in these last few weeks, William…” Hannibal spoke softly, imagining running his hands through soft hair, until the younger man inched into his arms willingly, without hesitation, without fear. “Are you merely a phantom drifting beside me even now?”

Curls tumbled over a pale forehead burrowing deeper. “Can’t.”

“Do you imagine it is possible for entities to exist in a space of utter desolation, twining in moments of thin air and separation?”

_Will our bodies remain separate as you drift further from the safety of my arms?_

“C-c-can’t… give y-y-you… what you need right now, Hannibal.”

“Do not concern yourself…” Hannibal growled roughly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “…with what you believe are my needs, William. You have returned to our home alive. It is all I need.”

A bitter laugh reverberated into the mattress. “M-more… or less.”

“Please excuse me.”

“Hannibal?”

Fingers curling into a fist, he paused in mid step. “Yes, Will?”

“Can you…” The younger man reached out blindly for a pillow, tugging it close between arms and legs, hugging it, murmuring, “Can you leave the light on?”

“If you wish.”

Crossing the room, Hannibal pulled open a top right drawer. His eyes swept over a row of tightly coiled silk ties, ticked across a set of gleaming glass watch faces neatly arranged in rows, before falling across a leather box. It creaked open. He pulled out a metal filigree feather inlaid with ancient gold script etched into its center. It flicked open. A jagged silver blade glinted, reflecting black eyes.

_You shouldn’t fear the dark, William. I am the dark. And I am yours._

Hushed stirring wings trailed after his figure in fluttering ashes. “Thank… you…”

“I need to dispose of the car.”

“Don’t leave?”

Stalking towards the door, Hannibal braced shaking arms within its frame, blinking slowly as splinters ran down his bones in an echo of cracks and knotting veins. He looked back once over his shoulder, lip curling up at the sight of wine stained flesh clinging to empty life in the middle of a bed.

_Am I no longer what you cling to as you fall, Will?_

“You may call out if you are in need of my assistance. I will come.”

"...Hann?"

"You are under my protection. You are safe. Now go to sleep."

He closed the door. It clicked shut. He made a conscious effort of dragging feet and moving sound to comfort the younger man. His nails scraped down a banister in a trail of peeling wood. He took stairs two at a time. A hand clamped over his tightening chest, unable to breathe, suffocating inside the walls of their home. He stumbled on the landing. He quickly made his way out the front door. His vision flooded black, fading into a heart pounding inside his head.

Hannibal came to in a soft pile of snow, throat hoarse, choking on another scream sparking to life inside burning lungs. Warm, wet tears clung to his cheeks. A rush of icy wind whipped around his bare chest. His fingers coiled around a cold metal handle. He wasn’t sure how long he had been screaming. How long his body lay unconsciously buried in banks of enveloping winter. How long he had left Will alone once more.

Crawling to his knees, Hannibal heaved forward on numb feet. Clutching at an aching side, he stumbled back to the house in a weaving zigzag He crept back upstairs without a sound, slumping against the door, sliding down its frame to the floor. Leaning his head back, Hannibal gazed indifferently at a stained pool etched into wood a mere few feet from where he sat, where he had nearly died instead of another. He pushed  down a flood of exhaustion and throbbing wounds. He twirled the knife in his hand, shoulders rigid, staring coldly down a flight of stairs. A faint smile touched his lips. 

_Pray for the soul of any man…_ A blade glimmered bright. _…who tries to take you from my arms again. Pray death claims them first._ _Demons and gods alike. They belong to me now. Mine to hunt. And Will?_ Red eyes glowed beneath a shimmer of twining antlers. _I will… kill… every… single… one._


	70. Chapter 70

_Black briars encircled a throat choking down bile in trickling garnets and rubies. Will gasped for air, body shuddering forward in a metallic rattle, thorns flaying open skin. Blazing fingertips scorched across his skin in bruising patterns. Claws raked through his scalp, trailing red streaks down his spine, settling in a crushing grip on his hip._

“Please don’t. Please don’t.”

Fireflies faintly glowed in the distance. “Shh, William… I am here.”

“N-n-no.”

“Shhh.”

_Darkness surrounded in every direction, vast, endless and cruel in its echoing footsteps reverberating. He looked out, searching for the sound of hooves beating in the distance, waiting to feel comfort of gentle breath warming his cheek. He was alone. Always alone in the darkness. Searing pain ran down his thighs. He stared helplessly at his knees, praying, begging for states of unconsciousness to take him soon, or let death finally claim him._

“N-no, p-please...”

“Just a dream.” Golden halos of light enveloped his form.

“ _Hannibal_!”

 

Will startled awake screaming the older man’s name, thrashing, reaching out blindly to seek sturdy arms. He cried out as a rush of pain flowed over his skin in crackle of pulsating sting, drifting to surface above consciousness. Sheets plastered to his back in a pool of sweat, rolling away as soon as his fingertips touched warm skin, yanking back as if burned by what his hands sought out. His skin was a thinly veiled flame of fever and pain, soaked in lighter fluid, match struck to consume every inch of what remained inside and out. Another tremor of electricity roiled through his bones seeping out of peeling flesh, body shaking violently.

“Please…” He moaned, entirely unsure if he was begging for death or not to be touched, if there still existed an indelible line between the two.

“I’m sorry, Will.”

Dry hands searched for a stretch of skin unmarred, hovering in a trail of radiating warmth before settling on shoulders and gently turning him back. Will looked up at the older man through a thicket of curls clinging to his damp brow, hanging onto a fistful of sheets to keep a barrier between them, weakly shaking his head against the mattress pressed flat to his cheek. A shiver sent a hum of pain pulsing inside his skull and out his mouth in shallow breaths.

“I cannot administer another dose of morphine for three more hours,” Hannibal let out quietly, inhaling a sharp breath, before looking away to cover a flicker of burning candlelight dimming in his gaze. “You have nearly exceeded your limit of narcotics deemed safe to provide comfort to your body.” Long scabbing fingers gripped the spine of weathered grey book violently, releasing it to rest on the nightstand. “I must pursue your form of treatment in clinical detachment of a physician to ensure your well being…” Dark eyes closed briefly. “…while mentally noting the inadequacy of what I am able to provide you as a man.”

_Please… don’t let me see your wounds, Hannibal, I feel them like gaping shadows of a moth eaten soul entwining electricity within my own._

“Just unn…” Will groaned, twisting against the sheets as another wave crashed over his body. A flash of pain simmered inside his heart, a reflection of the older man’s eyes rimmed in dark circles and agony burning the back of his skull. “Just kill me, Hannibal,” He begged feebly, a breath of broken promises whispered across mouths.

Maroon eyes blazed bright, staring at the far wall before snapping shut, tone a growl of warning. “ _Will_.”

“God please…” Will sobbed, crying out, curling into a tight ball. “ _Mercy_.” His shaking hand smoothed a path across sheets, searching for a place to reach between the older man’s ribs and squeeze his heart. “Please don’t make me beg.”

“ _Please?_ ” Hannibal pulled his hand away, placing it safely upon his knee out of reach, voice dipping lower, grating on a staccato of thin ice giving way beneath spiraling cracks. “Breathe. Concentrated meditative breathing often allows the mind to transfer sensory messages of pain into altered states.”

“I don’t want to fucking breathe! Please. God, it hurts, everything hurts. Please, H-h-hann, please.”

The older man slowly tore eyes from the wall, inch by inch, making their way back to a face flushing in red heat and streaming tears, voice cold, “ _I will not_.”

Hannibal stiffly pushed his knees over the side of the bed. He sat silently staring straight ahead, nails digging into the mattress, back turned to a cacophony of wrenching sobs and feeble whimpering. His head turned slightly, dim light catching his mouth in a curl of lips sinking back down to cover teeth.

“Are you trying to wound me with your beautiful mouth, Will?” The older man glanced back over his shoulder, rising to steady feet. “Or simply twist me into manipulations of words falling out?”

He crossed to the dresser, fingertips skimming across a leather medical bag. He picked it up, cradling it under one arm, and sitting back on the farthest corner of the mattress.

“I am not going to end your life, William…” Contents rattled just beyond Will’s sight, stilling, before Hannibal drew out an object. Sitting the bag aside, Hannibal placed a sloping pair of thin, wiry trauma shears between them, fixing the younger man with a steady, placid gaze. “If you wish to do so, you will first have to take my own.”

His heart ceased to beat. Will looked down at the instrument glinting up at him. He could have extended his fingers and felt its cool metal pressing back.

“A-a c-c-cruel m-manipulation…” His jaw clenched, trying to clamp down a wracking sob. “…of your own, Doctor Lecter.”

“You are my life, Will.”

A low growl seeped out of Hannibal’s throat, lunging forward, flash of silver following in an outstretched hand. Will let out a wounded howl, bones screaming in pain as he tried to roll away to escape. Fingers latched around his right wrist, dragging back. Flat metal pressed into his palm, a shaking hand forcing his fingers around a handle, curving tight to yield it against a curving throat.

“It has always been yours.” Will looked up into dark eyes, staring hard to focus through a stream of tears at shimmering points pressing into the older man’s adams apple. “If you long to let go and wade into the quiet of the stream…” Lips parted as the older man breathed in a steadying breath of acceptance, voice softening to whispering shadows stretching side by side in a warm afternoon. “Take it.”

_What level of cruelty are you offering me now, Hannibal, to intone your death across my skin in warm breath and soft lips to show the expanse of your compassion?_

Teeth sank into jagged flesh of Will’s cheek as he bit down on its inside hard, too weak to lift his hand and connect knuckles into the side of sharp cheekbones. His lip curled. Trickles of blood seeped out from a small nick before shears dropped, falling back to the bed, body shaking in pain and a flash of anger.

“Take it yourself…” Will replied bitterly.

He stared up at grey shadows drifting across the ceiling, studying flickering frames of the older man’s bent figure mingling in light and shadow. Cold metal zipped up the front of his chest in fraying threads.

“ _Don’t touch me,”_ Will choked out, gaping at trails of seams and fabric falling away from his chest, wrenched from around his arms. _“Don’t touch me!”_ Breath filled his lungs in short rapid bursts of heat, calves then thighs cooling in the air. _“Please_!”

Colors blurred in a tumble hue and gasping.

_I can’t breathe—I can’t—_

Tangles of soft cotton wound from Will’s shoulders down to his ankles in a restraining cocoon of sheets. His eyes fluttered closed, crumbling beneath its comfort of steadying pressure. He glanced up at the older man, quivering remains of fabric hanging in his shaking arms, sinking back into the bed.

“Do not retreat where you know I cannot follow…” Hannibal whispered into an unsteady palm, drawing a hand down across his face, gaze straying down to the crumpled figure beside him. “Stay with me.”            

“I can’t do this,” Will let out weakly, eyes slipping closed, drifting quietly in pressure of imagined arms tenderly blanketing his skin. “I am drowning in a sea of agony; of hands, faces, and nightmares drumming at the back of my skull in a cacophony of fading wings.”

A hum stirring with exhaustion answered. “When one has reached a point in life where pain no longer exists, Will, one opens their home to Death and invites it in as their final guest.”

Fingertips trailed across his hair, eliciting a broken noise of longing, as Will struggled to lift his head to press back.

“There was a period of my life as a boy when the idea of death was not a faint comfort of beauty yet a shadow clawing its way into my heart in a gaunt cloak of terror.”

He was rewarded, fingers tangling and stroking in curls.

“It is impossible for a child to know violence beyond feeble imagination until war rips the walls of skin away and bones harbor what remains subject to irrevocable elements of loss. Barren without shelter parents often provide.”

He whimpered as gentle touch faded.

“Are you able to recall the intimate caress of hunger, Will?”

“Y-yeah…” Will swallowed down a jagged thrum of pain, voice hoarse, stomach twisting to knots, looking up. “I remember a creaking maw of teeth awaiting in the distance to devour us whole.”

“Starvation became my home once,” Hannibal reached back, absently swirling patterns against his scalp, voice firewood glowing in ashy smoke. “Its walls were a sturdy comfort of the inevitable." The older man touched his bicep, fading away in a moment of time. "It was served nightly in grand ostentation after they came for us.”

“They?”

“Collectors.”

The older man reached out to click off the lamp, stilling as tension flooded through Will’s body. He left the light on, turning his face away to stare out at something unseen in a distant corner of the room.

“Opportunists of misfortune, rounding up feeble bodies in procession of guns and violence. For each home they entered, they took jewels and precious life in one fell swoop, scattering bones in their wake. When death knocks at our door, it is as if time collapses drawing all beginnings and ends near in an embrace of finality and unknown. It was the only protection I had left to offer my sister.”

Strokes of backlight cast veils of a starless sky upon a face drowning burnt twin suns of maroon and rocky terrain in gathering darkness. Long silver streaks fell forward, caressing cheekbones and hiding eyes behind a feathery curtain.

“What happened to Mischa?” Will asked softly, mind turning sharply, aware of a steady ache spreading through his chest.

_Is it mine? Or his?_

“God answered my prayers.” Bitterness seeped across lines of lips curving up.

Wrestling a hand out from a tangle of cotton, Will placed it tentatively across one resting near his head. “Please.”

Hannibal froze as soon as fingertips touched his skin. The rise and fall of his chest ceased. He stared down at the hand, gaze slowly drifting up, tensed and waiting for the recoil to snap inside them both in parting flesh. Soft breath melted out. The hand stayed where it was, a sheltering protection.

“His eyes gleamed in the night like an arctic wolf…” Hannibal began, words coming out a mere whisper, focus rapt on the soft sheltering palm above his own. “His name was Vladis Grutas. Their leader. He was the first real monster I faced in this world. And I rose up like David to protect what was dear to me…”

The older man shook his head slowly as if to turn away from small arms reaching out to hang about his neck.

“She was my charge. Mine to shelter. To lay down my life, for her own to blossom bright. He was Goliath.” The tenor of his voice dipped low, grating across Will’s ears in a scrape of knives across stone. “I was not favored by god or mortal… weak kneed and feebly bodied, struck down at their feet.” Hannibal returned his gaze to the corner of the room, a long pause gathering in the wake of silence. “She was taken from me.”

“You made the best of an unthinkable situation…”

“Some might I say it was divine intervention and preordained,” Hannibal growled back, eyes flashing down and then away. “Only self righteous vulgarity puts faith in a God who offers injustice to weak children as part of a greater plan and then requests an offering of prayer to deliver them from it.”

“You were just a boy, Hannibal,” Will answered softly, squeezing his hand, heart slowing to an irregular beat.

The older man let out a pained breath, drawing his hand away, swinging his legs over the bed to escape touch. “Even boys struck mute by unspeakable horror are capable of picking bones from their teeth.”

Will bit down hard on his bottom, chewing bruised flesh raw, struggling to breathe. “Hann?”

“They…”

A soft cry muffled beneath a palm. Shoulders slumped forward, defeat draping around shaking arms in a cloying embrace. Maroon eyes glanced back filled with tears.

“…fed her to me, Will.”

Will choked, eyes widening. A small protest left his lips. They locked eyes.

"She was the flutter of a sparrow's wings.."

Cascades of consuming rage and guilt rushed through his mind in hum of heat. Slamming doors rang somewhere inside his mind.

"...Fragile..."

Resentment throbbed inside his heart. Disgust rose in black bile at the back of his throat, tasting acid of a monster stirring deep inside his chest.

"The first..." A palm covered dark eyes, sinking forward. "...bones to snap between my teeth."

Will's lip curled in a snarl, thoughts rushing forward to entwine thorns tangling in the older man’s gaze, pulling out each unspoken word and holding tight.

_No. Hannibal. Don’t you dare…_

His eyes flashed, tearing at fabric wound tight around his limbs, clawing to break free from safety.

_You are not monster._

“Give me the drugs, Hannibal,” Will growled, blinking back a sting of tears and rising fury.

_You are mine._

“Will,” The older man looked back, wet shimmers streaking his face, brows dipping low. “I cannot in good con—”

_And you are…beyond measurable aesthetic._

“ _I am going to fucking hold you_!” Will snarled as his skin throbbed back to life, hunching forward, nails digging into broad shoulders. “And I can’t do that right now like this!”

_You are transcendent._

“It brings you physical agony to be touched in conscious state. I will not hurt you.”

_In my eyes... you are beautiful._

“ _You_ are wounded, Hannibal! Stop tipping the other worldly scales in my favor over your own needs!”

_Let me give you this. To touch you. I’ll drain you of life when we wake, but for now… for now let me do this._

Maroon eyes flashed bright red as a hand latched into his hair, dragging down until their foreheads met. “You may have an eighth of what is prescribed, William, and not an ounce more!”

“Mm…” Will’s eyes fluttered, warmth flooding in after a sting of a needle, melting back into sheets. “Come here…” He whispered, threading their fingers. “Hannibal.” He glared up into a placid face. “ _Lay down_.”

Rolling his eyes in a huff of frustration, Will dragged the older man down to the bed beside him. Hannibal lay in a rigid line of stiff arms and straight legs, tipping to the side when pulled. He carefully tucked arms around the larger frame, pulling close, burying his head above a beating heart. He listened to breath crackle to a standstill in the older man’s lungs. A small noise escaped lips pressing into his forehead. Fingertips trailing up the back of a rigid neck, Will pushed the older man’s head into the curve of his shoulder, unconsciously recoiling as lips pressed into his throat once, gently.

“I’m sorry…” Maroon eyes flashed down, flooding with pain. “No… not for that.” Will reached out, palm settling against hard angles. “For her. For you.” He breathed, blinking away a shimmer of tears, smiling weakly. “I am plain spoken, but there is not enough language in the world for me to express inadequate apologies of what was taken from you, Hannibal. I wish… I could give her back to you.”

_I wish I could give it all back to you. The time we lost. And all the years before this..._

“Our paths may never have crossed had darker events not conspired to set us on a journey and folded in crisp lines to draw us together as one,” Hannibal answered, trembling fingers stroking down the side of his face.

“Bullshit.” Fingers wound tighter in a sharp tug of silver strands, drawing the older man’s eyes back up in an unwavering gaze of blue. “ _You_ are my home, Hannibal. I crossed oceans to find you once already…”

Will’s mouth ticked up in an amused smile, caught between the flashes of bewilderment and adoration crossing the older man’s face.

“Twice, _technically_.” He turned away from lips seeking to cover his own, pressing his ear over the heart stuttering back in a thud of agony. “What makes you think there is a corner of this earth or stone I would not overturn in search of your walls to rest my bones beneath? I would find you...”

“Your bones may be all to remain filling my arms in the end, Will.”

“Envisioning kneeling over my deathbed already? Always romantic, believing we'll make it to old age.” Will winced at flashes of pain gathering in maroon eyes looking down. “It’s not _your_ touch I cannot bear, Hannibal. The idea of human contact as a whole is _vulgar_."

 _It fills my lungs in knotting thorns of rising blood and bile, drowning from the inside out, searching for you and trying to escape once I've found you. I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm trying._

“Am I to bear witness to the death of our compassion, Will?” The heart beneath his ear fluttered, stilling in a quiet rattle between beats. “To sit idly at your behest to watch you suffer?”

“I love you. Is it not enough?”

“I will wait.”

“For how long?”

“However many lifetimes you request of me, William.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates, everyone! I am trying to get back on track! 
> 
> I have wanted to readdress the events of Chapter 6 from a more intimate level of what Hannibal associated with starvation, how he was able to bear the physical manifestations, but not the suffering inside his mind remembering or watching the life literally drain from Will's body. Being helpless as a boy, and choosing to take control as a man, and finally be able to save at least one person he deeply loved. (Even if by that act of saving future scarring occurs, he knows he did not suffer irrevocable loss.) (And also touching on the moment in time when Hannibal loses faith in God, humanity, social justice.) 
> 
> At the same time, Hannibal is trying so hard to let Will see him, to realize there is something still left to be discovered between them, to stay for, to survive.


	71. Chapter 71

_Golden rays of light filtered through twining branches of evergreens brushed in drifting white snow. Will stared up between branches to feel warmth spread across his forehead and kiss his cheeks, a faint smile touching his lips. A single bright red cardinal hopped after its mate in a flourish of wings, carrying a twig of berries in its beak. He breathed deep, winding through a thicket of ferns and budding wildflowers covering a damp forest floor, petals and stems glistening in dewdrops. He bent down and plucked a handful of violet speckled lavender into his hand in a single sweep_. _Twigs snapped behind him._

_Will felt a flood of warmth spread through his chest, looking back over his shoulder with a smile. “You are a terrible predator…”_

_“I will feign indifference to your insults, William…” A palm rested steadily on his cheek, thumb brushing across his bottom lip. “As you are most exquisite prey.”_

_“Are you…” Clusters of violet petals crushed open in a sweet scent of healing against a waistcoat. “…going to eat me now?”_

_Maroon eyes glowed softly. “If only you were to touch my lips to sustain my soul, Will, would I devour you whole in every waking moment…”_

 

 

Eyes fluttered open slowly to squint through a cascade of bright light. Lungs filled with rolling hills of budding lavender and majestic gardens swept in morning dew. Will rolled to his side, inhaling a scent of rich coffee and crumbling pages of weathered books. His eyes blinked open and closed in a lazy haze of filtering light and dark. Fingertips touched medical tape coursing down the length of a tube dripping clear liquid through a needle bandaged into his arm. His gaze fell on a familiar thick cable knit woven in a light shade of hazel wood falling down across a bare golden shoulder. A peaked chin tucked delicately into its scoop neck stained in faint splotches of motor oil.

_Have you run out of a suitable collection of fine linens and cashmere, Hannibal, and are now dipping into my shabby assortment of comfort?_

Nuzzling a head into his palm, Will watched the older man slumped in a chair near the bed fast asleep, a burgundy colored book clasped tight to his chest. He breathed quietly, eyes flicking to a nightstand covered in a variety of ceramic cups of half consumed coffee and stacks of tattered books. His gaze returned to lips parted in shallow breathing, sun kissed in a pensive frown and a shadowy jaw line. Silvery streaks of long jagged hair pulled loose from a tiny elastic band and fell over closed eyes rimmed in dark circles. A small smile touched his mouth as maroon eyes slipped open.

“Hannibal…” Will breathed out his name in a flutter of aching heart strings, taking in the face struggling to wake. It filled with pain and then relief in a mere flashing moment. “You look like shit.”

The older man raked a hand through his hair, sending a cascade of grey falling over stretching shoulders, exhaustion clinging to a hoarse voice, “Thank you, Will.”

“I wasn’t aware growing out your hair in the fashion befitting old world Vikings had suddenly begun trending in my absence?”

Will stifled a chuckle at a slow blink of dark eyes. He squinted hard, sure that for a moment, a faint shade of red blossomed across arcing cheeks.

“A most unflattering description,” Hannibal grumbled, glancing over a ceramic cup before bringing it to his lips.

“It suits you…” Eyebrows raised and Will tripped over his tongue in a flurry of sound. “Not the description. Your hair. The… Christ. You look… _nice_ ,” He finished flatly out loud, groaning inwardly.

_God, why can’t I just say good morning, I love you, thank you for not killing me, thank you for never giving up, and thank you for taking care of me?_

Ducking his head to hide from a searching gaze, Will struggled up into a sitting position in a tremble of throbs and aches. He grimaced, dragging sheets up and around every inch of visible skin, desperate to escape eyes looking on and following the sweep of his own. His fingers fumbled for an edge of the nightstand, curling around a handle and pulling. Will pulled out a thick pair of dark brown glasses and pushed them onto his face, breathing a quiet sound of comfort. He felt unease settle into the shifting form sitting near as a wave of relief ran through his own.

_I’m sorry. But I need this right now…_

He wasn’t ready to find the older man looking back in a twinge of pain or concealed concern. In a sweeping motion, Will took in surroundings and let out a small sound of pain. Twining leaves accented twisting stems to support blooms of every shade, shape, and size imaginable, covering every inch of the room in foliage and flowers. Myriads of white lilies mingled with sprigs of fresh cut lavender soaking in glass vials of golden oil. Balls of white and blue starry blossoms filled vases surrounded in tiny clusters of light. Everywhere Will looked was beauty, life, and sweet aromas of healing. He felt a set of eyes watching closely in bated breath.

_God. Hannibal._

“Am I still dreaming…” Will asked quietly, mouth wavering between a smile and a thin line of pain. “Or have you recently moved our bedroom out to the gardens?”

“The dead of winter is not generally an ideal time to cultivate flowers, Will, unless one has an adequate greenhouse to shelter them in…” The older man shifted in the chair, fiddling with a cuff of the sweater, before looking up. “And you will not be allowed to venture outside until your condition improves.”

“Did you…” Will closed eyes for a minute, trying to steady throbs of pain inside his chest. “…buy all of these for me?”

_…Why are you doing this for me?_

Hannibal leaned forward, casting eyes around the room calculating if there was any more possible empty space to fill with soft petals and blooms. He looked back, silent, carefully watching a flash of glass reflecting over the younger man’s eyes.

_When you are in so much pain…_

“It’s a little warm in here,” Will interjected weakly, staring at his chin.

“Your fever broke a few days ago,” Hannibal replied slowly, stifling a small sigh. “It is a good sign your body is regulating its own internal temperature again.”

He glanced at the door. “Do you think…”

“What is it I can give you, William?”

_Space? Time? To be alone? To process? To not be seen or heard or thought of? Or—_

“I… could eat.”

The older man rose unsteadily to his feet, sleep clinging to corners of his eyes in streaks of red and shadow. He answered in a short, curt nod before turning away. Will let out a low noise of discomfort, catching a wrist retreating and pulling gently.

“When was the last time you slept…?” Will asked, brows drawing low before glancing up. “When was the last time I… didn’t?”

Maroon eyes flicked side to side in quick calculation. “A week and a half now.”

“Should your recent fixation with exploring time again give me cause for concern?”

“Within the attics of our mind, time merely becomes a rustling gauge of sand slipping through our fingers…” Hannibal stared down at fingers twined around his wrist, dragging eyes up to stare deep into blue gazing back before lashes fluttered and doused them in darkness. “One should always strive to be present to ensure being mindful of every fleeting passage, least we become the architects of our own destruction in a crumbling foundation of time torn away.“

“Hannibal, wait.” Fingers stilled from prying his away. “I… would like a shower.” Will looked up at the IV bag hanging from a thin metal stand then back at a needle in his arm. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can get there on my own yet.”

“May I sit?”

Will winced at the formality, painfully aware of the older man’s consideration of quieting his discomfort in forms of questions and verbal announcements of permission. It hurt. Everything hurt. He hated it.

“Yeah.”

The older man reached for the IV bag, clicking off its drip in a sweep of his thumb. Carefully, Hannibal made a calculated sweeping gauge of distance and sat down on an edge of the bed. He pulled medical tape slowly away, swirling a damp cotton ball across skin before lightly touching the needle.

“This will hurt.”

_It already does…_

“Yeah…”

Will grimaced as the needle pulled out, twirling fingers one by one to ease stinging as a bandage pressed tight over skin. Hannibal disappeared for a moment in the walk in closet, returning with an armful of neatly folded grey pajama bottoms and a white cashmere robe. He shifted the clothing, offering outstretched arms towards Will.

“May I?”

He managed a short nod, gazing at hands folded across his stomach as the older man lifted and carried him to the bathroom in a tangle of sheets. Will tried not to feel a thrum of pain awakening across his skin. Tried not to acknowledge how much it hurt to be touched. How much he wanted to scream.

“I’d like to be alone,” Will said abruptly, swearing softly at roughness bleeding into his words.

“Would you concede to soaking in a bath instead?” Hannibal stared at the floor, settling the younger man’s body against the counter, hands shoved deep into trouser pockets. “It will be some time before you are able to stand on your own without assistance. Massage therapy is only able to afford a particular amount of stimulation to aid a patient’s recovery.”

“Am I officially your patient again? Getting knocked unconscious in the shower could be just what I need to fix my addled mind, Hannibal.”

 _Fuck._ Will shoved a palm over his face, hiding from a flash of agony melting through a cold gaze. _What’s wrong with me?_

“I’ll collect you when you are ready. Excuse me.”

After the figure had retreated, door clicking shut, Will whispered, “Sorry…”

Will barely managed to make it through twenty minutes of lying in rippling water before he broke down. He had tried not to look in the mirror. He had looked everywhere except for bruises and gashes winding down his skin. He wasn’t sure when he had started crying. He wasn’t sure how to stop.

He tried to muffle sounds he was making when a knock at the door sounded. Another knock. And then the door swung open. Will protested weakly when arms lifted him from the bath, quickly and carefully clothing his body in detached sweeps of touch. Maroon eyes gazed at a wall behind them, gaze averted from naked flesh. Hannibal pushed shaking arms through sleeves of the robe, drawing edges of fabric together, briefly running knuckles down the side of his face. Will pressed lightly back into them, eyes closing.

By the time Will found himself tucked back into bed, his sobbing had quieted and limbs had worn out from the effort. Heat flushed his cheeks with shame. A crème colored tray was placed on his lap, accented by a single stemmed red rose resting between a steaming cup of tea and a pale colored broth brimming inside a ceramic bowl. A silver spoon quivered next to a golden brown slice of peaches covered in powdered sugar and sprinkles of brown cinnamon.

Drawing eyes up from the tray, Will looked back at the older man sitting near, staring down at his mouth. Hannibal quickly looked away, staring out a window to the right of them.

Pain crackled out aching lungs, eyes stinging. “Chicken soup?”

“Broth… yes,” Hannibal corrected, glancing back with a wrinkle of his nose.

Will felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Still sore about me reducing your hard labor to two worded descriptions?”

“Beleaguered,” The older man growled lightly, squaring shoulders in a stance of offense. “Grateful you have not yet stored our pantry in white and red labels of the Andy Warhol variety and tried to convince me of its nutritional value of high sodium and certain cardiac arrest.”

Short, sharp laughter bubbled up and out of Will’s mouth before it turned to coughing, holding his side in a wheeze of pain. Hannibal touched his shoulder gently, eyes wide, silently questioning. Will nodded with a fleeting smile and the hand retreated.

“For thousands of years, many cultures have believed bone broth to be a nutrient rich source to aid the body in healing.” The older man pushed a bowl into his hands, helping lift it to his mouth. “In ancient Chinese culture bone marrow is considered to nourish one’s soul and sustain ‘jing’ which is considered the reservoir of life force residing in all earthly beings.”

Warm liquid slipped into Will’s mouth, eyes closing as it ran down his throat and spread through his body, shivering with the sensation of the older man stroking organs and tangle muscles tenderly from the inside.

He weakly pushed the broth away, eyeing the dessert in feigned suspicion. “Are those boiled canned peaches?”

Maroon eyes flashed red in anger before fading, detecting hints of teasing blurring the edges of Will’s soft tone.

“Never in this lifetime will I feed you such an atrocity again unless under threat of imminent death,” Hannibal answered sharply, mouth ticking down in a deep frown before it melted away. “Peach clafoutis. A recipe my mother used to make when I was a boy. It is a light custard dessert baked in the oven. Properly served it is sprinkled with hints of cinnamon and dusted lightly in powdered sugar.”

“Peaches aren’t in season here, Hannibal. Neither are the flowers…”

“I will drape your windows in sun kissed bougainvillea blossoms and pink blushing peonies until you are adrift along the coastlines of San Remo on a warm afternoon.” The older man stared out the window, light dimming in his eyes as hands clasped his knee. “I will fill your eyes in Persian starlight of white _allium cristophii_ surrounding your bed to gaze at when you wake. I will rest soft lilies around the outlines of your body as you lie in a garden of sheets transforming the world for you…” Hannibal stared at the space between his hands, where Will’s once fit perfectly, a flood of grief fading from his gaze. “…until you are able to reach out and seek it once more for yourself.”

“Thank you,” Will said softly, running a thumb across healing knuckles before kissing the older man’s hand and letting go. He tried to block out a glimmer of pain caught in his peripheral vision “Are you going to eat something?”

“Lacking an appetite as of late…”

“Hannibal.” Will reached forward, tugging at his sweater hanging on the older man’s frame. Lifting its hemline, he sucked in a breath. Thin gaunt ribs stared up. “ _Look at me_.”

“I’m sorry, Will.” Hannibal fixed his gaze on the floor, refusing to look up.

“I’m not fucking eating anything unless you do!”

Maroon eyes dragged up. _Language._

“You heard me the first time!” Will growled, releasing the sweater, lip curling in disgust then rage for being unable to care for himself, let alone for all that he loved. “And no I will not word it differently so as not to offend your delicate sensibilities. If you want me to starve right along side you then go right ahead.”

“I…” The line of Hannibal’s mouth trembled in a flash of pure fury, blinked away beneath a still mask. “…will finish whatever you are unable to… _IF_.”

“If what, Hannibal?”

“You allow me to examine your dressings in a conscious state.”

“Will you…” Will let out an unsteady breath, tipping his head up towards the ceiling. “…need to touch me or just look?”

“They must be changed, Will,” Hannibal admonished gently. “It is necessary to prevent the possibility of infection.”

Color drained from the younger man’s face. “Can’t I just take more antibiotics?”

“William.” Aching stirred every rise and fall of his name, pleading.

“Alright…”

They spent ten minutes eating in silence, passing a bowl of broth back and forth between them. He wondered if this would be the closest they would get to their lips touching. Will tried not to wince when their fingers brushed and tried even harder not to notice pain it caused the older man each time. Blue eyes mirrored back in the tea’s reflection. He quickly covered it with a flat palm.

_I don’t need the fortune of leaves to tell me what I’ve become. What we’ve become._

“What… am I drinking?” Will asked slowly, nose wrinkling from a bitter scent of musk mingling with sweat. “Please tell me it is not out of some kind of horse known to cure mankind’s ailments.”

“Winter Cherry,” Hannibal noted, lifting a cup and staring into its glowing gold liquid. “Ashwagandha is believed to be one of the most ancient medicinal herbs derived from India. It is said to promote vigor of that of a thousand wild stallions and strengthens the body to speed up healing.” Sipping on its contents, he nodded to the cup clasped in Will’s hands. “Please try some.”

“It’s bitter,” Will answered, sipping in a mouthful and swallowing hard.

“As a tonic, the root’s particular properties culminate to create a naturally occurring sedative.”

“Trying to drug me?” Will arced a brow, head tipping to the side. “Or… you for that matter?”

“Attempting to bring peace to us both.”

“Mmm…” Swallowing down its remaining contents, Will set the cup back down into its saucer in a clatter, eyeing the slice of pie with a faint smile. “I think I prefer the dessert.”

Tangy peaches filled Will’s mouth in rays of sunshine and fading boats coasting along glimmering water. His eyes closed for a moment, hum of pleasure quivering on his tongue. He found the older man watching the fork slip back out of his mouth closely.

Quickly, Will flushed scarlet, shoving a scoop of pie in the older man’s direction. “Here.”

“No,” Hannibal answered quietly, pushing the fork away. “Thank you.”

“ _Here.”_ Will growled, forcing the dessert between frowning lips.

Maroon eyes widened, fingertips curling rigid and then relaxing, caught between flickers of hurt and unwavering adoration.

“Thank you…”

_For being here. For being with me. For… being mine._

“…for this.”

“I will always provide for you, William.”

Plucking the tray from his lap, Hannibal set it aside on an empty chair and reached for a front of the robe.

“Wait…” Will placed a hand over one settling on a cashmere collar, lowering his trembling lashes to cheeks. “Will you… give me something for the pain, Hannibal?”

“For the wounds of your flesh…” Gentle fingers tipped his face back up. “Or the scars upon your heart?”

His mouth trembled, cheeks flushing bright. “ _It hurts.”_

“A reminder you breathe another day.”

Running a hand back through hair with a soft sigh, Will struggled to sit upright and remain still to be examined. He watched the older man pull on a thick pair of medical gloves, creating a barrier between their skin.

 _I want you to touch me…_ Tears clung to the corners of his eyes. _I just can’t…_

“I will administer something for the pain when we are finished,” Hannibal said, setting the medical leather bag down, a leathery dog curled at their feet, glinting with a shining gold lock.

“Has that always been there?”

“Merely a precaution.”

“For which one of us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys still here? <3 You are. That makes me immensely happy. <3 Thank you!


	72. Chapter 72

Hannibal focused his breathing, pulling in long inhales of air through his diaphragm, and exhaling slowly through his mouth. He forced muscles in his face to relax, to wash over in an unreadable mask to hide from blue eyes gazing up through mirrored glass. Will quivered with flashes of pain as arms slipped out from the safety of white cashmere. He arranged a drape of fabric across the younger man’s hips in a feeble attempt of comforting modesty. He placed a palm at the small of the younger man’s back, lifting his hips and gently pulling jersey down his legs. He swallowed down a faint heat as fabric slipped free, draping it across the chair. Hannibal glanced back at glasses disappearing beneath skin, letting out a faint sigh.

Red stole out from beneath an arm slung across the younger man’s face, pushing thick frames into a bridge of a peaked nose. Hannibal dabbed an alcohol soaked cloth across pink lash marks running up trembling thighs. How long until the poison left his body completely? Until it no longer appeared as though a whip had split open skin? He tried to stifle simmers of anger boiling his blood, sweeping cloth over fading chaff marks encircling ankles.

_I ought to have taken better care of you..._

“The wounds appear to be healing,” He noted to break the thick silence settling between them. “They should begin to fade shortly.”

“Mm-hmm…”

For a few minutes, Hannibal swirled ivory tea tree balm up and down wounds twining around legs, palms searching out familiar curves and hollows in a pretense of medicinal touch. He longed to start at quivering ankles and kiss his way up to find the seam of Will’s mouth and muffle small pained sounds with his own, to breathe softness back into shadowed, fragile lungs. He chewed a corner of his bottom lip to regain concentration, ignoring a familiar pressure pooling between his legs.

_William, would you allow me to fill my mouth with the salt of skin for even a moment? To show how much I have longed to have you near?  
_

“Is it possible for you to roll onto your side, please Will?” Hannibal asked, voice coming out in a husky whisper.

“Mm…”

Will rolled obediently to his side, hugging an arm limply around the front of his chest. Lashes fluttered on his cheeks, hiding underneath a flourish of falling curves. Hannibal imagined pressing his mouth to each eyelid and whispering softly into the shell of the younger man’s ear. Dragging up the hem of a t-shirt, Hannibal examined a flourish of red and white jagged marks running down rigid shoulder blades and fading at the small of his back. He drew down the sheets for a moment, staring at a grayish green set of teeth marring soft flesh. He covered the mark quickly, looking away, jaw clenching tight. He pulled a small glass jar onto the bed, drenching his fingers in a golden liquid of lavender oil.

“There once was a Greek military physician. His name was Dioscorides. The Emperor Nero was said to have held his intellect for the world of medicine in the highest regard…” Oil slicked over jagged marks down the length of Will’s back. “He spent many years studying medicinal plants around the Mediterranean to aid warriors on the battlefield. He was one of the first to discover a myriad of uses of lavender both internally and externally. For many years, Roman soldiers were admonished to take sprigs of it to clean wounds and treat various ailments.” Hands dipped beneath sheets, coasting down thighs and then back up over shaking arms and shoulders. “The word lavender originates from the French term _lavendre,_ which many believe stems from the idea of bathing in a fountain of its bluish petals, to provide water of both cleansing and healing.” Hannibal fingertips trailed down an arching neck, tipping his head to the side. “Do you imagine scars of the soul can be soothed by consuming delicate blooms alone?”

“Nnn…”

With each sweep, the younger man moaned as fingertips pressed oil into rough flesh, burying a flushing face behind splayed fingers. He pushed back into the touch, simultaneously shifting away, precariously tipping near an edge of the mattress. Will yelped as knuckles skimmed down the side of his hips, dipping near his inner thigh, rolling sharply to the left to escape. Hannibal bit down on his tongue in reprimand.

_Too soon._

“Will it be too painful to lift your hands above your head?” Hannibal asked quietly, quickly drawing the body back to him, touching bandages hidden beneath draping white jersey. “I need to examine this.

Minutes ticked by in silence, neither of them speaking, frozen in their positions of curling flesh and rigid bones, unable to reach out, to stare at the other from a distance.

“I can…” Reaching for the medical bag, Hannibal pulled out a pair of metal sheers and turned back to the crumpled figure. “…cut your shirt away if you would find it easier to bear.”

A fluttering hand brushed down his, pushing away, voice clouded in soft falling rain. “What if I like this shirt?”

“If past history is a predictor of future behavior, Will, then I believe it is safe to conclude it would not matter which shirt I selected… you would feign some sort of interest to spare its life.”

Will wriggled up into pillows, staring down at retreating waves of fabric covering naked hips. A flicker of pain and then guilt painted his lips in a wavering smile. Reaching out, Hannibal pulled sheets over his legs, tucking them in and around to ensure his skin remained hidden.

The younger man swallowed hard, wincing, unable to meet his gaze even from behind one way glass. He tried to pull the shirt over his head, gasping and then groaning from the effort. Glimpses of a navel appeared then a narrow ribcage giving way to a bandaged chest. Hannibal took in a sharp breath, affixing his gaze to the headboard before reaching over and touching shaking hands lifting up the shirt.

“Allow me.”

Cascading white fluttered to the mattress between them. Tears rimmed bright blue eyes. Will was staring at a spot the older man’s shoulders, clasping trembling hands tight against his legs. Sparks of pain filled Hannibal’s mouth in a sharp breath, fingertips brushing through a wave of fallen curls.

_Are you afraid of what I might see, Will? Or are you merely afraid of being seen once more? By me?_

“Lie back, please.”

Peeling away the bandage, Will pressed back into a collection of pillows, trying to find a place to burrow as the older man leaned forward to inspect dissolving stitches threaded over a jagged knife wound. Fluttering breath warmed his neck. His eyes slipped closed, purposefully turning the lower half of his body away. He heard internal ticking of the younger man’s mind echoing in fingers curling in sheets, worry flashing in his eyes.

“It will not scar.”

“A-at least… they m-match now?”

“Nothing broken.” Hannibal looked up with a sharp glaring reprimand, eliciting a yelp as fingers pressed into bruising ribs to inspect residual damage. “The discoloration of bruising is beginning to fade as well.”

Both hands flew up to hide the younger man’s face, dragging away glasses and tossing them away, a sob wrenching out between spaces of fingers. “I-I-I’m s-sorry…”

_ Too soon _ _._

“Will?” Hannibal swore internally, yanking his hands away.

“I’m s-sorry…” Will hunched further forward, drawing knees up to his chest. “They aren’t yours.” Breath rushed out of Hannibal’s mouth as though a fist crushed down against his kidneys. “T-that I’m marked by s-someone else.”

“Quiet!” A growl left his throat, shaking the younger man by his shoulders.

In a flash of limbs, Hannibal pinned the quivering body flat to the mattress, fingers curling around wrists and holding still. Will twisted in a symphony of soft cries and protests as pressure increased, knees coming up to rest on either side of his hips. Tears streaked out of rapidly blinking blue eyes, head shaking weakly in protest.

 _No, Will, I’m not…_ Hannibal flinched, easing the pressure of his grip. _Do you imagine I would force you? Will…_ His hands disappeared from trembling arms completely, drawing back. _Will…?_

“How dare you apologize, William,” Hannibal growled between clenched teeth, shifting weight to one side and freeing the body beneath in a tangle of thorny breaths.

_It is not my intention to wound you… I would never harm you, Will._

Sobbing, Will rolled to the side, flinging an arm up over his eyes to cage his face in a shield of sinew and straining muscles. Aching cries became unbearably loud, raking across his heart in a twist of bloodied nails. Hannibal let out a breath slowly, eyes ticking across a series of fresh, livid teeth marks winding from a frail wrist and up the underside of a slopping forearm. An incisor grated across bottom teeth, pulling the arm away and up in a bruising grip. Wide blue eyes flashed, figure shrinking away in a huddled shiver of limbs.

“Would you care to explain this to me, Will?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add an addendum to this chapter (and the next) as it speaks to me on an intimate level. As someone who has personally struggled with self harm in the past and depression (past/present/future) I know some of you out there who might be reading this are probably going through something~whether its present in your physical life or manifestations of your own conscience. 
> 
> I want you to know you are not alone. You are a starlight shining in a dark sky and you are beautiful. And you are cherished. The wounds of your heart puncture your skin and through it shines bright clusters of galaxies burning bright. And someone, somewhere, will gaze up in awe and admiration of the constellations of your soul and explore each one, mesmerized by the paths your life has taken across canvas of black. You cannot be alone if thousands of eyes and outstretched hands reach for something so magnificent, an entire universe they long for but may not understand. You are precious, so shine bright and know in your darkest moments the light shines through your eyes and we all look back starstruck for having been allowed to see you.


	73. Chapter 73

“I-it h-helps.”

Will’s words stuttered off trembling lips, turning his head away from a heated gaze glowering down. Shame flushed his cheeks. He pressed his cheek into a soft pillow, trying to focus on a dim corner of the room to keep his mind from being transported to dark, cramped corners filled in gathering shadow. A rush of fear filled his lungs. He felt small once again. Helpless to the force above him.

Dragging his gaze up, Will yanked the arm away and cradled it against his chest as if he could hide what he had done. As he used to hide it below thick oversized sweaters and denim jackets. It was the first secret he had whispered into his ear. His alone to keep. And no one else’s to know. It was his. It belonged to him. He had carried the secret with a tiny pride inside a gaunt chest, knowing it would be there to soothe in darkest hours. He was unique even then. Alone. A boy lingering on an empty corner of the schoolyard painted in fading bruises and bite marks coursing across his skin.

“ _William_.”

Dark eyes regarded him in a breathless whispering heat and threat of sharp edges. Lines of the older man’s mouth rippled in a tremor of shadow, drawing closer to loom above the upturned face. Nails raked down the side of his arm, streaking through teeth marks, fading pink to white.

“Explain,” Hannibal snarled, eyes narrowing to slits.

_Please don’t look at me… Please. Don’t look._

“H-how can I explain something…” Will’s voice cracked, lashes fluttering rapidly against his cheeks. “…I don’t understand?”

“This, William…” Maroon eyes smoldered out to dark coals. “…is something I cannot, and _will not_ , allow to continue.”

_You don’t understand._

Will retreated to a safe corner of his mind, allowing rushing sounds of a bubbling brook to fill his ears in a soothing trickle of rhythm. He was safe there. As he had always been. He held the arm to his chest, absently stroking and pressing into sore skin. Blossoming throbs coursed up his arm, steadying his breathing. He watched the older man from peripheral vision. Hannibal dragged off latex gloves. They snapped free of his hands and landed in a rumpled heap.

Cable knit folded up flexing forearms in curt tugs. Fingers tapped against knees, stretching open and curling into shaking fists. He inhaled sharply, a stab of pain reverberating in his chest. A wounded sound left Will’s lips, pressing skin to teeth and biting down. Bright red blossomed behind his eyes, fading into a comforting release of pain and numbing relief.

“Will!”

A hand lashed out, dragging the arm away. Will stared at the arm shackled to a firm chest with a soft whimper, spit trailing down his cheek. Hannibal closed his eyes, head tilting up toward the heavens. They were both praying now. The younger man trembled as soft lips pressed over the spot his teeth had been a moment before in a soothing and violent caress.

“Will…” Hannibal spoke softly, words a gentle breeze rustling through a field of poppies. “I am going to lie down next to you.”

In a brush of fingertips, Will was turned on his side, knees tucked out in front of him. Hannibal lowered to the bed, mirroring the image, their knees barely touching, curling up close enough to radiate a faint heat. The older man carefully cradled a throbbing arm to his chest, reaching out to stroke a gentle line down the side of Will’s face, staring hard at his mouth, as if imagining their lips entwined.

“N-no…” A fluttering whisper answered.

“Oral fixations have always been considered an act of self soothing…” Fingertips caressed each bite mark one by one. “After all, what is our most fundamental primal instinct except to feed, to nourish life, hard wired into the circuitry of human brains?” The older man glanced up, continuing to caress in soft, soothing circles. “Does it bring you comfort, Will?”

“Don’t do this, Hannibal… I can’t.”

Fingertips tilted his lowered eyes back up. “Will.”

“It…” Will winced, drawing away. He stared at motor oil staining a neckline scooping around a peaked collarbone. “…quieted my fear in the dark once.”

“And did it help distract you from nightmares seeking out your fragile body in small spaces? Shielding your mind from the transient abuse following from the shores of Biloxi to the lake boats of Eerie?”

“P-please.” Tears flooded his eyes.

Hannibal looked away from the broken gaze, bringing the younger man’s hand to his lips, voice dipping low in a tremble of pain, “I would have liked to offer my protection to you then.”

“Boys protecting boys from unspeakable acts of terror?”

“There is nothing I would not offer you, William, of myself, of my life.” A warm mouth pressed into his trembling palm, brushing across fingertips. “To know you lived. To know you are cherished.”

“Hannibal, please, I c-can’t…”

Drawing closer, Hannibal smiled weakly up into eyes searching for a safe space to rest, carding fingers through soft hair. His smile wavered as the younger man pulled away, staring down at blossoms of red twining up his arm, pressed between them like a crucifix to keep the other safe, to keep them apart.

“Does it soothe your soul even now?” The older man cupped the side of his face, threading their fingers together, refusing to release even as Will tugged, tears streaking down cheeks. “Then please allow me to help you, William.” A kiss pressed into his wrist. “To give you what a single soul could not provide for you then. Comfort.”

Will pressed a sob into his palm, watching as his arm fell limply against a tangle of sheets, a numbing cold settling against his skin from where hands had once been. A palm cupped the back of his head as the older man pulled forward, pressing a sturdy wrist up to his lips.

“N-no.” Will drew back, shaking his head.

“Please, Will…” Hannibal looked down in a storm of gathering shadow, offering his arm again, glimmers of tears filling dark eyes. “What more can I offer you except the consummation of flesh if you are no longer able to seek my touch?”

Timidly, Will wrapped fingers around the older man’s forearm, nuzzling against it with short, shallow breaths. “I… don’t want to hurt you.”

A tender smile brushed across rigid lips. “I have always found the idea of succumbing to harm at your hands comforting, Will.”

“A-always?”

“Always…” The older man whispered, pressing a chaste kiss against his forehead. “I have always had faith in your ability to choose the path in whatever Fate you imagined I deserved. Dying at your hands would have allowed my life reason.”

“H-hannibal…” Sharp teeth grazed across a throbbing basilic vein.

“No, dear William…” A steadying pressure pushed his head forward. “As if it were your own flesh pressed to your mouth. As if it was yours. It belongs to you.”

Slowly fingers curled around a thick forearm. Will looked up once into dark eyes, teeth hovering above skin. His eyes slipped closed, clinging tighter to ease shaking limbs. His lips pressed gently down in a trembling kiss. A tongue ran across his teeth, a hum of sound buzzing in the back of his head. It seemed familiar somehow.

_This isn’t the first time I’ve caught your skin between my teeth… This. This is… different. This is… intimate._

Will bit down hard into dense muscle. Salt flooded his mouth. A hiss of shaking pain left the older man’s parting lips. He trailed lips down, nipping once or twice before biting again. Sparks of red faded behind his eyelids. He sucked flesh between his teeth and mouth, gentle waves of peace washing over a racing mind. A rush of numbing release trickled through his blood. A hand ran through his hair tenderly, ebbing rustles of encouragement murmuring above his head. He whimpered, casting a tongue over several bright red marks on Hannibal’s skin.

“V-very good, William.”

Will swallowed hard, lifting a bent head. “H-hann…?”

“Promise when you need this…” Hannibal blinked open maroon eyes tinged in heat and gentle promises. “…you will allow me to bring you what comfort I can provide you, William.” A flickering smile touched his lips. “Allow me this.”

“P-promise…”

Flesh slipped away from Will’s mouth as he released the arm. A wave of exhaustion sent his body crumpling to the bed. Stillness flooded his mind in warmth spreading down his neck and into his chest. The last image he remembered was Hannibal gazing down with soft eyes, stroking the bite marks on his arm, before quiet breathing lulled him back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (An addendum to the addendum of previous chapters: In case you need a reminder: If it hurts too much to breathe, remember you are the strengthening force of a hurricane. Take breath in knowing you are a colossal element to remain untamed. Know your end is never your end. It is merely a pathway in a different direction yet untraveled, yet to be discovered by your feet alone. If the light is dim, become your own match, ask for others to carry your torch until you are able, lighting the way to all you have yet to see.) 
> 
> Again, I apologize for delays! It's not a lack of creativity, more so a lack of adequate time to write in the evenings!


	74. Chapter 74

Pouring water cascaded down a roof and coursed through pipes, pattering across a ground covered in melting snow and a thick veil of fog. A hard corner of a desk pressed into Hannibal’s chin. A sharp watch face embedded into his cheek. He was lulled out of sleep by the sound of rain and rumbling crackles of colliding clouds. His eyes opened slowly, hazily trying to focus on a spine of a bent book teetering on the edge of collapse. Groaning, he dragged upright into a leather chair, blinking to try and shake away fringes of lingering exhaustion. His bones creaked, aching as he stretched. He glanced out glass doors behind him. It was either twilight giving way to morning or dusk fading to evening. Time was a blur now. Inconsequential to anything but…

_Will…_

Hannibal startled fully awake, glancing down at his watch. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sleeping, only that he had left Will alone, unattended, and without letting him know he had gone. It had been easier to slip out in the middle of the night to find a place of solace from nightmares clinging to the younger man’s mind. A reprieve from wavering eyes and whimpering noise. Solitude as a firm reminder to only observe, not to touch, to keep an adequate measurement of distance between them.

“Will?”

Clattering thunder sounded overhead, muffling out the younger man’s name as Hannibal proceeded to weave down the hall. He took flights of winding stairs two at a time. Silence, once his revered place of comfort, is what haunted him now. He had tried to conceal his habit at first, a needy desperation to know where Will was at all times. He had said it was a matter of safety, masking his concern by labeling him a fall risk to be assisted from surface to surface, from room to room, sheltered in arms and hands. Will allowed touch then, but only then, under the guise of medical assurance and safety. Hannibal had been unable to sleep more than a few hours without waking with a start and reaching out to test the younger man’s pulse, to ensure he was still breathing, still beside him, still real. Fear clung to the insides of his lungs now, fear that he would once again wake and find—

_Where are you, Will?_

Throbs of a heartbeat stuttered inside Hannibal’s chest, clenching tight, gaze moving up through a tangle of empty sheets. His eyes followed in a calculated sweep of the room, moving over every object one by one, as if searching for outlines of the younger man stashed directly in view of various shapes and colors to be discovered. His hands began to shake at his sides, teetering unsteadily to the side, moving towards the bed. He touched an indentation of where a body had once been. It was cold.

“William!” Hannibal yelled, blinking rapidly to fight a sting of tears.

“H-hann…?” A soft cry from the bathroom answered.

Stalking towards the sound, Hannibal felt a surge of relief ebb to a simmer of anger clouding with desperation, a need to see the younger man at once, with his own eyes, to touch and make sure he existed. That it hadn’t been a cruel trick of his imagination. To find Will only had existed inside his mind. The door clattered open with a push.

“Will?”

A flash of glasses reflected in the dark. Hannibal waited for his eyes to adjust, dimming grey then black, vision slowly sharpening into focus. The younger man looked up, lips wavering in a blipping heart trace of a frown struggling to a smile then dipping back down. He was crumpled at the foot of the sink, head resting back into its corner.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Hannibal asked, forcing warmth through cold seeping down the back of his throat.

“I…I just needed… I thought I could make it here and back without you.”

_Without me._

Hannibal knelt down, carefully, slowly, mindful not to scare away what he had captured and caged. “How long have you been here, Will?”

“A few hours maybe. I-I, uh…” Will blinked rapidly, letting out a short burst of laughter, shrugging to show he wasn’t in pain, as if he was merely taking a rest on the floor. “I… really don’t know.”

“Why…” Hannibal drew in a slow breath through his nose, touching to fingers to brush away a stray curl. His skin was warm. Real. “Why didn’t you call out for me?”

“I wanted—”

Thunder crashed overhead. The younger man jumped, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sound, a rumble of his limbs quivering in the aftershocks of rolling clouds parting. Hannibal inhaled a wafting scent of sweat and anxiety clinging to clammy skin. He was frightened. He clenched his jaw, a spike of anger unfurling deep inside his chest.

_How long have you been wide awake, alone, trapped in darkness while I slept soundlessly below your crumpled form, Will?_

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Will let out after minutes of silence, voice breathless, shaking. “Where were you?”

_Attending to my needs. Heartlessly abandoning your own._

“…Reading.”

The younger man reached out, touching a faint imprint of a watch. “Liar.”

Hannibal gathered the younger man in his arms, tucking him carefully back into bed. He raked a hand back through his hair, fine streaks falling across his eyes. It would have to be cut. They both needed to return to the familiarity of routine, aesthetically and otherwise. He found the steady orchestration of selecting a color palette and complimentary patterns comforting. Laying out each piece of a suit cathartic in an attempt to present an idea of a day in pleasing form.

“You’re bleeding…” Will remarked softly, hand retreating from a blood stain seeping from beneath a waistcoat.

Hannibal cut off a small sound as warmth of fingers retreated. “Excuse me a moment—“

Will caught his hand, tugging once. “Bring what you need here.” Wide blue eyes filled with fading starlight gazing up. “Do you intentionally disregard knowing I was a cop at one point in my life, Hannibal, merely so you won’t have to refuse the offer of me stitching you up?”

His mouth went dry. Entire focus steadily swinging towards a caress of skin, a familiar intimacy of touch, a heady display of simple affection. He stared at the younger man’s mouth as it moved, entranced by its peaked divots and shallow curves. Its subtleties of soft sweetness. _How long, how long, how long_ —a painful mantra stuck in a repetitious loop inside his head. He had never craved human contact before Will. Touch was merely a tool, part of his disguise, a simple mirroring of learned gestures. He ached. His entire being wrought with a sensation just below the skin, an insatiable craving for the simple curve of their joining hands, a modest brush of their mouths. To entwine his arms around a smaller frame and shelter what he had been unable to protect.

“Or is it merely a passing convenience of selective memory when you like me to read you your rights and cuff you? Or…”

When Hannibal came back to his senses, he realized Will had stopped speaking, flushing red cheeks keenly aware of the stare fixated on a quieting mouth. He let out a low breath. He felt pressure of metal handcuffs at his wrist. Vivid images of the younger man’s thighs covered in a fine sheen of sweat, riding hard and moaning, flickering to light, flooding back into his mind with detailed precision of memory. He felt the thick line of his cock pressed tight into a biting zipper.

“Jesus…” The younger man’s eyes fell over a taunt stretch of fabric, immediately letting go, fingers digging into the mattress. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I didn’t, Hann—”

“I’ll retrieve the necessary supplies.”

In a few long strides, Hannibal flattened his body to an interior wall of the bathroom, arching his neck back to stare up at the ceiling. He let out a soft groan. He turned focus to nails biting into his palm, forcing deep breaths in and out of his lungs, each release burning out the back of his throat. He swiped the medical bag off the counter, making his way back to safety of a chair sitting near the bed, away from temptation to seek touch.

“Here…” Will lowered his eyes, patting rustling sheets. “Come on, I promise not to… _say_ anything…” His voice lowered to a breathy mutter of pity and self resignation. “Ever. Ever. Again. Without thinking first. Very smooth, Will, very smooth…”

With another pat, Hannibal propelled from the chair and sat down in an awkward stretch of limbs. The hem of his shirt pulled loose from a taunt waistband. Fingers pushed away the waistcoat. Knuckles trailed across his bare stomach, over his ribs, drifting down to jagged flesh above his hip. Quickly, he began reciting entire passages of _Fasciculus Medicinae_ in full length inside his mind. His silent tongue tripped over Latin pronunciations with clumsy form scattered by warm skin.

_Er che diffe Galieno nel feptimo della terapentica che la doctrina per aucto rita di Plantone aiuto in alcuna…_

“You really have to stop picking me up, Hannibal.” Will glanced up at him quizzically, pushing thick glasses up his nose, tugging a sterilized needle through split flesh. “You pop stitches every time you do.”

“A necessary sacrifice,” Hannibal answered quietly, touching a stubbled chin without looking.

“You are not anyone’s sacrifice. Least of all mine.”

A pang struck his heart, fiddling with imagined lint on his trousers. “Am I not?”

“There.” Scissors clicked, warmth drawing away.

Hannibal looked up at Will, gaze straying from his mouth to blinking blue eyes, in silent question, an open reflection of hunger.

“Not yet…” The younger man whispered, recoiling, brows drawing low before rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, hands threaded across his chest. “I’m sorry, Hannibal.”

 _When…_ A sigh stayed inside his mouth, heart seizing in a selfish thrum. _…may I touch you without pretense?_

“It is… unnecessary to console me, William. I am here when you are ready.”

“Will you ever be able to forgive me?” Will asked, brushing away a look of agony with a hand drawing down his face.

“Do not request forgiveness for sins of another,” Hannibal growled, forcing his words to become soft pattering rain. “You have always remained without sin in my eyes, William.”

“Am I…” The younger man let out a frustrated huff of breath, tearing a white t-shirt over his head and pitching it away, body rigid with curled fists. “Is this going to be our life now?”

“It is not within me to divine such an answer.”

“Were you ever afraid you wouldn’t see me again, Hannibal?”

“I…” Hannibal blinked slowly, gathering up a flicker of anxiety and anchoring it tight in his lungs, regarding eyes framed in dark brown. “…fear I am unable to see you now. Close your eyes, Will. Rest.”

The bathroom door clicked quietly shut. Hannibal leaned against it for a moment, trying to breathe away a tremor in his right hand. They had always been steady without fail. He sighed, glancing down at his disheveled state of half undress and new stitches. Stripping away the rest of his clothing, he stepped into the glass shower and allowed a rush of scalding hot water to hit his chest, skin tingeing pink and then red. His flesh burned from a different kind of heat. His fingers curled over scarlet marks running up the length of his arm, display of restrained intimacy caught between sharp teeth in fleeting moments of contact.

 _Then…_ He groaned quietly, fingers enclosing around his thick cock in a long drag. _There’s this._

Hannibal braced his left arm against a tiled wall, every droplet of water snaking down curves and skin like a caress of the younger man’s exploring mouth. He traced nails up insides of his thighs in swirling patterns. His fingertips brushed over textured flesh, cupping balls in a steady squeeze, soft moan falling from his lips. He gripped the base of his cock, pulling up, head disappearing beneath a curled thumb and forefingers. It throbbed, thrusting forward into a steadily increasing rhythm.

 

_“Do you like when I fuck you, Doctor?”_

_Will leaned over, hands stroking down wrists cuffed to a passenger door, to rest on either side of the older man’s head. A moan left Hannibal’s mouth as Will rocked back onto his cock, grinding their hips together in a slow, heated motion._

_“Do you like our inverted…” Will stroked his own cock, searching for a perfect rhythm of hips and hand, precome dripping down slotted fingers. “…mm…roles?” Hannibal thrust his hips up hard, eliciting a sharp moan, sending the younger man forward, blindly searching for burning lips and tongues. “I haven’t nnn… read you your…nnn rights, Doctor Lecter.”_

_“I…” Hannibal buried his cock deep, hitting a prostrate, sending nails scoring down the front of his chest. “…would greatly appreciate if you ended this pretense of seduction, William.”_

_“Aren’t you enjoying the pleasure of my company?” The younger man leaned back on his heels, hands gripping thighs, head easing in and out between tight cheeks. “After all, these are my lessons in restraint and control to dictate are they not?” A hot mouth brushed at the hollow of his throat, licking, blue eyes gazing up. “Don’t you want me to be in control, Hannibal?”_

 

“Ah…Will…Will…” Hannibal groaned, jerking harder, heat coursing down the length of his body, teetering near the edge.

 “H-hannibal…?”

“Nnn, _William_.”

White liquid rushed across Hannibal’s chest in a thick line, dripping down his fingers, toes curling against cooling tile. He yanked a trembling hand away, swiveling to find a fogged shadow retreating from the bathroom.

“Wait, Will—”

Slamming the side of his fist against a shower wall, Hannibal listened to an unsteady pad of footsteps fading down stairs, jamming silver knobs into an off position. He clambered out of the shower into a curtain fog, snapping a towel off a bar and then his robe in a clamor of pounding feet across the floor.

 _“Kales vaikas!”_ Hannibal swore loudly, prussian blue silk boxers jerked up his legs.

A towel rifled roughly though his hair in a violent drag, slinging it to the floor. His arms shoved into a robe fluttering after in his wake. He wound it around his body, knotting its belt with a fierce tug around his hips. A clatter and muffled yell sounded from a room somewhere below. Dark eyes shot up, narrowing in a hot breath of panic.

Hannibal bounded down the stairs, calling out the younger man’s name, listening for any sound to pull him in the correct direction. Soft muffled cries drew his attention. He turned left on his heel, padding passed the dining room and down the hall towards the study. He stepped through open doors and found the younger man sitting on an edge of the desk, staring blankly out glass at fading mist dissolving in faint sun peeking out from clouds. A small grey book shook in a curl of white knuckles, head bent, a score of crumpled pages of charcoal illustrations floating to his feet to cover a lamp knocked to the ground.

“Will, I would like to expl—“

Blue eyes tore away from windows. “What’s happening to me, Hannibal? Why—why can’t I touch you?” The younger man rose, painfully placing the desk between them. "Why can’t I let you… touch me? Do you even—”

_Want me?_

“—want to be with me knowing I am no longer capable of offering what you need?”

Dark eyes narrowed as Hannibal took a step forward, voice swinging to low pitch. “ _Will._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting facts:  
> 1\. It has been approx. 26 chapters without any kind of smut?!  
> 2\. Fasciculus Medicinae is actually one of the first recorded illustrative medical journals, featuring of course, The Wound Man!  
> 3\. "Kales vaikas!" Hannibal swearing in beautiful Lithuanian: son of a bitch  
> 4\. Hm, a cliff hanger that sort of sounds like Will is in trouble.
> 
> (Brief Hiatus over the weekend, lovely readers! Going to recharge my batteries and visit a friend!)


	75. Chapter 75

“What’s happening to me, Hannibal? Why—why can’t I touch you?” The younger man rose, painfully placing the desk between them. Why can’t I let you… touch me? Do you evenwant to be with me knowing I am no longer capable of offering what you need?”

Dark eyes narrowed as Hannibal took a step forward, voice swinging to low pitch. “ _Will._ ”

*

Letting out a low growl, Hannibal advanced around a wooden barrier in long, steady strides, following after the younger man retreating in backwards steps. “While I appreciate the current need you feel to be defensive…” Will stumbled over an upturned edge of a Persian rug. “…I would like to advise you to stop forming your physical wounds into words intent on causing harm and pushing away…” Blue eyes flashed up as hands stretched forward, wrapping around bare shoulders, pushing a lighter frame back into a bookcase. “I will not…” The older man leaned in, tugging on curls, edge of his thumb pushing a trembling chin up. “…abandon you, Will. Wound me if it is what you need. I will always remain beside you.”

_Even if it kills me. My life is yours._

Will let out a small noise as a cheek nuzzled into the curve of his neck. Hannibal forced trembling fingertips to steady, drawn to faint heat, tracing contours he spent months memorizing to hold gently in his mind. His hands slipped around a trembling ribcage and splaying across shoulder blades, drawing the smaller body into the shelter of his arms. Quivering pine trees drenched in light glinting across fallen rain filled the older man’s lungs, lips pressing into a gentle sloping shoulder.

_Let me hold your demons inside my chest, Will, if you will not allow me to hold you._

The younger man stilled, inhaling sharply, hands hanging limply at his side. His smaller frame began to tremble violently, breath coming out in shallow gasps for air. Hannibal crumbled into warmth, shaking hands slipping over and across warm skin, searching to find a perfect hollow for his body to melt into the one beneath. Hot breath fluttered across the lobe of his ear in another weak sound. Fingers curled against his chest, crushing fistfuls of silk, weakly pushing away and pulling close.

“Will, I…” Hannibal breathed the name softly, fingers carding through soft curls, pulling to expose sweeping lines of a throat to press his lips to it. .

_Miss you…_

Forehead falling into his collarbone, a broken sound echoed across silk. “ _Adagio_.”

Hannibal choked, shoving away and stumbling back to safety of the desk. He felt aching blue eyes following, flooded in tears and a rush of torment. His knees gave way, crumpling into a leather chair. He stared down at shaking hands pressed tight together against his thighs, letting out a low hiss of pain. His fingertips burned with an echo of soft skin fading away. He hid them in a clenched fist, focusing on a different bite coursing through his limbs. It was the first time he had heard the younger man utter his safe word in many months. The only time Will had ever spoken it outside of entwining limbs and heat. It stung. Twisting in a thorny embrace and knotted tight around his heart. He struggled to find his voice, to tamper down a rush of guilt, of longing, the sound coming out in an empty whispering ache.

“In the book of Genesis, Lot’s wife was turned into a pillar of salt for disobeying the command of divine messengers for looking back in empathetic witnessing of destruction…” Hannibal looked up at the younger man slumped against the bookcase, arms slung in tight protection across his bare chest. “An entire city deemed vile and unworthy of the gift of life…” His eyes lingered on fading bruises dimming beneath a sting tears, tearing his gaze away to stare at the floor, voice dipping into a hollow rustle of whispering leaves. “What do you see when you look back, Will, to crumble beneath the very idea of touch and slip through my fingertips?”

“N-n-no!” Will’s voice pitched in a sharp cry of pain, eyes flashing up. “I am not your goddamn p-patient, Hannibal!”

“If you are no longer my patient, William…” Pain filled his heart, forcing his body to relax, to ease back into a position of crossed legs and clinical detachment. “Why is it you persist in asking me to define the current status of our relationship?”

The younger man bristled at the sight, taking a step forward, a fist swinging at his side. “Because I want to hear you say it!”

Hannibal tipped his head, eyes flicking curiously across visible anger rushing across a pensive face. “What is it you would have me say?”

“Anything! Literally anything is better then you pretending this, any of this, didn’t happen. That I’m not—”

“…What do you believe you are?”

“ _Broken_.”

“Will…” Hannibal let out a strangled sound, mouth flinching, rising up to meet a figure towering over.

“No, don’t. Just s-stay where you are.” Will backed away, hands held up in defense, seeking protection of books pressing into his back before edging out into open waters of the room. “Jesus Christ… See? I can’t even bear the idea of being touched! That’s _not_ normal, Hannibal, none of this normal.” The younger man let out a yelping laugh, trembling hand drawing across his face, revealing a bitter smile. “I’ve never been normal, but this, this…well. This is an entirely new level of abnormal behavior on my part.”

“Would you be open to discussing the events manifesting such forms of behavior?”

“Absolutely fucking not!” The younger man snapped, glowering back, arms crossing over his chest in answer to a growl rumbling in Hannibal’s chest. “Don’t look at me like you’re going to rap my knuckles for bad behavior, Doctor Lecter. It’s _my choice_ and the answer is no! I am _not_ your patient!”

“What is it that has you fixated on the idea of free will and choice, William?” Will watched carefully as the older man settled against an edge of the desk, absently pushing a set of pencils and scalpel around its surface, dark gaze studying a flash of metal intently. “Or would you prefer I draw my own conclusions in the silence permeating our lives?”

“D-don’t…” Will shook his head slowly, eyes misting to muddy grey puddles, a fist curled near his hip.

Hannibal studied each layer of flashing emotion peel away with a sudden clinical fascination. If he tempered his emotion, it would be easier to observe than participate. Everything had a natural order to them, a series of arches and dips intent on playing out. If the younger man had reached a state of anger he was edging slowly towards a cliff of resolution. Hannibal tipped his head to the side, wondering briefly what would happen if he merely applied the appropriate push.

_Patience. Exercise restraint._

“Why would you want to be with a man who can’t fuck you, Doctor Lecter?”

“Do not…” Hannibal released a burning breath, dark eyes swinging up in warning. “…test the limitations of my affection for you, Will. You’re blatant intent to push my constraints are wearing thin beneath a poorly crafted veil of curiosity. It is unwise to continue in this line of inquiry.”

“I can’t even…” Will’s voice cracked, mouth trembling in a broken whisper. “…kiss you.” He hid a fall of hair and glinting glass. Hannibal strained to hear him speak. “Except with my teeth. And you merely give me this small smile of reassurance as if it will fix this rift growing between us. That’s not… that’s not right.”

“It is the only form of therapy you have allowed me to prescribe.” His thudding heart slowed to a crawling rhythm.

“I… don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“As you say… it is your choice,” Hannibal answered quietly, stifling out a tremor of need to draw words out of the younger man’s throat and crush them beneath the heel his palm. “Would you like to be left alone?”

Turning away, the younger man crossed to the fireplace, standing before a mantle strung in evergreen wraps threaded with small burgundy carnations. He feebly shook his head no. Glimmering skin disappeared beneath a plush cloak of a cashmere blanket. Will wandered further away, shoulders hunched, looking around as if seeing the room for the first time. He nimbly touched soft petals of red roses blossoming through a backdrop of green. A fledgling pine tree encased in dirt and a copper metal vase perched on a small oak table near the bay windows. Sprigs of white gypsophila accented roses and unfurling ivory lilies beneath a humble twinkle of light.

“Did you do this…” Blue eyes flickered in waves of pain, glancing back over a shoulder. “…for me?” Will asked in a shaking breath, hands a flutter of motion at his side.

_There is nothing I would not do to ensure you came back to me… Will you come back to me?_

“There is a great deal of things I have done for you, William… an insurmountable amount of sin I have committed against you. Cascades of failure I have been able to provide you in ample supply. You will have to be more specific.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Will growled, fluttering hand gesturing at elegant decorations coiling in and around the study in decoration. “Did you do all this?”

“You…” The older man’s gaze strayed to the door then back to hands clasped around his knee. “…would not allow me to continue cooking.”

“Hannibal…” Steady footsteps crossed the room, a brush of fingertips tipping his face upright, blue eyes gazing down. He flinched away from the sudden touch. “You were stock piling our fridge and freezer in unacceptable amounts of pastries that could send an entire country into diabetic shock.” Lines crinkled across the younger man’s brows with a fleeting smile, eyes aching. “Either that or you’re really trying to kill me again. I haven’t yet decided.”

_One might argue the same conclusion in regards to your intentions towards me, Will._

“Idle hands are not something I am capable of withstanding.”

“It’s beautiful…” Will ran a single fingertip over the older man’s ring finger, voice clouded in a flurry of emotion, before pulling away to stare at the floor, at the space between them. “Thank you.”

Stooping, Will settled to his knees on the floor gathering up the lamp and inspecting it for any damage in a turn of his hands. He set it quietly back onto its designated corner of the desk. He rifled through dozens of scattered pages, touching each one timidly, charcoal dust smudging his fingertips and blurring lines of his smiling face looking up in shades of grey and white.

“Time is such a fragmented jumble in my mind. I’m having a hard time reconciling all the missing pieces like an ill fitting jigsaw of all corners and a missing center,” Will said softly, setting the ruined pages apologetically back where he had found them, casting aching eyes around the room. “I missed Christmas…”

“It will return again in a year’s time.”

The younger man rose from the floor, crossing back to a wing back chair and sinking into it with a crumpled posture. “Our _first_ Christmas.”

“Not our first, Will, one of many we have born witness to in passing throughout the years.”

“ _Our_ first, Hannibal.” Will looked up, corner of his mouth ticking up in a fleeting smile intended to reassure and soothe. “Well written letters from prison do not count as having shared a holiday together.”

“We may leave the decorations up for as long as you desire, Will,” Hannibal answered roughly, dipping his head down to escape being seen.

“Decorations won’t bring back the time we lost, but I appreciate the sentiment you are trying very hard not to say…”

His heart throbbed in a steady series of rushing blood. Hannibal reached for a handle of a desk drawer. It dragged open in pitiful groan of grinding wood. His eyes flicked over glimmering passports of unspoken promises of new lives awaiting them. He gnawed on the tip of his tongue to keep down a broken noise, gaze falling over a velvet box muddied in dried bloody fingertips. He quickly pressed away forming tears.

_Perhaps only blood will bind you to my side now, Will._

His fingertips swept up a brown paper parcel tied with a simple ribbon twine. He closed the drawer. A flood of emotion and regret lingering in the corners of his soul. Rising unsteadily, Hannibal walked across the room and stood at the side of the chair, pushing the package towards limp hands. He stared out bay windows shimmering in rays of clouded sunlight.

“Here.”

Fingers brushed against his, drawing the parcel away. “Is this a gun, Hannibal? Because if it’s a gun I don’t think anyone in their sane mind would give—“

“ _Will_.” Hannibal’s gaze flickered to the corners of his eyes, glancing down in a sharp reprimand, blotting softness across sharp edges to ease into a gentle tone. “Open it please.”

Paper rustled quietly, unfolding bit by bit in layers of carefully creased edges and folds. It fell away, drifting towards the floor. Trembling lips parted. A tiny sound of melting snow breathed out. Will stared at the wooden handle inlaid with gentle pearl and glinting blade resting in the upturned palms of his hands. For a long time, the younger man stared at the hunting knife in silence, flashes of Abigail mirroring in eyes looking down and gazing up, passing between them in measured ticks of time.

“Was it…” Hannibal swallowed hard, trying to shrug away a frigid tension settling into his shoulders. “… an inappropriate gesture, Will?”

“No…” Will replied in a soft whisper, blinking away tears. “Thank you.” The younger man got to his feet, reaching forward to draw Hannibal in before pulling away. He shoved his right hand into a pocket of jersey pajamas, looking down at the knife held in the other. “I… didn’t… get you anything.”

Hannibal watched the hand buried from his touch, from his skin, with an intense glimmer of hunger. Fingers twirled inside the pocket, spinning something once before pulling out in an empty tremble. Will met the gaze in a brief fleeting look of guilt and remorse, stepping back to create a few feet of space between them. He took in a steadying breath as if he was unable to breathe if the older man was near.

“Everything…” Hannibal spoke softly, eyes flicking away from a pensive face to glance around at physical forms of his affection draping the room in faint light and bright colors. “…I have ever needed stands here with me in this room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a couple hours before work and didn't want to leave you guys hanging on a tense moment! (This chapter is going to be really long so I am trying to split it up into moments of time) Okay now hiatus for real, love you guys!


	76. Chapter 76

“Everything…” Hannibal spoke softly, eyes flicking away from a pensive face to glance around at physical forms of his affection draping the room in faint light and bright colors. “…I have ever needed stands here with me in this room.”

 

*

“Please…” Will wrapped arms around his bare torso in a shiver of skin, retreating to the other side of the room in long strides. “Don’t…I can’t hear this right now,” He whispered, nails scarring above an aching heart in long red drags. “I don’t want to hurt you… please don’t make me…” Stormy blue gathered up over an arcing shoulder, looking back. “...tell you to stop. You know I’m not ready. Don’t make me say it.”

_Show me your cruelty, Hannibal. The sharp end of a blade. The violence of your tongue. Don’t tread so gently upon my heart in soft utterances and human glances. I am not ready for you to carry my pieces inside your eyes, patiently waiting for them to gather back together. What if this time it doesn’t?_

Stooping next to the fireplace, Will bent away from eyes following each movement. He could feel the older man recoiling, trying to stuff unveiled humanity back inside tight lines and fraying stitches of an ill fitting suit, to keep them both safe. He fiddled with a knob until a crackling glow of orange and black filled the hearth. He pressed fingertips to warming glass, staring deep into embers to force breath to match soft hissing of flickering flames.

“I saw her, you know…” Will said quietly, imagining crescent cheeks and rosy petal lips smiling from behind a dark shadow mirrored in the glass surface. She would always be a part of them. “You too. And Beverly. Mostly Abigail stayed with me though. In that place.”

Smoke trailed in a curl of smoldering ash. “Did it bring you comfort to be surrounded by reflective images of those who cared for you?”

“Comfort?” Will considered the word for a moment, blinking hard to keep his mind present, to keep it from being dragged back into rooms he dared not enter. “ _No_. Not much comfort can be found by being haunted by the dead, Hannibal.”

_Not much comfort in remembering moments of why I needed the dead to keep me alive…._

“Do you feel I am real to you now?”

Bare arches of feet shuffled forward, standing just within his peripheral vision. The older man consciously made sure Will was able to see him at all times now. A presence of meticulous sound and arranged frame.

“Or merely a spectral reminder of desperate coping?”

“Christ. I know you aren’t dead, Doctor, if that’s what you’re asking…” Will growled, eyes sliding up to find a still mask of indifference gazing back, body present without the light of reflection in eyes looking down. “I am not quite that far gone any more. Though I would appreciate it if you quit poking around in my head for answers I am not yet willing to give you…”

He counted across points of his teeth, sucking in a breath to hold it, waiting for rising anger to give away to quiet calming numbness.

“If my coping borders on desperation it might have something to do with teetering on the edge of mortal coils for months to search for you in a life hereafter, only for you to reappear in this one.”

The older man rolled his shoulders back, wincing, glancing at the hunting knife perched on the mantle. “How was it?”

“It?"

_Are you asking me how it felt to have life slowly drained from my body, to lose my grip on reality, thinking I would die without ever seeing you again?_

"Abigail?”

“…Yes.”

“Unerringly practical,” Will answered, corner of his mouth ticking up in a flash of amusement. He could feel a soft smile warming the inside corners of his mind. “Stubborn. A bundle of inappropriately spliced bits of humor.” His words faltered, lowering to a soft pitch of remorse. “Fearless. Determined.”

“The best parts of her fathers…” Hannibal whispered quietly, a brief flicker gathering in the corner of his eyes before dimming.

“She…” He pressed knuckles to his lips, tampering down a weak noise, able to hear scores of apologizes ringing in the older man’s head. “…was beautiful.”

Fingertips glided down the curve of his bent neck. “Do you feel you are a collection of dust, William, where the world has stripped you bare of all you once were and left you behind with a whispering promise of taking what remains?”

Will shook his head, breath catching in his throat. “Not your fault…”

“That is not what I asked you…” Hannibal drew the younger man up from the floor, steadying a swaying body in a frame of hands on shoulders before releasing. Dark unblinking eyes gazed back, twilight fading to a shadow of thickening branches winding to keep him out, to keep from seeing too much. “Have you nothing left to give?”

“That’s not…” Will let his head fall to the side, staring out a window to hide a brush of tears. “…something you are allowed to ask me.”

Snatching glasses off his face, they clattered against the mantle next to the hunting knife. Neither protected him now. Will wondered for a moment if he would ever feel safe again, inside his own skin, outside his own head. He pressed curled fingers into aching eyes, waves of darkness crashing over with a curtain of black etched in red electricity. He felt sparks of pain radiating out from his thumbs, threatening to crush them in a tightening embrace. His skin crawled. He felt empty knowing Hannibal had retreated inside his own shell. Guilty for knowing he had asked. Angry for being unable to take it back. Knowing it’s what he needed.

_I need you._

“Hannibal, will you...” His voice came out in a broken whisper.

Taking in a deep breath, Will opened eyes to stare back at the older man. He looked weary, shoulders sagging forward, shadows clinging to the corners of dark irises. Hannibal took a step back as the younger man took a step forward, eyes flicking to the floor to maintain measured space between them. He felt a heart reverberating in his chest, aching to reach out and connect. It was cruel to offer moments, only to wrench them away in a clamor of panic.

“Will?”

_I have nothing else to offer you right now, Hannibal…Except this shattered version of what once existed between us. To haunt you with remembering sweet easy peace.  
_

In a flash of hands, Will wrapped a hand around a silk belt unfurling in his grasp, skidding feet dragging forward to sway unsteadily inside the space of his own. It coiled to the floor. Tense lips parted as the younger man reached up, parting lapels to expose hard lines running through soft hollows, fingertips following each flick of his eyes.

Will locked eyes on a thicket of dark hair shadowing a path down a navel to rest between rigid thighs, sweeping across a thick cock, remembering it disappearing in soft curling fingers. Hannibal needed nothing but his imagination. He didn’t need him. Will leaned down, ghosting a mouth ticking in self loathing across a peaked hip, dipping to follow a swell just beneath.

“William…” A look of pure rapture washed over Hannibal’s face, breath coming out in a harsh gasp as arms held tight. “W-will…nnn…”

Teeth sank into soft flesh, biting and sucking hard until a red bruise began to form. This was not therapy. Not this time. It was punishment. A gift of resentment, a livid reminder of his own inadequacies. Will wanted him to feel the sting of pain knowing he was unable to bring him pleasure. A selfish reminder all belonged to him even if he was incapable of claiming it.

_Should we not suffer as equals, Hannibal? You offer gentle, sweeping gestures of comfort. I am merely able to offer you this. Just this…_

Fingers unclenched in soft curls as Will rose to his feet, a glower of anger fading from his eyes. He purposefully pressed fingertips into fading bite marks disappearing beneath silk edges until the older man winced with apology. He dragged open the robe, stepping in, pushing hard until they were both stumbling back. Their feet tangled, tripping over an edge of the rug, falling back into soft cushions of the couch.

The larger frame shuddered beneath as their skin melded together. Hannibal purposefully pinned arms to his side, breathing hard, to keep from embracing for fear of the younger man retreating. Will dug his fingers into curving biceps in a bruising grip as dark eyes slipped closed with a weak sigh. He half wanted the older man to force him, to see how far it would go, before one of them truly broke.

_If you break me, Hannibal, can you put me back together in a version of me where this no longer hurts?_

“Why…” Will nosed at edges of fabric, exposing lines of a throat. “Why the hell can’t I give you what you need?”

A broken noise floated across his cheek. “You have given me enough…”

Anger simmered in a pool of rushing blood. Will clenched his jaw, to press out the sensation of overwhelming heat of their chests pressed tight together. He felt the older man’s heart reverberating in pounding beats. His hand wound down a ribcage, nails swiping across a right hip, before fingers curled around a length growing hard beneath mere fleeting touch. A selfish gesture to hurt them both.

“I don’t want…” Will closed aching eyes, a soft clamor rising to a grating scream to push away. “…to only be able to do this in your mind, Hannibal.”

_I don’t want you to find pleasure without me. I don’t want you to wait. I don’t want you to go. I just… want things to go back to how they were…before._

“The physical consummation of desire has never been a necessity, Will, merely a perfunctory response of biology or an indulgence of aesthetic pleasure. It is not a need.” Maroon eyes wavered in a flicker of pain, pulling the hand away. “It was a mistake…”

“Do you think you’ll ever want me again?”

Will hated how weak he sounded, how desperate he was not to suffer alone, unable to stifle throbs awakening across his skin from shadowy rough hands. Hands that had in the end, succeeded in taking his life.

“Because I… am marked?”

_Will I ever… let you back in?_

Dragging weak hands up, Hannibal pressed shaking palms to his lips. “Lie here with me, William,” He replied, voice the sound of waves breaking over a rocky shoreline in a rough whisper. “You are the breath upon my lips. The warmth stealing across my heart. You are fine stitches keeping the fabric of my skin threaded tight together. You are my beginning. And you are my end. You are the first and last desire I shall ever have, Will.” Breath curled over his knuckles, mouth pressing into each arch. “Should you still have me … I am yours. Just as you will always belong to me.”

“And if I can’t? What if I can’t? God, Hannibal… what if I can’t…”

“Then…” An aching breath fell out between clenched teeth. “I will care from you from a distance, in whatever manner you allow, William.”

“I’m s-so…” Will faded away from touch, disappearing into a corner of the couch with curled knees and lowered eyes flooded in tears. “…s-sorry. I think… I need more time…alone? To… sort this out in my own head?”

_Just don’t leave me._

“You may have all the time you need to heal, Will…”

Hannibal covered his eyes with an unsteady hand, inhaling slowly in a tapered breath. He could feel the older man stamping out waves of agony crashing in and around his heart, searching to tie off each one and stem a rush of blood. Will watched as legs swung over the side of the couch, hands a furious blur sweeping up silk and knotting the belt firmly back in place around a waist. The younger man shrunk away as a hand shot out, eyes snapping closed in response.

“Come…” Hannibal whispered, detachment blurring each word in softening forms. “Do you believe you are able to get dressed on your own?”

Will looked up at the hand extended for him to take, mouthing weakly, “Dressed?”

“I made you a promise.”

“Which…one?” Will winced, shaking his head hard, realizing he had spoken out loud. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Go...” Dark eyes looked down and then away. “It’s time we both left the shelter of this house for a few moments...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I missed you! <3 I am back from my trip today so I hope to be posting again regularly. I had a really lovely time so thank you for all the bon voyages~it was a weekend of snowy weather, fire places, and being creative where my friend indulged me with Hannibal and half formulated implied cannibalism jokes. (A much needed break!)
> 
> One more installment of this chapter and then a bit of a time jump for the next. These two are killingggg me. My heart actually hurts.
> 
> Also, quietduna and I have been playing a little game on Tumblr! Tell me your favorite chapter/quotes and I'll turn that particular passage into a set of pretty text from the fic accompanied by heart wrenching gif sets!


	77. Chapter 77

Will had gone up and down flights of stairs three times in various states of dress in a matter of half an hour. The older man had dismissed each choice with a shake of his head, sending him back up stairs to add another layer, gloved fingers tapping against the kitchen counter. His knees buckled from exhaustion on the fourth round, landing in a ragged heap of breathing and an armful of clothing. Hannibal had looked up the stairs, torn between going to his aide, and respecting the space he had only moments ago requested. A quiet, pitiful whine had brought him near, dressing the younger man in layers of sweaters and soft sweeping gaze.

The twenty minute car ride had been silent. Rustling fabric twisting in chairs the only conversation filling space between them. Pastoral countryside had slipped away to form a cluster of quaint buildings scattered throughout a deserted campground community built around a small glistening lake, _Etang de la Bonde._ Will had asked if they were trespassing. Hannibal had merely answered by helping him out of the car and across a sandy shoreline covered in snow. He had settled his body against a cluster of boulders above grey crashing water, carving out a dry spot for him to sit by brushing away puffs of glistening white. The older man thrust a fishing pole in his hand before disappearing back to the car.

Bits of opalescent ice floated across grey choppy waves. Will looked up into a flutter of falling snow escaping from thick rolling clouds wavering between winter and sleeting rain. His breath came out in a rush of heat, shivering against a chilling wind. A thick wool blanket draped around his shoulders. Will glanced back to find Hannibal precariously balancing on the rocks behind him, a silver metal thermos in one hand, a black tackle box in the other, and a cloth bound book teetering precariously in the crook of his arm.

His brows rose in an arc of amusement. “You’re going to slip and break your neck. Give me that…” Will muttered, shaking his head, dragging the tackle box away, head turning to hide a faint smile.

Bright red flushed angular cheeks in another rush of wind as the older man settled in beside him. “Need I remind you I have impeccable balance, Will…”

“Mmm…”

Prying open the lid of a tackle box, Will began to run his hands over various lures mapping out shades of light to dark, ub every color imaginable, threaded carefully to create a unique shape of its own. In his eyes they were all versions of Hannibal and Abigail, shimmering in coiffed feathers, bits of collected animal bones, and twining branches wrapped in silken threads. They were beautiful to him. He selected one strung with black and red speckled guinea feathers accented by dark thread and a gamakatsu stinger hook. After threading it onto the fishing line, Will cast it out towards the lake, a familiar rush of comfort settling in the back of his mind.

Fly tying had been the one thing he had been able to do in bed beside read. Hannibal had complained once about being stabbed in the night by a sharp hook, half accusing Will of trying to take his life. He had been taken aback by a sudden correcting quip of Will having caught him once more. The younger man had tried to cover it up by insisting it was a necessary hazard to expect if one was betrothed to a fisherman. It quickly spiraled out of control in a jumble of attempts to bury each mistake until Will had sought solace behind closed doors of his own room. It had felt like that often. A spiraling mess. Out of his control. Made worse by each attempt at conversation.

Blue eyes slid over to stare at the older man crouched on the boulder, a knee against his chest, a metal thermos at his lips. “Why… do you bother?”

Hannibal let out an audible sigh, raking a hand back through scattering silvery strands. “I wasn’t aware this had become a fishing expedition. I am rather ill quipped for such a thing if that’s the case…” The older man looked over, staring back until Will looked away. “What is it you are intent on catching, Will?”

“H-hann…” Will looked away, rocking back his shoulder in a dull ache.

“You are well aware of the answer to such a question,” The older man answered a little softer, studying creases rippling in his cheeks and forehead. “Would you like to hear me say it?”

“No…” He let out weakly, drawing the wool down across his shoulders and scooting over until the edges of their knees touched. “Sit closer to me. I imagine you aren’t used to freezing your ass off in the hope to hook a fish…”

A metal thermos thrust out in his direction. “Here.”

“I named it after you,” Will mumbled into the canister, steam floating up to cover his face, drinking in a sugary sweet cocoa sprinkled with cinnamon.

“One day you and I will need to discuss your obsession with coffeemakers, Will. And particularly why I remind you of them…”

“N-no… the uh… not the uh…” Will let out a frustrated sigh, handing the thermos back, glancing up in a cross of embarrassment and heated cheeks. “There’s nothing I can say for you to forget that is there?”

“Unlikely.”

“The lure… I named it after something I…never mind…”

Will flicked the pole with a twist of his wrist, watching the line cut through rocking waves in a tendril of light before disappearing. He felt pressure of the knee next to him in a rising heat, the absence of arms around him in a swelling ache of desperation. He shifted uncomfortably beneath the blanket, painfully aware of empty spaces it was unable to shelter. He could hear eyes dragging across inked words, thumbs trailing over and down crinkling pages in determined concentration. The younger man rose quickly to his feet, shoving knees apart, before falling in between them with a frustrated huff.

“Would you like me to sit the book aside, William?”

Will looked up, arching a brow. “Are you going to throw my phone into the lake if I do?”

“Only if I find it a distraction… Is there something…” Hannibal swallowed, pausing between a few beats of his heart. “…you need, Will?”

 _You. Just you_.

“Yes. No… just cold,” Will grumbled, knowing he wasn’t convincing anyone, not even himself in such a pathetic tone. “What are you…thinking about?”

Eyes flicked up, unspoken emotion clouding a face in creasing lines, looking out across the lake in deep concentration. “The passage of time…”

Will twisted around, staring up into glowing sunsets dipping below a horizon. “Hannibal. If I… If I pull away again, it’s not because… I’m just having difficulty with… I’m trying, okay?” He tore his gaze away, looking over the book in an attempt to formulate a shudder of emotion inside his chest. “You could… read to me… if you wanted.”

Hard lips pressed into a thin line. “I am uncertain if you would appreciate Keats' poetry given your… developed sensitivity to conversation, Will.”

_I’m trying to…_

The younger man let out a shallow breath. “Just…shut up and… read to me.”

“In which order might you prefer I do each of these requests?”

Will rested an edge of the pole against his knee, glancing back in a low growl, “I am going to throw you into this lake and leave you here, Hannibal.”

“Hmm…” The older man lowered his eyes, skimming them over the book in his hand as if lost in great consideration to the idea. “An interesting… if not rather unusual choice of a gift. And which one of us would take care of the other if I suffered hypothermic shock?”

“Neither because I would feel compelled to drag your drowning ass out of the water!”

“Chivalrous to the very end, dear Will?”

“Give me this!” Snatching the book away, Will began to read over faded pages in a rush of breath and tangling tongue of blurring Louisiana beats. “Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget…What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret… Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs…” His voice trailed off, book shaking in the palm of his hand.

_Fade far away…forget… Is that we are doing here, Hannibal? Trying to forget? Each other… or…? What are you trying to forget? Me? Us?_

Long fingers swept the book up, gentle cadence rising and falling upon each word in a caress of elegant low rhythm. “Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow… And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.”

Will stared blankly out at the lake, fishing pole slipping from his grasp before setting it unsteadily against the boulder. He tugged at the burgundy scarf looped around his neck. He couldn’t breathe.

“Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath…”

Hannibal reached out running fingertips absently through soft curls, humming a gentle sound when Will leaned back into the touch.

“…Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain…”

The older man leaned forward, pressing lips to the side of his head, breath a butterfly fluttering across the curve of his ear in soft, aching reverence.

“Past the near meadows, over the still stream, …Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?”

Will let out a small noise of agony laced with desire to fade away into arms and never wake. Pressing his temple into a bent knee, he prayed he would be able to keep a tangle of tears choked in the back of his throat. Where he could hide it. Until he could escape to an empty room in half formulated excuses of exhaustion and isolation. It was easier to harbor agony in small spaces unseen by searching eyes and questioning mouths. Easier than having tender hands trying to put together pieces.

_Stop trying to fix me, Hannibal…I don’t want to watch you try. I won’t survive if you tire of this puzzle you once found fascinating…_

“Are you unwell?” Concern flooded dark eyes.

_Can’t you just pretend to look at me like I am still a powerful complexity and not an unraveling knot of strings? The mongoose you still want beneath your feet…_

“A…”

Will felt his tongue a lead weight in his mouth, unable to tell Hannibal how much he wanted to kiss him that moment. How much he wanted to blot out each word in a slow, pulling rhythm of shared breath, to lay claim to what they once had between them. The younger man turned slightly, staring up at a divot in the older man’s lips, leaning in. He flinched, pulling away.

_God… What’s wrong with me?_

“A little tired.”

“Perhaps I ought to take you home.”

“Yeah…alright,” Will replied softly, hanging his head forward to stare at the sandy, snowy shore beneath. “I don’t have any dignity left, Hannibal, you can just carry me to the car.”

“A moment please.”

Frigid air wrapped around his body in a painful embrace of white flurries. Will felt the retreat of the older man in a throbbing ache inside his chest, drawing wool tighter forward as if it would stave off the cold inside his bones. Hannibal returned, arms free from fishing gear, and knelt carefully before scooping him up in a tangling blanket. Will listened to the steady rhythm of the heart beneath and wondered how long it would last before giving way into a million pieces to join his own. His fingers curled in fawn colored wool, keeping the older man close as he was tucked into the car.

“Will?

Teeth grated in Will’s skull, twirling the damp lure in his fingertips in a blur of color. A cheap brassy ring burned deep in the corner of a jean pocket. He had reached for it in the study, returning with only empty hands. Always empty now. Would it be any less of a mockery of their imagined lives and fake names if he asked Hannibal to wear it now?

_You deserve more than this…_

A brightly colored lure tucked into the jacket’s breast pocket with retreating fingertips. “What’s this?”

“A reminder.” Will stared at his hands, voice quiet, waves crashing against the hull of a ship filling his mind, phantom ring pressed tight to his finger. “A token.”

“Tokens have historically been given in a sentimental exchange of affection or loss…What is it you wish to remind me of, Will?”

“That I… still love you. Even if you can’t see it.”

_Even if I can’t show it._

Fingers swept below a quivering chin in a gentle caress, lifting his head. “The stars in your eyes are the only map required to guide my soul home …”

 _God…_ Will’s eyes dropped to stare at the corner of his cheek. _Please._ _Stop… being so gentle with me…when you know I can’t…offer you the same. Don’t treat me like I’m broken…_

Hannibal timidly touched the speckled lure with a faint smile, eyes misting, gazing down into blue looking up. “Another precious gift…I will cherish it, William. Thank you for…” The older man pulled away, running a thumb over curling fingers swinging at his side, lost in thought. “Thank you for remembering…”

Will’s breath hitched as a dry hand pulled away from his face. “Remembering?” He asked slowly, blinking back a sting of tears, eyes darting side to side in a hum of sound behind the back of fluttering lashes. “Why would you think... I would have…forgotten?”

_Do you imagine I could forget how much I ache for you? Is that what you think? I…don’t love you?_

Hannibal tilted his head to the side with quizzical regard, closing the car door before slipping back into the driver’s side. An engine purred to life as a key clicked into the ignition. Gloved fingers tapped along the wheel, slowing, gathering thoughts to form a calculation of delicate words.

“I cannot recall the last time…” The older man glanced over, eyes piercingly warm with hope, softness drawling off his tongue. “…someone remembered my birthday, William.”

_Your… It’s your…? I… I’m sorry…Please don’t look at me like that. I didn’t. I… I can’t give you what you want right now…_

“Thank you.”

“H-hannibal…I…” Lungs squeezed tight in the younger man’s chest, twisting away in the chair, fingers curling against his knee in a flourish of guilt. “I… didn’t…I didn’t…remember…”

A faint smile shadowed the corners of a wavering mouth, gaze retreating back to a deserted expanse of road. “What would you like me to prepare you for dinner, William?”

_Sorry… Sorry… I’m…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else feel like drowning their sorrows in copious amounts of fluffy cat videos? Because I do...
> 
> "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats  
> http://www.bartleby.com/101/624.html  
> (I really adore Keats' poetry.)
> 
> Circling back around to Chapter 46 and 47, before everything came crashing down around these two. As if the last few chapters haven't been devastating enough, Hannibal making a final attempt to recreate what he had promised to give Will. 
> 
>  
> 
> And then I hinted in the chapter previous of what Will had in his pocket, but wanted to make it clear. He's carrying around the ring Hannibal first gave him in the first set of chapters as part of their initial cover story of Dr. and Mr. Bergstrom. 
> 
> Also, I had to check four times against my own timeline to make sure... and then internally screamed and sure enough we were in the correct week for Hannibal's birthday. (January 20, 1933 according to Thomas Harris' writing) (Out of curiosity, is it ever directly stated what month/day Will's birthday is in?)
> 
> And of course Will doesn't remember, he was just trying a feeble attempt at being gentle by giving his beloved a lure. And the hope in Hanni's eyes! Why, why! :insert cacophony of wailing: 
> 
> The current state of things is ruining all of the possibility for fluffy holiday encounters. There goes Christmas. And his birthday. And oh god, is Valentine's around the corner?! Oh the agony!
> 
> (And now "No Surprises" by Radiohead is forever stuck in a loop in my mind. Great because this chapter wasn't sad enough.)


	78. Chapter 78

Will leaned quietly in the doorway, barely breathing, watching grey morning light blossom over the curve of a neck bent in half slumbering prayer. Guilt flushed his cheeks in a sting of heat. This was the sixth time he had found Hannibal asleep at his desk in the study. Captured in a fading ray of light, slumped over in bending bones and closed eyes the older man looked utterly defeated.

 

_“I haven’t seen you in three days, Will.” Dark eyes looked down, tray of covered plates rattling in unsteady hands. “Would you not like something to eat?”_

_When all food turns to ash in my mouth?_

_“I want to be alone.” Will rolled over to a side of the bed, staring at the far wall. “Leave me alone, Hannibal.”_

_I don’t know how to tell you I would rather stop breathing then live like this._

_“Will, please…”_

_“Just go…”_

 

He tried to remember the last time he woke to see the older man sleeping beside him. How long had it been since they had drifted to sleep side by side in quiet heartbeats of circadian rhythms and rustling sheets? Hannibal had skittered around the insinuation of avoidance in graceful side steps, citing the unnecessary requirement of sleep by rising early at dawn and falling into bed in twilight hours. The older man came and went noiselessly only at precise moments when he thought Will asleep.

 

_“Are you avoiding me, Doctor Lecter?”_

_Hannibal glanced up from crinkling newspaper then back down. “You asked to be alone. I am merely respecting your request.”_

_“You don’t…” Will let out a pained breath. “If you aren’t going to sleep in our bed, you don’t have to sleep here. I can… I can sleep in my own room.”_

_“Unnecessary.” A page crinkled, disinterested voice seeping out. “The human body requires very little sleep. Mine in particular.”_

_“Just because I can’t sleep with you, doesn’t mean we can’t sleep near each other! Wait, what the hell? Where are you going? Hannibal, why can’t we—“_

 

The older man failed to realize Will now slept very little. These moments had twisted into fragile breathing of waking nightmare. Intimately aware of the older man’s presence filling the room in a steady sound of light breathing. Breathing in a familiar scent of fallen snow melting away upon skin radiating faint heat. How it choked him now. He remembered loneliness like a familiar cloak of a crowded room and eyes staring out from a glass of scotch. He had turned the avid avoidance of intimate eye contact into a well formed art. The loss of touch only seemed like a logical progression. He felt like he was slowly dying without it. That he was unable to breathe with it. It was deafening. His heart bleeding out in an eternity of emptiness. What they shared now was a set of fleeting murals, of skin painted in jaws and teeth. A return to what they once were, but not what they had become beneath a sweeping tide and rocky shore.

 

_“Am I hurting you?” Teeth grazed over skin._

_“Does it soothe you, Will?”_

_“…Yes.”_

_“You need not concern yourself with my well being. Take what you need…” Fingertips curled in sheets as pain coursed down a bare shoulder, returning to stroke the side of his face. “I will endure.”_

_“You used to… enjoy this.” A small sound left tensed lips, leaning down. “No, I’m not… I’m not… I can’t… please don’t.”_

_“Will you ever let me?”_

_Touch you? Kiss you? Hold you? Be able to breathe again in my presence?_

_“I…I don’t know.”_

_“Is it possible to starve for something you never knew you craved?”_

_“…I’m going to sleep in my room tonight, Hannibal.”_

 

It had been two weeks. He had managed to hurt the older man once in blustering confession, a promise of no lies to remain resting between them. He had watched as light drained out of eyes in a mask of serene understanding, as if Hannibal felt he was simply not worthy of being remembered or forgotten. Pretending he was still capable of shutting down, closing off, and locking doors to rooms he was no longer able to safely enter. It killed him to watch the mask slipping. Will had taken to hiding in his own bed during the day. Hannibal had returned to the safety of the study or the kitchen. He had asked for space. It was a gift given in spades. Entirely separate within shared walls of gilded frames and peeling oil paints.

 

_“Good evening.”_

_“Hey.”_

_A glinting knife stilled on a wooden cutting board. “Are you going somewhere?”_

_“Just outside. Need some time…” Will stared down at boots, voice weak. “Are… you?”_

_Going to leave me?_

_“Only if you would prefer my company to that of the woods.”_

_“I promise not to get kidnapped…”_

_“Then…” Will jumped as a copper bottom pot slammed down against the stove. A cast iron pan thrown into the sink. “I will be here when you return.”_

_“I...I’m—“_

_“Don’t!” Nails twisted in an apron, muscles shaking down a turned back. “Just… just go, Will. Take care of yourself. I will be alright.”_

 

Will wondered if either of them would ever be fine again. His eyes ran down arms hanging limply across the desk, charcoal dust clinging beneath lapis blue fabric rolled up pointed elbows. Will quietly stepped in, rounding the desk and pausing behind a leather chair filled with a pile of impeccably dressed bones.

He glanced down to find elegant cross hatching of his sleeping face and naked flesh smudged by a limp palm resting across scores of pages. A twinge filled his heart. It was the one place Hannibal had been allowed touch in strokes of tender grey light and shadow. Will had stopped trying to reach out for connection entirely after he had found Hannibal two fingers of whiskey in and eight glasses deep on their kitchen floor.  

 

_The acrid scent of burning smoke drew Will out of the safety of his room and down to the kitchen. What once had been lungs continued to burn to a crisp in muddied olive oil over a burning flame. He clicked it off before looking down. The older man was crumpled on the floor, eyes glazed, having traded a glass tumbler for its finely etched crystal decanter companion. Its contents nearly drained. He crouched down. Hannibal looked right through him, far away in some room of his mind._

_“Hannibal? How much have you had to drink?”_

_“Will…” The older man blinked, softness blurring his slurred speech. “I… made us… phaypara masala for dinner.” An unsteady hand reached out, thumb running across his bottom lip. “Should I set you a place at the table? Would you do me the honor of sitting beside me?”_

_“It uh…”_

_Will pulled the hand away. He dropped his head. He didn’t have the heart to tell the older man it was far from inedible. Or that he didn’t have the desire to eat even if it wasn’t._

_“It looks good…” He lied quietly, placing firm hands on shoulders when the older man struggled to get to his feet. “No… I’ll get it in a minute. I said I’ll take care of it myself, alright! Why don’t you just sit here?”_

_“Will…” A firm mouth trembled._

_Fuck._

_Tears slipped out of dark eyes. “W-will?”_

_Fuck…I love you...  
_

_“Yeah, Hannibal?” The younger man rocked back on his heels, forehead pressed into a trembling palm, before pushing back curls. “What is it?”_

_“Why won’t you… let me take care of you? You… used to let me. I gave you my life, Will… my life was all I had to offer to save you. Was it not enough? Was I… not enough?” Will stumbled as Hannibal pulled him forward by the collar of his shirt, reaching out to plant hands forcefully between them, trying to remember to breathe. “What do you need, William? What can I give you? Anything… I’ll give you anything…”_

_“Stop it,” Will growled, untangling the hand clinging to his chest. “You’re drunk. I don’t need… anything. Just stop talking. That’s what I need.”_

_“William… I lo—“_

_A hand clamped forcibly over the older man’s mouth in a flash of rage. “Don’t you fucking dare, Hannibal, or I will suffocate the life out of you! That isn’t going to fix this! You can’t fucking fix me! I don’t want to hear it! Do you understand me?”_

_Silver strands fell over cheeks flushing red, nodding weakly as the younger man shook him roughly by the shoulders. Clenching hands in a beige plaid waistcoat, Will dragged the older man to his stumbling feet, shoving him into a corner of kitchen counters. He was even heavier than he remembered. There was no way to get him up the stairs. Not in either of their conditions. Even if he could, Will wouldn’t have been able to leave him for his own safety. He wouldn’t have left him even if he could. This was his doing. He was responsible._

_“Stay here. Can you do that?” Trembling fingers curled around his waist. “Let go… please.”_

_Will tried to erase the sensation of warmth disappearing from his hip. Its fading heat stung. Legs of a wooden chair scraped across tile. Its delicate back splintered as it landed against cabinets, groaning as a pliable body was shoved onto it moments later. The younger man snapped a dishcloth from the kitchen sink, violently ringing water from it with shaking hands. A small moan brought his attention. Hannibal was doubled over, head in hands, quivering drops falling from his eyes and splashing over gleaming leather shoes._

_“Christ…” The younger man let out a hot breath, wincing, before kneeling between trembling knees. “Shh… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt you…”_

_Why the fuck am I always hurting you? God, I’m sorry…_

_“William…” Hannibal sobbed, clenching at sloping shoulders as a washcloth dabbed tenderly across his face. “I… don’t feel… well…”_

_“You’ve just had too much to drink…” Will chided softly, twisting out of the grasp, stroking away wisps of hair. “You’ll be alright in the morning.”_

_Will we?_

_Shaking palms came up to frame either side of his face, dark gaze staring down at his mouth. “Let me kiss you just once, Will…” The older man pleaded, swallowing hard. “Even if it’s just to say goodbye…”_

_“Fucking Christ!” Will scrambled back across the floor, falling back into the island counter. “Don’t…” His fingers curled into a fist, tears stinging his eyes, looking up into ones filling with loss above. “Just don’t…” He flattened a cheek against a cabinet, staring out across the floor. “Close your eyes…try and get some sleep. I’ll… be right here.”_

 

He had tried to forget words unspoken, the ones he had stuffed back down Hannibal’s throat, knowing it would choke him like poison. Destroy them both. He didn’t want to hear them. Not like this. Not out of pity or some misguided attempt to offer feeble comfort to acknowledge the irrevocable loss they felt between them. Will wondered if this was purgatory, if they had truly drowned, or if he was still hanging onto threads of life draining from his chained body. Or if perhaps they were merely killing each other in isolated kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL OF THIS HURTS. 
> 
> Well. If this wasn't devastating enough on it's own... so many things to talk about here. (This is going to be another long chapter set...I can feel it.) A return to snippets in time back and forth between past x present. There is literally a ridiculous amount of intricacy of layers here. There is so much being referenced~especially in this last flashback scene. 
> 
> I'll see if you catch two of the most paramount things. Particularly because... one of those things is so incredibly important and we've hinted at it for far too long, and still needs to reach resolution. And it's killing me. The actual idea hurts. I just want to ignore it entirely and shower these two in roses and romantic dinners. But... I can't.
> 
> (If you need a soundtrack to cry yourself to sleep to... "In the Shallows" x Daughter or "Distraction" x Jaymes Young)
> 
> Clock, I need to write that ficlet for you just because this is so incredibly depressing and we need time to heal!


	79. Chapter 79

Some nights Will spent hours staring at branded flesh running down a sturdy back, filled with longing to reach out and pull close, drained out in hollow breaths of self hatred being unable to do so. He had learned to mourn in silence. His vocal cords a humming quiet of aching screams and tears for what had been stripped away to be discarded behind closed doors. It was easier to die without the threat of eyes looking on to see what he had become, a weak and broken thing adrift to suffer only waking hours of torment, forever locked in a static loop of the mind.

A spectral shadow drifting through halls with smiles that never quite reached the eyes. To hide away crumbling pieces, to clutch them to his chest, and grieve for the uncertainty of not knowing how to put them back together. If it was even possible. He had learned to slip into deathly slumber upon each morning of a rising sun racing through the room, taking Hannibal along with it, sinking into darkness of tear stained cheeks.

_I miss you. I miss you. I can’t touch you. I miss you. Please don’t touch me. I miss you._

Fields of wilting anemone ran up the length of Hannibal’s arms on both sides, swaying in a rush of brightening hue underneath fabric and winding up thick biceps in fading blossoms of nightshade. Patches of belladonna had begun to unfurl over sturdy shoulders and down the front of the older man’s chest, a cluster gathering directly above his heart. The corners of a jagged mouth softened each time, when Will offered him nothing except a sharp pierce of teeth and the cruelty of denial. A certainty of death was their only entwining intimacy. With each passing day, he felt the soil falling over their heads, burying them deeper.

_This… this is torture…_

Blinking away tears, Will turned his face towards a blinding glimmer of fresh fallen snow. Shoving a hand in his pocket, fingertips brushed against a ring of cool metal warped by rust and time, longing for its pressure to return to his finger. He had been carrying it around like an amulet to ward off nightmares, to remind himself when their starvation ravaged bodies clung together in warmth and shallow breathing. A constant shelter of arms they had offered each other. Heat flooded Will’s face in a flush of guilt, too gripped by fear of touch to reach out and place the ring in the older man’s hand and hope he wouldn’t merely walk away, taking what remained of his heart with it.

_I want our lives back. I want myself back. To give to you…How do I do that? Can we… ever get that back? Would you even want it now?_

He eyed a golden door handle winking in light, encouraging him to pass through its frame and into blustering icy wind never to return from its enveloping veil. He closed eyes slowly. Frigid snow packed tight around his naked blue skin, body buried deep beneath six feet of white, embedded in glossy sheets of frost silently waiting for a gentle spring rain to wash away his remains. Nothing left to be found. Nothing left to search for or hope to touch.

_Leave me there, Hannibal. It’s where the rest of my pieces belong._

A warm arm curved around his bare waist. Will tensed, painfully realizing he hadn’t covered scars in a thin layer of cotton armor to protect from both their gazes. He tried to stand still, holding his breath, waiting for the brief moment of contact to dissipate and release a flood of air back into his lungs. All he had been able to give were fleeting minutes of agony. He felt heat trailing across every inch of exposed skin. He waited, toes curling into a Persian rug.

The touch remained, steady, constant, unrelenting. Visage of hunger coiled at his side, mirrored in maroon crescents of starvation. Will did not need to look down to know it was there, a gaping maw of their shadowed bodies stretching long across the floor in a whispering tangle of sheets, memories burnt against walls around them. He had become intimately acquainted with the eyes of a dying man.

“ _Will_...”

He shivered. His name was nothing more than blood splattered pleas for mercy. Will let his eyes fall on fading starlight buried in rising planes of mountainous caverns, offering nothing in return except a weak shake of his head. A promise of offering life of shared walls, of emaciated gazes and shallow struggled breathing. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold his breath, until his heart ceased beating. If he held it, would it end their suffering? He pulled away, leaning against the desk close enough for their knees to brush, watching as a thousand miles of oceans came between them in a single upward glance.

“I was not aware you were awake,” Hannibal murmured, gracefully draping an arm over a crossed knee, an adopted posture of wounded prey. “Is there anything…” Maroon eyes wavered, straying back up, an aching gaze lingering at his mouth before sweeping down. “I can offer you at this time?”

Will licked his lips to soothe a dry throat, cracked lips parting to take in a deep breath, insinuation cloyingly tight across his skin. Sparks of red agony coursed in eyes below. He pressed his mouth in a thin line, merely shaking his head silently no.

“Did you have a restful night of sleep?”

“Mmhm…” Frost drifted across the windows.

“You were… calling out in your dreams. Have nightmares returned to coil beneath your pillow once more?”

“Mmm…” Will made a disinterested noise, shaking his head again.

_Not nightmares… not this time… Just reliving._

The older man looked up pointedly, detecting dishonesty in a half murmur. He let it go with a downward glance, idly pushing a pencil across the desk. Papers rustled below as Hannibal arranged them in stacks, turning the collection over as if it was too painful to see the disparity of what he remembered not looking back. To preserve what existed in his mind. The pencil stilled to a rolling stop.

“Have you ever heard of the psychological term parataxic distortion, Will?” The younger man clenched his jaw, shifting a few inches from the desk, glancing down warily. “It is generally considered a behavior most human beings exhibit on an unconscious level. It allows us to draw from previous experiences of our memory to form paralleled judgments about the world and people around us. It affects how we respond to each new encounter and persons we may come into contact with in our life.”

“What’s…” Will let out a hiss between his teeth, incisor nipping at the inside of his bottom lip. “…your point, Hannibal?”

Leather creaked as the older man leaned back in the chair, tapping a single finger across clasped hands. “You have formed a response to touch based on long exposure to repeated trauma…” A distant flicker Hannibal’s eyes, voice rising and falling in placid waves. “You once recoiled from touch based on a need to keep yourself separated from those who might see you true self after facing countless rejection. Now you avoid it entirely for fear of being transported back to an experience your mind is unwilling to consciously reveal.”

“I thought we had made it clear you are not my fucking psychiatrist, Doctor Lecter. And I am not your patient. And I _do not_ want you in my head.”

“There is not much you want from these days at all…” Corners of a mouth ticked in a bitter smile. “What else would you have me be, Will?” Long fingers spread wide in question before gathering back up to close open spaces, to hide hollows of vulnerability. “Let me be your stability if I am nothing else to you.”

Will glared down at silvery wisps falling over a prominent forehead, growling, “That’s not fucking fair! You are—“ _Everything to me_. “—being such a self righteous ass lately!”

The older man looked up, eyes narrowing. “Are you familiar with the psychological phenomena of transference, Will?”

“I don’t have to—“

Hands came up around his hips as Will rose to leave, dragging him down to the older man’s lap. A single arm locked twisting hands above his pounding heart. The other held him firmly in place. Legs splayed wide over draping navy trousers, swinging feet digging into the rigid calves.

“N-no, Hannibal…” A small cry left his throat. “W-what are you doing?”

_He won’t… he wouldn’t…_

“It is considered rude to ignore someone who has addressed you directly, Will,” Hannibal hissed against the curve of his ear, grip tightening with each feeble attempt to wrench free. “I will not release you until you calm down and listen to what I have to say. One cannot run from the shadow of their own mind.”

“C-christ…” The younger man forced shaking limbs to go limp, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling, trying desperately to steady a sound of ragged breathing. “J-just…”

_Let go._

“Make your damn point already.”

Fingers eased on his wrists, letting them go in a slow uncurl of joints and tips. “You have allowed the associations of another to transfer into a collective consciousness of how you feel about human touch on a whole…” A hand eased away from his waist, releasing. “How you feel about…” Hannibal’s voice dipped low, laced for a moment with rough emotion. “… _my_ hands seeking out your skin. You recall only the last moments of another pressing deep shadows beneath your flesh in muddled shades of blue.”

Will blinked hard, twisting his neck in attempt to ease a phantom ache wrapping around his throat, sinking back into hands caressing his shoulders. “P-please… don’t make me…”

A broken whisper fluttered at his throat. “You may walk away whenever you desire, Will.”

_G-god, don’t let me…Not again._

He felt pressure building in the back of his throat, a scream tangled in a sob, unable to escape the steady rhythm of the older man’s voice pressed tight to his ear. His body remained fully rooted in place. Silk unfurled from a starched collar. Darkness flooded in as it fell over his eyes.

“N-no, H-han…nnn…” Will clawed feebly at the tie winding around the back of his head. “…what are you…”

A knot tugged at the base of his skull, breath gentle on his cheek. “An unconventional means of therapy.”

A tiny whimper escaped Will’s lips, eyes darting back and forth to find nothing but an expanse of black stretching out for as far as he could see. He could get up if he wanted to. _Run_. Hannibal wasn’t holding on. He could just go. He could tear off the tie and wrap it around the older man’s throat. All he had to do was get up. _I could just… run._

_How fast do I have to run to escape my own haunting?_

“Will, let me help you…” Fingertips ran softly down the side of his face, quiet voice pleading. “Do you fear the darkness of your surroundings as if you are merely a passenger in your own body?” Crisp cotton whispered as it unfolded down arms reaching around his trembling body to smooth out wrinkles. “A fading specter floating above this world and looking down on our lives of all that once was and is in a blurring expanse of time?”

Will squeezed eyes shut, shivering, faint scent of blood and sweat filling his lungs. “Please don’t do this…”

Fingertips traced a contour of his left hand. “You are free to go. As you have always been. As you always will be,” Hannibal reminded, choking down a cloud of emotion, leather creaking. “Does your mind associate this moment with abject horror of sensory images both real and imagined?” The younger man jerked as a palm pressed lightly against his throat, phantom pressure of leather squeezing tight. “Does your heart pound and fear course through your veins at the mere idea of touch, William?”

_I can’t hear anything else…_

“Y-yes.”

“From… my touch?”

“Yes.”

“Would you give yourself back to me, William?” Breath warmed his neck. “To allow me to replace your darkness? To return the control taken from you?”

A yelping laugh escaped. Will twisted forward, balls of his feet searching for a soft rug, bitterness dripping off his tongue. “B-by taking it from m-me once more?

“William…” Light brushing fingertips froze him in place. Hair trailed lightly against the curve of his shoulder, breath achingly soft on his skin in hushed tones of hunger. “I haven’t laid hands on you in nearly three months…”

“C-can’t…” He stammered out, pressing fingers into damp silk around his eyes.

Ticks of a tightening throat gave way to bleeding softness. “I… won’t force you. Would you… try… for me?”

“Don’t…” Will sucked in a steadying breath, voice a weak little noise of air passing through trembling lips. “Promise you won’t…?”

“I merely wish to touch you, Will.” An index finger traced up the length of his chest, trailing over his collarbone, and pressing into a hammering pulse. “Nothing will transpire between us without your explicit consent,” A soft rumble answered against his temple. “Kneel.”

_God…_

Air left his lungs in a rush. Will slid away from warmth pressing into his back. Indentations of buttons dotting red down the curve of his spine. He felt for an arm of the chair, fingers curling into leather as he lowered slowly to his knees. He dragged rough denim up his calves to feel the caress of a rug beneath them, to block out a sensation of cold concrete pressing back.

“Place your head here on my knee.” A firm command sent a rush of pain through the younger man’s lungs, pressing his forehead into bone covered in soft linen. “Do you remember your safe word, Will?” Hannibal asked softly, carding fingers through his curls in sweeping circular motions.

“Mm…” Will’s throat tightened, unable to speak, nodding.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Feeble whispering answered. “Adagio…“

“Do you trust me, Will?”

“I…” His eyes fluttered closed. “I’m trying.”

_God, I would… do anything… for you._

“For centuries man has depicted the metaphysical struggle of good and evil…”

Will clung to an edge of the chair and partly to the leg his head rested against. He searched for the presence of faint heat as a shiver ran down his spine. He tried to breathe in time with the rise and fall of the older man’s voice, letting it block out a distant rattle of chains and pounding heart.

“Through brushstrokes on a canvas or an inkwell, humanity has struggled to understand the gift of destruction on intimate and divine levels alike…”

Gentle fingertips swirled patterns across scalp. The younger man slowly began to melt into its rhythm, whimpering slightly when a hand tugged to keep him upright. He pressed back into it, blinking away a sting of tears.

“It is only through becoming aware of our destruction we are able to rise from it…”

Palms curled around his wrists, stroking down the undersides of his arms. Will buried his face into a tensed thigh. Fingers brushed his open, searching each rising hollow and crest, unhurried and achingly smooth. He let out a breath as they slipped away.

“I am going to bind your wrists with my belt, Will…” The older man stroked hands through his hair, waves lapping at a shoreline, voice dipping in tender hues of burnt umber at twilight. “Do you wish to proceed?”

“Is that…” Will sucked in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly, clinging tighter to his knee. “…entirely necessary?”

Hands stilled against his head. “One cannot generally control the compulsion for flight or fight response when faced with confronting disturbing memories through sensory stimuli. Do you believe you will be able to keep from striking out if I touch you?”

“I…no. I don’t want to hurt you…” The younger man’s voice came out in a trembling whisper. “It’s my choice?”

_I don’t want… to see you in pain any more…_

“ _Always_ …” Lips pressed into his temple, cheek caressing the side of his own in a broken cadence. A tinge of guilt resonated in the last syllable. “Yours alone. May I… may I continue, Will?”

Blood filled Will’s mouth as he nodded, blinking back tears hidden deep beneath silk. He shuffled forward on knees. Leather hissed in a slow drag of belt loops. He let out a small sound in a trembling ache, barely breathing. His fingers wound up a knee. His wrists brushed up soft linen in offering. Dry lips pressed a chaste kiss into each arm, a single hand stretching out to curl around them both with light pressure.

 “Are you… sure, Will? I…I need you to be sure.”

“S-sure…”

_I trust you, Hannibal… just don’t… don’t hurt me._

“Will…I…” 

“Stop. Stop talking…” The younger man reached blindly forward, dragging a belt out of a firm grasp, voice cracking out of the back of a tear clogged throat, “I don’t want you to forget me, Hannibal… and I…don’t want to lose you to this. Not this. Not…ever. J-just…help me… put this on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is it 1am and I am just now finishing the next two chapters, and have to work tomorrow... I did not plan this out well..... (Worth it.)
> 
> Alright, alright, alright. :practices deep meditative breathing: I know we are all hurting right now. But next chapter is... is painful so let's just all... whew... prepare our glasses of wine, cat videos, and have a pillow near to hug. (I literally have Hamibal cued up because I need to watch Hams and Wil Gram sock puppets so badly to feel better about all this...)
> 
> It's going to be okay... It's going to be okay...


	80. Chapter 80

*

Hannibal drifted through waves crashing through the back of his mind, lost to a tidal pull of emotions spilling out a breaking heart. Aching for the trembling boy reaching out for the steady pressure of his knees, asking to remain in supplication at his feet, knowing he belonged nowhere except safely wrapped tight in the arms frozen stiff to a chair beneath. He swallowed harder, watching hands fumble to tighten a belt around shaking wrists. He stared at wet blotches spreading out over paisley silk, seeping beneath its fine lines and down cheeks.

“William, I…” He cupped palms around the younger man’s hands, bringing them to a quiet rest of hollow bones.

_“William… I lo—“_

_"...I don’t want to hear it! Do you understand me?”_

“This is…” Hannibal’s throat worked down a cresting swell of tears, voice fading with another tremble. “…unnecessary. Selfish…impulsive. I merely wished to…”

_To hold you. Can I ask to hold you knowing I took away your right to choose long ago?  
_

He had surrounded himself with scores of written word and menial tasks to keep from seeking the younger man out, to keep his mind full to block out a constant empty echo ringing. They had slept separately for his fear of reaching out for Will and pulling close in a state of unconscious sleep. He had clutched to any object within reach when the younger man was near, to keep his hands steadily where they now belonged, reserved and out of reach. He kept his intake to food in pace with the younger man’s feeble appetite, mouth pressed in a white line of trapped questions, pleas, and confession shredding his insides to ribbons.

_“Why won’t you… let me take care of you? You… used to let me. I gave you my life, Will… my life was all I had to offer. Was it not enough? Was I… not enough?” _

Hannibal had dedicated his concentration to recreate an idea of detached separation between them, crumbling bit by bit beneath its crushing weight. It was unattainable, shattered the moment his walls came crashing down and Will flooded in to become his only world to remain. Each day filled his lungs in bated breath, waiting for the sound of a closing door to be the last image burned into his mind of Will leaving. He drifted through hours in a state of waking dream, revisiting softer moments in time only to startle awake to a rustling shadow of what was trailing passed. Disappearing into fading hues of dusk settling across an empty horizon.

_Have I already lost you? Will you... forgive me, Will?_

“Hannibal…” Breath left his lips in a flutter as the younger man pulled at a corner of his waistcoat, each tug bringing him a bit closer. “I… want you to.” A soft mouth quivered, face turning away as if Will could sense eyes sweeping across it. “Please?”

“Come here…” An aching noise shadowed the corners of his lips, carefully rising and bringing the younger man to his feet.

“I-I-I would rather—“

“ _No_ ,” Hannibal growled, wincing as the younger man recoiled back, crumbling against an edge of the desk.

_I would crush you in my arms sooner than I would have you remain at my feet._

He closed eyes in a silent reprimand, reaching out to place hands around a belt and tightening it in a smooth pull, careful to keep his voice a fluid rise of gentle intonations. “Is this too tight, Will? It is not my intention to cause you pain…”

“N-no. Fine.”

Dragging a desk drawer open, Hannibal reached inside and pulled out a small silver pocket knife. “Hold out your hands, please…” He gently pressed it into upturned palms. Will let out a wounded noise, jerking back. The older man guided his hands back around a metal body, pressing his thumb over a small button. “Do you feel this indentation here? Press it and the blade will release.”

The pocket knife shook uncontrollably in a smaller fist. “H-h-h-hann…”

“I would prefer to offer you comfort knowing you are able to leave should you choose…” A small whimper sounded as Will’s head fell forward, resting in the curve of his shoulder. “Tell me…” Hannibal leaned forward, keeping hands firmly planted at his side, pressing his mouth against a shell of an ear with a soft whisper. “Tell me where it hurts, William.”

A veil of dark curls tousled over a face burying deeper into his shoulder, weak noise replying. Will reached out, wrists bound, tugging the older man forward in a weak pull. His arms came down on either side of him, clutching at the desk for support, cupped hands pressing into stinging bruises hidden beneath crisp fabric. A silvery sheathed blade glinted between them. Hannibal struggled to breathe, fearing to open his eyes to find it was all a cruel trick in his own mind. Their limbs shook against each other in a reverberating rhythm of fracturing bones and rustling leaves.

“Please…” Will’s muffled voice rose to his ears, forehead pressing deeper before tilting his head back to look up, eyes safely hidden from them both. “Please.”

Hannibal forced his hands to release the desk, each joint and knuckle trembling in a dull ache. _Will…_ He timidly pushed a lock of hair away from the younger man’s damp brow. His fingertips curled around the curve of an ear, tangling in hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly to expose an arching throat. _Will…_ He pressed fingers into a racing pulse, guiding them down to trace over a clavicle and come to rest over jagged flesh at a curving shoulder. _Will…_ Knuckles traced down pinpricks of scars dotting down a trembling stomach, pausing at an arching hip _. Please don’t run._

“May I… continue?” A strangled voice shook out of his mouth.

A silent nod answered. He turned the younger man in his arms, dress shoes coming to rest on either side of bare feet, draping his body across to quiver in time with the one beneath. _Will. Will._ He wrapped arms around Will’s front, pressing him back into the steadying pressure of his chest, easing his grip at a tremor escaping from gasping lungs. _Will. Will…Will_. The younger man was blissfully warm, seeping through each layer of his clothes and spreading across his chest. His arms hurt, uncertain if he would ever be able to let go. _William… please… please._ Hannibal pressed knees forward into the sharp bite of wood to keep shaking knees from giving way, holding a little tighter to a trembling frame becoming liquid in embrace. _Don't leave._

“May I… “ His arms began to shake, resting his cheek over a tensing shoulder blade. “…touch you with my mouth?”

“N-n-no,” Will stammered out, tensing at the hissing sound of pain released from the older man’s lungs.

“It’s alright, William…this is more… than enough. More than... I deserve.”

Hannibal’s hands trembled across a chest for a moment longer, tracing each contour to memorize fragile shapes to hold in his mind, uncertain of how much time might tick by if or when Will allowed his touch again. He untangled arms from around the younger man, staring at a corner of the room blurring in tears. Will let out a strangled noise, shoving roughly back into the wall of his chest, tears splashing down across the nape of a bent neck. A pocket knife clattered to the desk. The older man gently brushed each stain away, tracing circles over light shadows, heart stuttering to a stop.

_If it were within my power to take away your suffering, Will… if only it had been me. My life for yours, William._

“Does it hurt here?” Hannibal asked quietly, pushing lightly at fading bruises encircling a throat.

“Nnn…”

“Here?” Hannibal dragged palms across raised flesh striped down a curving spine and shaking shoulders, fingertips dipping lower to trace a ragged denim waistband.

Will shuffled slightly forward with a shake of his head, cry bubbling up from a dry throat. “D-don’t…”

_Please._

Lowering slowly to knees, Hannibal pressed his forehead into the small of an arching back, dragging a sleeve across lashes fluttering helplessly against his cheeks. Tears stained white cotton. Wounded sobs grew louder the tighter he held on, caressing skin in tender light strokes. His throat closed up. His hands fluttered at the sides of trembling thighs. His lungs ached, breath burning ragged holes in each shadowed corner. He wasn’t sure when the younger man’s shaking had turned to a violent quiver threatening to collapse to the floor.

“William…” Hannibal’s mouth trembled, clutching at hips, an ache spreading up his knees in a dull throb of pain and rising in electricity coursing through his body. “Will…”

_God, please don’t go._

He brushed a trembling thumb across a divot disappearing beneath a waistband, tracing contours of soft clefts hidden by seams and stitching. He bit down hard on his tongue in a desperate attempt to force the sound of a small whispering voice, his voice, to steady with a sharp inhale.

“Did he…”

_Will, I'll beg for your forgiveness..._ Hannibal closed his eyes tight shut.

“…hurt you here?”

“Nnn…”

Knees gave way. Hands lashed out in a blur to curve around a crumbling form, catching a limp body in the safety of his arms. Silk ripped to shreds as Hannibal tore it away from closed eyes, gathering the younger man carefully to his chest. He stripped away the belt, hurling it across the room. Red pulsed through his vision. A threading pulse ticked beneath his fingers. He struggled to unsteady feet, clutching the unconscious body, stumbling towards the couch, vision hazing. Cashmere wrapped tight around shivering skin before the older man collapsed into cushions. Will rested safely in the confines of arms, drawing knees up to keep him firmly surrounded in protective bones and skin. Hannibal let out a weak breath as black flooded in and swept him away to unconsciousness.

 

_“H-hannibal!” Will groaned, thumping a fist lightly against swaying muscles, shoulder digging into his stomach. An arm curved lazily around his hips, stroking down swim trunks clinging dangerously low on hips. “Hannibal, come on! Put me down! You can’t just throw someone over your shoulder to get your way and carry them off! You aren’t a goddamn Neanderthal!”_

_The older man shuffled the writhing body in his arms with a shrug of his shoulder. Will came tumbling down into arms sweeping around his frame in a gentle embrace. He sprawled carefully back onto a gaudy hibiscus printed towel, glancing around to make sure sand remained in its rightful place beneath his feet. His dignity for the most part remained intact. Hannibal tipped his head back, glowing sun warming his cheeks and lips curving in a faint smile. A strange sensation of peace washed over him._

_“I would beg to disagree with you, William…” He murmured, stroking hands down and around arms holding onto his neck. “Primal urges of our ancestors are often a driving force in the unconscious decisions we make. It is buried deep within our biological make up to hunt what rises up as a threat to protect what is dear to us.”_

_“Hannibal…” He glanced down to find the younger man laughing, warmth blossoming inside his chest. Shimmering sky blue glanced up. “I wanted to go swim in the ocean, not raid and pillage an unsuspecting village or ride off on some white horse to defend the honor of an Arthurian king.”_

_Corners of a firm mouth twitched in a repressed smile. “However did someone allow you to hold a degree without knowing the difference between mystical legend and historical deviations?”_

_The younger man let out a playful growl of displeasure, nestling deeper inside arms, grumbling, “You’re an absolute ass sometimes. I can be a Viking version of Galahad if I so very well choose!”_

_Hannibal quirked his head to the side, gazing down at a glowing face resting peacefully beneath. “Would that make me Tristan in this fanciful scenario playing out in your head?” The younger man creaked one eye open suspiciously, closing it again as fingers stroked through his hair with a gentle sigh. “In legend, Tristan was revered for his strength on the battlefield and ferocity of slaying all who dared cross his path, yet in the end… he was unable to overcome his mortal coils to offer his protection. Galahad died in his arms.”_

_A gentle hand settled against his face, drawing his eyes down. “You are just as mortal as any man, Hannibal…” Will offered a small smile, voice soft. “You can’t keep trying to protect me from everything. Even if that everything is currently tepid sea water you deem to cold for me to go in to.”_

_“And why not?” Hannibal reached down, framing the younger man’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together in an unhurried rhythm. “I would rather my arms become the shelter you seek to find a home to rest your head and to become the relentless snapping of a wolf’s teeth to tear apart whatever you may fear.”_

_The younger man twisted in his arms, burying a flushing face in the curve of his shoulder. “There’s not a lot left to be afraid of when the beautiful manifestation of your nightmares holds you in his arms,” Will breathed out quietly, hands tangling around his neck. “All I can promise… is you’ll never have to be alone. That’s really all I need.”_

 

“H-hann…”

A cresting cry of pain brought breath rushing back into Hannibal’s lungs. His eyes snapped open. Will twisted in his arms, trapped in a cashmere blanket, a fine sheen of sweat holding damp curls against his forehead.

The older man’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I’m right beside you…”

“I n-n-need you to let go, please.”

“Of course…my apologies.”

The instant Hannibal lowered his knees and his arms recoiled, Will stripped off the blanket around his body and scrambled to the other side of the couch. Trembling legs locked over its edge, shoving hands back through curls, tugging frantically in short gasps.

“Can I… can you…?” Tears rimmed blue eyes fading through drifting clouds, staring down at empty hands resting across the older man’s chest. “Hold my fucking hand please.”

Dragging up from cushions, Hannibal inched his way over to the middle of the couch and extended an upturned palm in the direction of shivering skin. He held his breath. Will yanked it toward him, staring at the floor, threading their fingers in a bite of nails and violently shaking grip. The older man slumped weakly forward, resting his head in a cold, clammy palm.

“Don’t let go,” A half pleaded sob called out.

“No, Will. I won’t.”

“If I-I do…it’s not… not your fault. My fault. N-not you.”

“ _No, Will_ …” Hannibal squeezed the hand hard enough to bruise, exhaling slowly. “Please try and breathe for me. You are wounded, not broken. You are far more substantial than lilies wilting in fading starlight. You will not fade. You will not be forgotten.” He blinked back a rush of tears, voice softening. “However could you be lost to a descending night sky if my eyes are always gazing up in reverence, fixed upon your beauty, until you are able to burn bright once more?”

“D-don’t.” Tears splashed out on denim, fingers holding tighter and tighter, threatening to crush.

“Only if you ask, William, will I let go...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... we can now all cry ourselves to sleep. 
> 
>  
> 
> (And an ode to King Arthur because I just... needed something... good... in this chapter.)


	81. Chapter 81

Jagged cracks split through rocks dislodging from a mountain side in resounding echoes. Crumbling pieces crashed in reverberating hollows inside the back of Will’s mind, weighing down his body as he sunk further beneath crashing waves of red. He heard nothing but the sound of his own voice rising in steady octaves, rough and growling, growing louder, hoarse and straining. Blood pounded insistently between his temples. His fingers ached from clenching imaginary knives until his hands shook with a numbing cold. His words alone were enough to cut deep. He stalked after his prey from room to room, nostrils flaring. Anger coiled in a lead heat inside his stomach. Feet spread in offense, rooted to the kitchen floor to stand his ground.

“This is utter bullshit and we are going to have a conversation about it! Where the hell did you learn that blatantly ignoring a patient’s requests was a beneficial part of any kind of therapy?”

“ _William_.” Flashing teeth growled a low warning.

Glowing red slipped back in his direction. A chill worked its way down his spine. Will shivered as waves of cold curled around his skin from a gaze staring silently back. Hannibal leaned forward on an island counter, arms spread wide, hands gripping marble to remain firmly on the other side. An angular jaw clenched and unclenched, tucked down to his chest, a wolf lowering its head in preparation for attack. Gray shadows clung to underside of eyes, maroon half crescents glowering up between thick lashes. Dark silver strands slung dangerously low across his brow, looking out from slits of a veil.

“I do not… _understand_ these sudden outbursts of late, Will,” Hannibal growled slowly, eyes boring into ones gazing back. “I am merely _trying_ to respect your boundaries. It is necessary to make clinical decisions according to what is best for your well being and continued progression through the therapy.”

“I don’t want you to keep treating me like damn teacup, Hannibal!” Will yelled, slamming a fist against the counter, mirroring the older man’s stance on the other side of the counter. He wasn’t sure how long it would keep them separated. “I know what I want.” Corners of a rigid mouth turned down an imperceptible degree before Hannibal turned, retrieving a glass cup rimmed in gold and lifting it to his lips to stifle a throaty growl. “S-stop handling me so gently as if I’ll come apart in your hands. Like I’m a…”

Will’s lips stilled. A sheet of white blanketing his mind. He couldn’t think about it. He had heard it for years, garbled and humming like static crackling through old speakers. He had never been able to turn the dial, to bring it sharply into focus and hear it with ringing clarity. It had always been easier to tune out and ignore on specific frequencies. It wasn’t real if he wasn’t willing to listen to it.  

Hannibal inclined his head, watching shadows wrestle in clouded skies over the rim of his coffee cup. “Abused? A victim?”

_No, no no no no no—I am not abused. I am not… not…_

“I am not—“ A hand snapped up to Will’s forehead, shaking, trying to push away a high pitched squeal of flipping channels, words a loop stuck on repeat, ringing in his ears. “I am not.” He cast a tongue over dry lips, brows knitting low on his forehead, lashes fluttering closed, voice weakening to splintering threads. “ _Not that_.”

“What one wants…” The older man drawled slowly, adjusting a silk crimson starburst tie at his throat. “…and what is best for one’s therapy are two different concepts entirely, Will. And you are clearly unwilling to differentiate between what you are and what was done to you.”

“Don’t you dare dictate terms to me…” Drifting grey eyes snapped up. “I think I am more intimately aware of what is _I_ want out of our sessions than you will ever be, Doctor!”

Long fingers drummed down the side of glass, stilling. “Can one truly be aware of the state of their fractured conscious?” Hannibal asked in a quiet humming threat, edging around the counter with conscious measured steps. “You asked me to hurt you, Will.” The younger man released the counter, stumbling back as a hand curled around the neckline of his crème colored sweater. “ _Repeatedly_.” Rough hands shoved. He groaned as hips and lower back slammed into a counter, bruises splintering red upon impact. “On four separate occasions,” The older man growled, lips pressed to his ear. “You begged me to bring my hands against you, to manipulate our shared violence of mutual pleasure into an act of pure degradation. Each time I refused.”

With perfect precision, Hannibal placed his cup delicately on the counter, gaze locked on wide blue staring up. It clicked against marble in quiet submission. Soles of shoes scraped across tile. He stepped closer, winding a fist tighter in cable knit drawing the younger man closer as he crowded in. Will shuffled forward, head bent to focus a ragged sound of breathing. He stared down at glimmering leather shoes boxing in his bare feet. His gaze dragged up to focus on a minute hand ticking by beneath flashing glass strapped to the wrist resting on his collarbone.

“I assure you aversion therapy is intended to be a useful tool to correct undesired psychological behavior…” Cool breath unfurled across his ear, fingers coursing roughly up the back of his head and pulling strands of hair hard. “It is _not_ intended to cause the patient to revert to a state of terror actualized in a mental breakdown. Given one of us has obtained our degree, you will pursue your therapy in ways not deemed destructive to either of us or not at all.”

Letting out a low growl between teeth, Will jerked his head away, tipping his chin up to glare into dark eyes staring down arching cheeks. “You had no damn problem breaking my mind before when it amused you, Doctor Lecter,” He snarled back, shoving at a rigid wall of the older man’s chest. “You took pleasure in it then, why not now when I’m asking for it? Or is it the conscious act of submission you can’t stand? Is it resistance that turns you on?”

“William, you are walking a very fine line of disrespectful vulgarity not conducive to your health…” Eyelids sunk to half mast, barely slits, gilded by a cold resonating voice. “Is that what you hope to accomplish by continually asking to be left bound and restrained for hours at a time? Helpless to the recreation of shadows unfurling within your mind?”

“I want you to _listen_ to me!” Will snapped, jerking his shoulder forward to snap teeth into a shoulder, yanked back with ease by his hair.

“Oh Will…”

His name rang out hollow. Hands locked onto his shoulders, shoving him roughly back into a corner. Will let out a small whine of pain, pressing trembling thighs back as Hannibal tilted his hips forward, belt buckle digging into his stomach.

“I have become intimately acquainted with fractured silence of madness stealing into the once quiet of our lives in rushing drum beats of blood and shallow breathing.” The older man trailed rigid fingers down his jaw, leaving lines of red in their wake. “Is this all you desire from me now? An instrument for your own destruction?” Hannibal pressed close enough to feel the low thrum of his heart, fingers curling around the base of a straining throat and squeezing. “To break you so completely you will never again have to listen to the echo of my shattered heart calling out to your own?”

“It’s my choice…” Will’s eyes slipped shut, struggling to breathe, a rush of fear clouded with desire coursing through his veins. “God, let go.”

“You have control over the decisions you alone choose to make, Will.” Fingers released just as soon as they had appeared. He ached for their bruising heat to return. “Not an iron fist to rule over the conscious choices of mine.” Maroon eyes stilled, voice growing colder. “Perhaps you ought to choose courses of action less detrimental to your health.”

A low growl seeped out of the back of the younger man’s throat. Hannibal regarded him with unblinking eyes, sipping on coffee patiently, refusing to create any space between them. Another rush of anger coiled. Snapping bones echoed in his mind.

"You…” Will’s mouth hung open in a glint of teeth, eyes dragging slowly up. “…son of a bitch!”

Will pulled back a fist and slammed it into the side of a rigid face. A corner of a mouth split open. Lips glistened red. Black marks dragged across tile as dress shoes skidded back. A low snarl echoed in silence. Hannibal rolled his shoulders forward, chin tipping up to balance slipping shadows, coffee sloshing precariously over fingers clenched around glass.

“William… it would be advantageous for you to walk away while you are still capable of doing so. I am not so predisposed to your whimsy of destroying valuable possessions at the moment.”

Snatching the cup away, Will pitched it forward with another loud curse, fingers slipping loose as he released. It flew passed the older man’s head. Glass splintered on the far wall behind him. Coffee dripped steadily down a clock face ticking away in silent beats. The younger man’s lips parted in a half strangled breath, staring at red trickling down a mouth and between teeth appearing beneath a curling lip.

_Oh god… I didn’t mean…_

“I…” Will’s mouth trembled, room a blur of spinning color. He slumped forward into the older man’s arms. “I’m sorry…” He pushed weakly away, blindly weaving towards the broken mess to gather up its pieces. “I’ll… I’ll…”

_Fix it._

“ _Leave it_.” A biting voice commanded.

Fingers curled around the hem of his shirt, pulling hard. A rush of panic left the younger man’s mouth in a sharp pitch. His hand flashed out, yanking hard on a tie as rough hands shoved back. Will fell back into the corner he had tried to escape, elbows cracking on a counter’s edge. The older man’s body collided with his in a slew of foreign curses and heavy muscle.

Hannibal jerked the fist away from the knot at his throat, teeth flashing bright. He swatted away the one curled at his waist. He crossed the kitchen, braced against the sink. Knuckles wiped away trickling blood shadowed by a forming bruise. Will shuddered, cold seeping across his skin, eyes sweeping across distance gathering between them. He clutched at the counter for support, to keep from sinking to his knees, from latching onto trousers and begging for Hannibal to allow him to remain.

_I didn’t… mean to… I didn’t. I’m sorry._

“There is a matter I have been meaning to broach with you for some time,” The older man let out quietly, pacing each word slowly, purposefully. “A matter of delicacy. And I am afraid… it is imperative for me to bring it to light sooner rather than—”

“I can’t talk about it, Hannibal!” Will snapped abruptly, arms curving around his chest protectively. “Not now. Not ever.” His voice pitched flat, corner of his mouth trembling, eyes fixed on stitches criss crossing down a charcoal grey wool lapel. “I just… _can’t_.”

Maroon eyes dragged away from the window. Blinking slowly. Once. Twice. “We cannot stay here.”

Will felt muscles in his face twitch, blood rushing down his legs to tingle in his toes. “What?” He asked quietly, head shaking as if he hadn’t heard correctly, to push away a dizzy spell.

The older man half turned in his direction, running a hand back through disheveled hair. “I believe it is not in our best interest to stay in a location marked by predators.”

“But… you installed all that security? Why can’t we—“

“I will _not_ play Russian roulette with your life, Will!” The older man snarled, taking a threatening step forward. “And there are truly only so many men one can be expected to kill without the rational outcome of being caught.”

“This is home.” The younger man winced, eyes dropping to the ground. His voice came out in a weak shudder, rush of loneliness skittering across arms holding tighter. “I don’t… I don’t want to leave…”

Head falling forward, Hannibal closed his eyes and stilling to become a Grecian statue praying for deliverance. Light cascaded from the kitchen window, dancing across planes of his face in a swirl of glistening dust and shadow. He let out a slow breath. In two long strides, the older man crossed the room and reached out. Strong arms dragged close, encircling a trembling frame in crushing embrace. Will let out a small sound, crumbling into heat and resting his face against a sturdy chest. Fingertips gently stroked through his hair and down his cheeks, trembling in a swirl of soft violence.

“You are the new boy at school no longer, William,” Hannibal whispered firmly into his hair. “I am beside you.” Will pressed a cheek against soft scratching wool, unable to stop tiny cries seeping out of the corners of his mouth. “Will you allow us to start our lives together in a timber of shifting walls knowing you will always be able to find me inside of them?”

“When…” He swallowed back a rush of tears, barely able to hear the sound of his own voice “When do we have to go?”

“…Today.”

“T-today!” Will jerked back, hands pushing at shoulders curled around his arms. “You can’t, you can’t ask me to uproot my life because it suits you, Hannibal! And then expect me to just obediently do it!”

“It is more of a gentle command than a request, my dear boy,” The older man’s grip tightened, lashes dipping low over eyes staring down. “The car has been packed with our belongings since the early morning. I have been moving things bit by bit over the last few weeks so as not to alarm you.”

“Not to…?” Will gnawed at his bottom lip, struggling to recreate space between them, hands twisting in lapels and pushing. “How long ago did you decide to just start making life changes without me?”

“You have a tendency to agonize over change, Will. I am acutely aware the impact this particular change might have on your current state of mind.” A cold mask tipped its head to the side, fingers curling tight to trap. “However, I felt it might cause you unease to wake up in an entirely different location then for you to merely agree to come willingly.”

“Y-you thought—“ Will shoved harder, twisting out of arms and stumbling out of reach. “Why do you think that is? Gee, Hannibal, do you think that having been kidnapped, tortured, and-and-and—“

His teeth snapped shut, swearing out loud to keep from stammering, a twitter of a wounded bird fluttering on gravel, waiting to be crushed. The younger man glared back at a figure lurking in shadows.

“That _it_ might have something do with my unwillingness to change scenery? Because I _need_ the comfort of the familiar?” His voice pitched, mocking. “Why that’s a fine analysis, Will, I hadn’t thought of that because I was too busy being a completely controlling—“

_Oh…_

A red tongue slicked across teeth. In a blur of movement, Hannibal’s hand was around a throat choking out whining notes and walking the younger man forcefully back into the wall. Red eyes flashed black. A firm hand clamped over a gurgling mouth. Will groaned, hanging limply, gazing up into a vacant stare of a predator drawing near. He wanted to claw the mask off, peel away skin, and admire darkness of the soul enveloping his own.

“William…” Thin lips twitched in a dark smile. “ _You are being rude_ ,” Hannibal hissed, shoving him back once more by the throat before releasing. The other hand stayed where it was. “Consistently and without fail you have consciously grated across my soul with sharp tongue and biting mouth to revel in the edge you continue to push me towards.” Will dragged in hot, shallow breaths through his nostrils, lips twitching beneath a suffocating palm. “Allow me to assuage your curiosity, dear one, should you choose to throw me into an abyss… let there be no reservations in your mind. I would drag you down into its enveloping shadow to join me to better appreciate your hellish company.” A twitter of fear ebbed his heart to a thudding stop. “Where it is… _exceptionally dark_.”

The younger man’s eyes narrowed, growl muffled by a hand pushing down, cock stirring between his legs. _You’re going to pay for this, Doctor Lecter…_

“Did I give you permission to speak yet?” Hannibal asked tersely, leaning close enough for warmth of his breath to filter between slotted fingers. “We are at an impasse, Will. Two choices rest before you. Please understand they are your only options in this given moment…” The older man ran fingers gently through curls, tugging on strands to emphasize each word. “There are no lateral moves. Should you deviate from either course, I assure you there will be… grave consequences.” He smiled down again, pressing a mouth to lines creasing a forehead. “Blink if you understand me.”

 *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hello, hi! I hope everyone had a terrific holiday time with their friends or family. I realize I have a score of comments (which I adore) to answer and a handful of messages. I will begin making my way through them after work tomorrow. : ) 
> 
> If you are still suffering post-traumatic stress from our previous chapters, you have Murder Husband excerpts to read courtesy of Clock's request. ; ) http://archiveofourown.org/works/5512391
> 
> *
> 
> CONFLICT. I can handle this kind of conflict. It doesn't leave me weakly clutching my heart and weeping into my pillow. Could this be the change in tides we have all been feebly holding out hope for? Let's find out! 
> 
> Seriously though, goddammit, Hannibal, you are going to make me sketch you an entire new set of floor plans because you need to do something entirely rational and within reason. Thanks. I was just figuring out where everything was in my mind...


	82. Chapter 82

“Blink if you understand me.”

*

Will blinked hard, breath coming out harder in curses knotted on his tongue, struggling to tilt hips away to keep from pressing a thick line of his cock into a knee nudging his legs apart.

“Good.” The older man nuzzled against his neck, thumbs tracing a knitted neckline. “Contempt is a common thread of emotion weaving together the fabric of humanity in breeding grounds of the familiar.” An index finger traced a denim waistline, curving around a cool metal button. Will let out a weak snarl, glaring up. “A well stitched shroud to disguise hatred of one’s own intimately unwanted feelings and responses. It is good to know you are familiar enough with the affairs of your mind to possess contempt, Will. Particularly for me...”

Will let out a muffled groan of heat and fury, twisting as the older man stepped in just close enough for their hips to brush. Far enough to keep out of reach or create friction, an inviting denial. A firm hand pressed his hips back into the corner.

“Should you desist struggling, it would be my pleasure to tell you these paths, Will. Thank you…” Fingers tiptoed across his hip, tugging on a corner of his pocket, and stroking down the outer side of his thigh. “How much easier it is to speak without such unnecessary thrashing. Particularly when I have…” Hannibal’s eyes sank closed for a moment, burying his face in a curving shoulder and breathing in. “…your undivided attention. Are you ready to hear your options?”

Slumping back against the counter, the younger man nodded weakly, nearly gasping as fingertips lifted his shirt and traced delicately across a jagged smile of his stomach.

“Choice one: you may go upstairs, dress yourself accordingly, gather anything you do not wish to leave behind, and meet me downstairs in approximately…” Maroon eyes flicked away to a timepiece. “Twenty minutes.”

Will’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing.

“Ah, you prefer to hear the second option before making your decision? Very well.” Hannibal’s eyes glittered, incisor slipping out and sinking into his bottom lip drawing a bead of blood. “Your second choice, quickly becoming a favorable outcome… Disobey me and…” His voice dropped an octave, edges bleeding rough. “I will bind your wrists once more with my belt…”

Hands latched around ones struggling to retreat, squeezing hard. Will groaned, cock jerking into a biting zipper. Rigid lips parted in heated breath. Hannibal stepped forward, tipping an aching cock into a rigid thigh, black eyes fixed on his hand covering a quivering mouth. The younger man could feel pressure of phantom lips, slick with blood, sinking in through bone and skin and drawing air out from his lungs.

“…Wrap my tie around your ankles…” Will dragged his gaze up, tip of a leather shoe running down the length of his calf, barely able to breathe. “…and carry you out to the Aston in nothing except your exquisite skin to partake of aesthetic pleasure.”

A palm released, followed close by a snap of teeth. “Y-you’re a fucking prick sometimes, Hannibal.”

“The choice…” Will was yanked back by his hair, throat exposed to edges of teeth pressing in, half hard and panting a swirl of colorful curses. “…is entirely yours.”

The older man pulled away, smirking as he stepped back and leaned elegantly against the kitchen counter. Hands tucked a disarray of strands back into a perfect soft shape of grey hair, smoothing wrinkles effortlessly from a suit jacket. Will grabbed a marble edge for support, knees weak, staring helplessly at smooth lines of fine stitching outlining a thick cock. Hannibal adjusted his posture to accentuate tilting hips, settling both elbows against marble, sparks of red flickering in eyes. A blatantly open invitation. He glanced at a watch, licking a seam of his split lip, staring at the younger man’s mouth.

“Seventeen minutes, Will,” Hannibal growled in a low heat.

_Fuck. Fuck Fuck._

Stumbling blindly out of the room, Will stumbled up stairs, trying to take two at time to escape from an intense gaze following the curves of his body. His head pounded. His fingers curled around a cold metal handle. His shoulder shoved open a bedroom door, bruise throbbing upon impact. He fell inside the room, slamming it shut before slumping against it. His head fell back in a loud crack.

 _This isn’t… I just wanted you to listen, Hannibal, to ask me what I wanted…If I wanted this… God, I can’t breathe._ The younger man let out an aching breath, touching fading pressure squeezing his throat. _Can’t think…_

“You could have asked…” Will let out weakly, eyes closed, blood burning to a sudden boil, voice rising and shouting down. “You could have just fucking asked! Why do you never ask!”

Muffled amusement called up. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Goddammit!” A back hand collided into a white ceramic vase filled with wilting lilies sitting on a nightstand.

_I’m glad someone’s enjoying this!_

Shards of glass skittered in faint twinkling light. Muddied water pooled across hardwood. Bare feet stepped carefully over broken pieces. Will sank against a small bed, pressing his face into clammy palms. He stared down at a poised duffle bag at his feet. Heart slamming in his ears. He listened carefully for any movement drawing close, stalking near. It was quiet. Too quiet.

_No… he wouldn’t just…would he?_

A small cry worked its way out of tightening throat. Will jumped up from the bed, stumbling over and around glass. His aching shoulder careened with a closed door, eliciting a series of swears. He yanked it open, scrambling towards a banister and leaning out, the older man’s name perched on his lips in a plea to wait. Hannibal turned towards a noiseless murmur, camel wool coat delicately draped over the crook of his arm, waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs. Maroon eyes stared up expectantly.

“Would you…” Will’s voice came out in a low shaking whisper, nails digging into wood. “…leave without me?”

“Perhaps I explained the two choices before you… inadequately.” The older man tilted his head, considering, a single brow arching. “Shall I try again with further clarification?”

Teeth snapped in the younger man’s skull as he spun away, slamming the door with all his strength. He stalked over glass and began tearing through barren drawers, dressers, and closets. He found a single pair of boxers remaining.

“Where the fuck are all of my clothes, Hannibal!”

“Packed.” 

Will answered with an inarticulate growl. He tore out of sweaty jeans, tripping over a tattered hem, dragging sticky cotton boxers down with it. He fell back onto the bed, groaning as his aching cock slipped free and slapped against his stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” Will hissed, throwing a pile of clothes to a corner of the room, thumping his head against a soft mattress hoping to dull heat wrapping around his skin cooled by drifting air.

“Eight minutes.”

“I can tell the _fucking time_ , thank you!” The younger man roared, locking legs around the mattress and bolting upright, groaning again as his cock bobbed in a hum of pleasure. “I don’t have fucking time for… _this_ ,” He mumbled, snapping navy boxers around his hips with a sharp glare down.

Percussion of rattling drawers sounded as Will tore through drawer after empty drawer. He went over to the nightstand, pulling a drawer open and plucking out a glimmer of brassy light. The small ring burned in the center of his palm. He nipped at a corner of his tongue, blood trickling to the corner of his mouth. He pushed the drawer shut, rolling an aching shoulder back. Yanking open his closet door again, he stared out across empty shelves and abandoned hangers. He glanced down at cotton boxers, toes curling against hardwood.

_If he thinks I am riding in a car alone with him like this…_

“Christ!”

Slamming the door shut, Will grabbed the duffle bag and stomped down the hall towards the master bedroom. He threw a bag to the floor with a resolute huff. A crisp grayish blue button up shirt rested gently across a pair of indigo trousers. Black leather coiled next to a pair of gleaming brogue wing tip shoes. A charcoal grey tweed wool coat trimmed in soft supple leather draped over an edge of the mattress. A matching pair of black suede gloves tucked neatly near a sharp notch lapel. The younger man blinked once then twice, dragging in a heated breath.

“I… I am not wearing this!”

“As mentioned previously, I would be most pleased…” A smug voice called up. “…for just the fabric of your skin to be worn in my presence.”

“You goddamn—“

_Presumptive…_

Yanking on slim fitting trousers, Will threaded a leather belt through delicate loops and jerked a silver buckle tight. He shoved the ring into a right pocket. He dug out thin socks from leather shoes, tugging them on and jamming his feet in, yanking waxed laces tight.

_Manipulative…_

He jammed rigid arms through tailored sleeves clinging to his biceps, cuffs neatly encircling wrists, fabric stretching across his chest in soft embrace. A perfect fit. He pulled at a corner of the shirt, searching for a clothing label. It had none. He searched the coat. Nothing. He sat suddenly back down, blinking slowly, wrestling down a flood of warm tenderness clawing at his heart.

_…Thoughtful ass. Did you really have these made for me…?_

“Six minutes.”

“I can tell the fucking—“

Will let out a frustrated howl, shoving hands into suede gloves, rolling fingers to feel their soft stretch and tight pressure. He snapped a coat off the bed and bag off the floor. His dress shirt fluttered open as he stormed back towards the banister. He glared down at the older man, hands gripping its edge for dear life as smoldering maroon trailed up from his feet, staring openly at tented trousers, and lingered on bare skin of his chest.

“An aesthetic pleasure in and of itself,” Hannibal noted, eyes falling once more between his thighs.

Will gnawed on an edge of his tongue to keep a shudder of possession at bay, alarmed by a rising hunger to slam Hannibal into the wall, to bruise skin in rough fingertips, and gently lick the wounded seam of his mouth. To whisper softly against the curve of his ear before sinking teeth into a steady pulse.

“I can tell the goddamn time.” The younger man snapped the coat in front of his body, using it as a shield. “Perhaps you would like me to draw you a clock to prove it!”

Hannibal’s eyes sparked with heat, low chuckle rolling out off his tongue and turning into a widening rapacious smile. “If… you think it would help, dear one.”

“I…” Will dropped the duffle bag, claws raking across the banister and molding into fists. A coat crumpled to the floor alongside it. “…am going _to choke_ that smirk off your face, Doctor Lecter.”

“Oh Will…” Sturdy fingers hooked around an elegant Windsor knot, pulling it slowly loose. “I would like _to see you try_ …” A tongue flicked out across curving lips. “How lovely your mouth looks when twisted in violent intent.” A watch flashed in the light. “We do have a few minutes… if you believe it would be… _therapeutic._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I divine a sound of frustrated howls and thrown computers with another cliff hanger! 
> 
> Shall we place our bets ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary beauties? : >


	83. Chapter 83

Sun warmed Hannibal’s cheeks, filtering through gray wispy clouds reflected across a windshield. They ached from a score of faint bruises, smirk perpetually quivering across his lips. He hummed quietly along with cresting notes of _Praeludium Fantasie_ , steering the Aston Martin around a winding path of paved road. He stared out at thickets of green dusted in melting snow, eyes flicking over a score of crows rising from branches in a swirl of black and taking flight.

He settled back into leather, easing a series of stinging aches running down his chest and ribcage. He had waited months to be in this much exquisite agony. Blood alive in a thrum of swirling heat of fresh bruises and open cuts. Behind closed eyes he could still see Will standing over him, perceived victorious, a vision of snapping teeth and low snarling growls. He had taken grave satisfaction in each connecting fist and nails sinking into his skin, to see the younger man willing to claw and fight his way out for the first time from the brink of death. It made his blood run hot, cock thrumming with each rush. The violent entanglement of their limbs had been the closest intimacy they had shared.

 _Basic elemental needs. Fight. Survive…_ An incisor slipped out, nipping at his lip. _Fuck._

A low growl drew his attention to the passenger seat. Thunderous blue glowered back beneath low drawn brows. Disheveled curls hung haphazardly around a dark face looking out. Corners of the older man’s mouth twisted up, eyes falling to wrists handcuffed to the passenger door, hands clad in tight clinging suede. His eyes drifted over bare skin curtained by a rumpled button up dress shirt hanging open.

_Beautiful._

He returned eyes back to the road, reaching over and brushing away blood from a thin line of lips with a flick of his thumb. He placed the digit in his mouth, sucking off a trail of red with a hiss of satisfaction. Hannibal had swept the younger man, quite literally, off his feet and reveled in the primal urge of swinging Will across his shoulder, carrying him off, one hand splayed tight across a fine clothed ass.

“Do you not approve of your clothes, William?” Hannibal drawled, touching a bent knee, ghosting a hand up a tense thigh. He kneaded soft flesh for a moment, sinking into radiating heat of a half hard cock just out of reach. “I did…after all… graciously allow you to keep them.” He cast a tongue over his bottom lip, as shadowed eyes snapped up with a rattle of chains. “If first you do not succeed, Will?” The older man felt a faint smirk touch his lips. “Many in my chosen profession might advise you to try, try again.”

 _And god…_ Hannibal drew in a steadying breath, fingers tensing on the wheel. _How divine you look when you try, William, not to be devoured._

“Gloating again, Doctor?” A low snarl and flashing teeth sent a thrill of heat straight to the older man’s cock. “Or merely pursuing a path to become Him?”

“How I would bite petulance off your very lips…” Hot, swirling air burned in Hannibal’s lungs, fingers stilling on a trembling thigh. He pulled away, placing it carefully back on the wheel. “…if only you would allow it, Will.”

_Remind me of how your biting mouth tastes crushed on mine with the threat of your body following pursuit._

Pushing a smile off his lips, Hannibal traced fresh splits across his lip, body aching in a thrum of desire and humming pleasure pain. “Do you imagine you would take the force of my teeth better than this sore display of defeat?”

“ _Christ_.” Will thumped his head back into a headrest, letting out a hissing breath, wrists straining against handcuffs. “Do I really have to suffer the sound of you droning on for the rest of this foreseeable journey?”

“Tell me, Will…” Hannibal reached over, stroking knuckles down a shadowy jaw. “What other voices might you hear in the darkened shadows of your mind?” He studied eyes fluttering closed, before turning attention back to the road. “Given the necessity to dispose of our phones, I cannot imagine ghosts provide you with infinitely better company than I might in this present moment.”

“Was it entirely necessary to back over them with the car after tossing them out an open window?”

An unbidden chuckle bubbled up. “ _Not entirely_.” The younger man shot him another glare before staring straight ahead, shoulders squared. “Are you troubled over the loss of the Ducati, Will?” He touched the side of a jaw grinding teeth. “I will buy you another if you wish.”

“You cannot…” Breath hissed out between Will’s teeth. “… _buy_ my affection, Doc-tor Lec-ter.” Dark eyes swung over. Hannibal’s lips parted, gripping the wheel harder, knuckles going white for a moment. “Or my forgiveness.”

“I will give you…” A hot rush of hunger caused his cock to jerk, eyes dipping closed for a moment in a flood of carnal images.“…whatever you may desire. Though I would never buy what I could _earn_.” Hannibal’s gaze sunk lower, falling on fabric tenting in a sudden jerk between rigid thighs. “Would you allow me to earn you, Will, _all_ of you?”

Will yanked on handcuffs locked around a door, dark eyes lowered, staring back at the older man’s rude erection, growling, “Take. These. Off.”

“In a moment…”

Nails sunk into a leather steering wheel. Hannibal imagined his hand drifting farther up the younger man’s thigh, cupping and squeezing velvety balls until they were both breathless. A dress shoe pressed steadily down on an accelerator. How his nails might trail up and down a stitched fly, unzipping enough to stroke a single index finger along a throbbing shaft. Hands yanked on the wheel, steering down a winding dirt path as the car hurtled through a thicket of trees towards a body of water shimmering in the distance.

“ _Hannibal_.” An insistent growl dragged his attention away, eyes snapping back to focus on driving with a firm shake of his head.

“This particular path is a bit dangerous.” His fingers curled around the gearstick, shifting down, stroking a thumb over it suggestively. “It will require my undivided attention, Will. And you know how I feel about providing _certain tasks_ …” Hannibal’s lips parted, able to feel the wet slide of a beautiful cock filling his mouth. “…my full focus and lavish skill. We are nearly home.”

Dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Hannibal.”

“Have you become so comfortable with doting you are no longer willing to suffer not getting your way, my dear?” One glance to his right and Hannibal felt the head of his dick lifting, swelling, aching beneath the attention of eyes locked firmly between his thighs. “I find it… rather charming.”

“I don’t care about _your needs_ , Doctor!” Will snapped, straining forward, hot breath fluttering across a buttoned collar wrapped tight around the older man’s throat. “If you are so charmed by what I want…” Chains rattled louder. “Pull over… and take these off.”

Blue eyes sparked bright, dark, aching, and when he looked over he let out a low curse, “Šūdas!”

Hannibal ground out a loud sharp biting curse in English, hands snapping the wheel to the right, tires spinning, engine groaning in protest. Swerving to a side of the dirt road, he jammed one foot on the brake, another on the clutch, and slammed the Aston Martin into park. A shaking hand let go of keys buried in the ignition. He released a hot breath, turning in the seat to regard the younger man fully, to drink in every inch of him.

Will leaned back into the passenger seat, legs spread wide, smirking triumphantly. Defiantly. It took every ounce of Hannibal’s strength not bury his face between elegantly draped thighs and snap a belt buckle loose with his teeth. He wanted to hear the car fill with a cacophony of helpless moans, begging to be taken, to be satiated by only what his mouth would offer and pull away until he heard the word of his undoing, his ruin, and destruction: **_Please._**

_How long, how long, how—_

“Three fucking months,” Will announced abruptly, jerking again on restraints. “You are remarkably easy to read these days, Hannibal. It’s really rather disappointing.”

Dragging a small silver key from an inner jacket pocket, Hannibal leaned close in a resounding crack of bones unfurling inside a violent predatory gaze watching his every move. A mouth skimmed the collar of his shirt. He shivered. Tensing fingers fumbled, dropping the key between perfectly placed dress shoes. He swallowed a curse, slowly reaching down, between thighs spreading open to allow him room. He pretended to search for it, to revel in the feel of heated hunger trailing down the curve of his spine. The older man retrieved the key, locking eyes with Will as he did, a visceral reminder of how he looked between his legs. Handcuffs fell away with a click.

“William…” A breathless whisper left aching lips, gazing up.

The younger man regarded him coolly, indifferently, down the bridge of his nose. As Hannibal leaned forward, he leaned back, careful to keep just out of reach. A low growl rose from an arching throat, echoed by another. Hands settled on either side Will’s face, forcefully drawing him forward, hands fisting in soft curls. His lips hovered a breath away from ones drawing up in a snarl. How long had he waited to merely feel the tangle of their lips entwine? His eyes flicked up from corners of a mouth, brushing a thumb across it with a quiet plea, every ounce of muscle shaking to keep from leaning in to take what belonged to him. He waited for consent, eyes slipping closed.

“Will?”

A fist slammed against the dash. A glove box popped open. Fingers curled around a textured handle, drawing out flashing black metal. Hannibal’s eyes snapped closed, inhaling sharply. A muzzle of a gun jammed into his temple, yanked back by strands of hair. He went still, breath coming out in short gasps of rising hunger laced with tendrils of fear. The hammer of a gun clicked into place. A fatal echo. He placed palms flat against a leather seat. His mouth trembled, pressing a bottom lip between sharp teeth to keep from disarming the younger man and throwing him across his knees. Having a bullet wrapped around his brain was not the way he had imagined being wrapped only moments before.

“ _NO_ ,” Will snarled, muzzle pressing harder down.

Hannibal nodded once, hands raised, retreating to the driver’s side seat. “Have you taken to stashing firearms now, instead of currency, Will?” His voice came out soft, steadily aching for touch, any touch.

The younger man tipped his head to the side, staring down a barrel, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Have you considered not asking a man, who now takes great pride in _actually_ killing other people for a living, inarticulate questions?”

“It never crossed my mind…” Hannibal murmured quietly, head falling back into a windowpane to stare out at light filtering through a canopy of green. He wanted one last look before it all burned around them, their bodies becoming nothing but ash drifting apart and separating in the finality of last rites. “Though I suppose this could be considered progression. Will, I... I...” His voice trailed off, unable to speak. His eyes slipped back to a dark figure looming close, mercy of a shaking gun held squarely between them, smiling weakly, accepting. “And what a fine choice you have made, William, to take control of your Fate at last. Tell me, dear one, what have you decided?”

_Do you no longer see me, William, blurred in your reflection gazing back?_

Fingers slid around the handle, readjusting grip in an unfurl of knuckles and fingertips. The gun rested in his hand with a sudden wave of stillness. With a soft sigh, Hannibal lowered his eyes towards the ground, lashes sweeping down to hide tears. Will cocked his head to the side, curls falling over the right side of his face in a cascade of shimmering dark and softness. A finger brushed against a trigger, latching around it slowly. The older man nodded once, rearranging his limbs in a straight back and crossed knee, adjusting the tie at his throat, smoothing out wrinkles. Letting his head fall back, he gazed steadily back at the younger man and let out a resolute breath.

He decided no human being had ever looked as beautiful in the fading glow of the afternoon than Will, light eyes misting rain touching a cloudless sky. There were no demons lurking, only rippling grey mirrors of fallen stars burning out. The younger man would be the last image he would ever see in this life, one final gift. A heart fluttered softly in his chest, three words trapped on his lips and a velvet box buried in his jacket pocket, gently smiling into lipid pools of embracing Death.

_I'm yours, William, only yours to take. Promise to hold me well when the last ragged breath leaves my shattered lungs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god I don't keep meaning to do this and leave you hanging! (I won't say the words c**** hanger because Karen pointed out it was upsetting because, who wants to be thrown into an existential crisis of mourning about cliffs?) Next chapter is going to be, excellent, it needs polished and proofread like hell and its 2am so I am falling over into my bed now for the necessity of sleep. 
> 
> And if you aren't crying into your cat already, mood music:  
> 3 Libras : A Perfect Circle  
> "Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded. But I see, see through it all, see through, see you."


	84. Chapter 84

Behind closed eyes, Hannibal saw Will draped in soft sepia tones of gentle lighting lying in a tangle of sheets, fallen stars trapped tight underneath gentle lashes and glistening on curving lips. A smaller palm upturned and holding a bloodied organ thrumming in insubstantial beats of ineffable emotion against stained teeth. The older man turned his face away with a low breath, as icy metal brushed against his temple. He had been willing to kill for even a fleeting moment of possessing all he loved. How fitting, how just, how beautiful, it would be to die for it. For him. Always for him.

“Take off your tie.” Ice cold seeped out of white teeth.

“I… beg your pardon.” Hannibal blinked slowly, wincing as a muzzle shoved forcefully against his forehead. “Perhaps I misheard you, Will?”

“ _Take it off_ , Hannibal!” The younger man hissed, lurching forward on his knees, straddling the console, a wolf bent low, crouching, readying to strike. “NOW.”

The sheer commanding strength of the younger man’s voice would have sent him to his knees had he been standing.

“So you do prefer the intimacy…” A dark smile flitted across the older man’s face, head tipping to the side. “…only your hands can provide, William. I was under the impression you merely fantasized about choking the breath from my body. To be the first to bear witness when the moment itself is actualized, even if fleeting, is quite a feat. Terribly intriguing. Do you imagine your transformation will be complete with my death?”

“Stop stalling.”

Drawing in a slow breath, Hannibal reached for the tie at his throat, rolling hips back into a leather seat. He slipped a finger into the knot, locking eyes with Will, each tug a purposeful swirl of seduction and display of control.

“Hurry the fuck up and do what you’re told, Doctor!” Cold metal pressed into his forehead, white teeth dragging off suede gloves, sharp finger pointing at an edge of the seat. “Sit it there. Now!”

The older man closed his eyes, cock straining against his zipper, a rush of fluid seeping down his thigh. Silk slipped apart in a quiet hiss, slipping around a starched collar, before he placed it down, neatly folded, beside his knee. He considered leaning forward, taking the tense finger in his mouth and sucking on it. If he was going to face his death, he might as well enjoy how the Reaper himself would taste. Dark eyes strayed from the tie to a glittering buckle.

“The belt…” Will whispered hoarsely. “That too.”

Lips parting, Hannibal let out a rush of air seeping out of clenching lungs, dragging the belt loose. “Tangles of mixed messages, William,” He warned darkly, folding the belt in half and snapping it into an upturned palm, testing how it burned.

The older man shifted, knees spreading open, longing to see Will thrown over them, belly down and ass up as he brushed fingers across the swell of soft tender flesh. The belt would crack with each snap of his wrist. To feel the younger man’s throbbing cock pressed hard against his thigh, staining his trousers, leaking in a steady stream of white over black leather. Until soft whimpers turned to moans begging to be allowed to come.

Will snorted derisively. Violently controlled lust swirled in dark eyes, pressing him back into the corner with a cold threat of metal. “Put your hands behind the seat,” He hissed against his ear, teeth scraping across his jugular. “And bind your wrists with it.”

“ _Will_ …” Black eyes rose slowly up peaked thighs, across a threat of rigid arms, and settled on lips turned up in a glitter of teeth. “This is a remarkably dangerous game…”

He had seen Will wrestle power away from him before and use him for both their mutual pleasure. This was different. The younger man wasn’t interested in merely holding the noose around his throat. Will wanted to flay open his skin, strip him of control, and have him stark, bare, and at his feet, to submit. Hannibal’s mouth went dry, nearly coming from the defiant glitter of dark eyes looking back, a shiver trilling down the base of his spine. This was exotic destruction beckoning him in with heated stares and licking lips locking away untold promises. Sharp teeth vowing imminent release or eternal denial.

“You have two choices, Hannibal, and _I_ am not asking _you_.” A muzzle pressed into the hollow of his throat, safety clicking back on. “I have the gun, so you’re going to do whatever the fuck you’re told. Are you able to follow instruction as well as you think you can give it, Doctor?”

The mere brush of shadows clinging to Will’s tongue had Hannibal wrapping his arms back around the leather seat. He shifted hips to ease an aching cock, aware of the close watch the younger man was keeping on it. The belt coiled into a loop, searching fingers guiding a leather edge through a metal buckle by touch alone. He stuck one wrist in, then another, reaching for its edge and snapping tight.

He hissed as leather bit into wrists, eyes narrowing, breathless. “Do you wish to kill me, Will or…?”

“ _Tell me, Doctor_ …” A gun traced down the side of his face. “Which one…” It curved down the length of his chest, stroking down his right thigh. Storming blue looked up before a hand reached out, cupping a palm around his erection and lifting. “…excites you more?”

A deep guttural moan erupted out of the back of his throat. “ _Fuck_ _me_ or _kill me_ , Will!” Hannibal snarled, bucking up into fingers holding tight, letting out a low growling desperation between snapping teeth.

"Which would you prefer, Doctor Lecter?"

Staring up into flashing blue eyes, Hannibal dragged forward against the restraints, mouth unhinged in a series of hot breaths. He pushed back into the cold muzzle of the gun, challenging. Pressure tightened around his wrist, breathlessly waiting to see if Will would end his suffering or if he would retreat, strand him there, agonizingly hard and bound. Leave him wanting. Abandon him to a later sentencing. A just punishment for fresh bruises on a shadowed mouth. Red fingerprints pressed tight in to ribs. Gentle sweeping lines of palms stroking his ass. Hannibal wanted it, to be overpowered, taken, and used in whatever way Will would have him, if he would simply have him at all.

“Put an end to this pretense of existence! If you have no intention of doing either… then it may be in your best interest to let go.” He stared down, teeth grinding in his skull, as fingers worked up and down the length of his shaft through trousers. Each rutting thrust elicited a muffled chuckle vibrating at his throat. “Unless…” Hannibal hissed, teeth snapping into a curving neck and scraping down. “…you would rather lose the use of your hands.”

A gun clattered to the floor. Will let out an answering growl, launching forward and swinging legs around to straddle grinding hips. His fingers wound in lapels, shoving forcefully in a rattle of bones. Hannibal groaned, head snapping back, lifting his hips, desperate for friction and release.

Rough hands and a mouth ground out across his jaw line. “ _Tell me_.”

The older man’s head tipped forward, nuzzling at an exposed throat marked in red lines, whistling cool air across a hammering pulse. “Fuck. Me.” A breath hitched as he licked down the path his teeth had made, salt flooding his mouth. “Or put a bullet in my brain, Will.” He pushed at a collar with his nose, sucking a dark red mark below bone and growling, “We will not survive the third option, of that I can assure.”

Pain splintered across his scalp, dragged back by strands of hair. “Keep your hands and mouth to yourself!”

“W-will…” A needy sound left Hannibal’s throat, eyes slipping shut, groaning louder as a pulsing shaft and balls ground down into his.

_Please. Please. Please._

Fingers twisted silk in a sloppy single knot. Hannibal shuddered as it slipped around his head and dragged his neck back against a leather headrest, hips thrusting up in unison. He struggled to breathe, watching as the younger man fumbled for a button on his jeans and then for one on trousers. Will pulled harder on the tie, pushing fingers into his mouth and drawing them out in a trail of spit. He was close. So close.

“Will!” The older man jerked forward, straining against the tie, close enough to taste his mouth, voice strangled and low.

“Don’t you fucking try and kiss me!”

Silk yanked tight. “Nnn…”

“Did I give you my explicit consent to do so? My permission?” Red hazed Hannibal’s vision, sound of labored breathing filling the car. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you, Doctor,” Will mouthed against his ear, teeth nipping at its lobe. “So I’ll just imagine you agreed to do as I say. As you were told.”

The older man thrust up, fists curling around leather binding his wrists, cock leaking in a steady stream down trousers jerked down around his hips, head slapping against his stomach. He hadn’t worn anything else beneath them. Will stifled a small gasp, reaching briefly to tug fingers across his shaft through boxers, throbbing and hot.

“I didn’t say you could touch me either. Did I?”

“Those are not choices nnn…” It was his turn to gasp, a palm slipping down to fondle velvety balls and lift. “They are nnn… commands.”

“ _Demands_ , Hannibal.” Will leaned forward, dragging down an edge of a collar, eliciting a choking noise of desperation as teeth sank into his neck, sucking a red mark raw until it throbbed. “Remember? I’m rude.”

“W-will…” The older man moaned, falling back as slick fingers encircled his cock, pulling back foreskin, head sinking into a hot palm. “ _Fottimi_!” (Fuck me!)

A dark smile of recognition shadowed corners of Will’s mouth. He focused on working fingers up and down the shaft, gaze straying up each time Hannibal moaned his name a little louder. _Will. Will. Will._ He chanted the name over and over, pace picking up in time and intensity with each rhythmic stroke of rolling fingertips and thumb.

“Will—“ _Please_. “–this is not enough!”

Fingers squeezed beneath his glans, forcibly delaying his orgasm. “Are you actually complaining, Doctor?”

“ _The tie—nnn_!”

“Don’t you think I know what you need, Doctor Lecter?” The pressure around his throat increased while the grasp around his dick loosened bit by bit, letting out a strangled moan. Will leaned forward, licking up the line of his neck, whispering softly, “I know what you need…how to take care of you.” He sucked on the lobe of his ear, alternating between tongue and teeth. “I want to hear you say it. Give me what I want, and I will give you what you need.”

“W-william…” Hannibal gasped for breath, staring up helplessly into blue eyes flooding with dark cravings. “ _Please_.”

The older man hardly had time to choke out the last word before the tie was tight around his throat, eyes rolling back in his head, a succession of operatic Italian stuttering out between parted lips. Will grabbed onto his cock and was jerking him off hard, fast, relentlessly setting a frantic pace.

“Più veloce!”  
 _(Faster!)_

“Perpiace…nnn!”  
 _(Please.)_

“Oh Doctor Lecter…” Will let out a groan and worked him harder, fingers slick with sweat and precome, tightening and letting Hannibal fuck up into his firm palm.

“O mio dio… nnn Will ah, Will Will Will…” Hannibal moaned louder, feeling a familiar tick of muscles tightening, an unexpected curl of toes inside dress shoes, vision hazing red and white, heat building at the base of his spine. **“** Sarai la mia morte!”  
 _(Oh my god……)_

“Hannibal…” A rapacious smile rippled across inviting lips as the younger man leaned close, hot breath fluttering across Hannibal’s mouth as if to kiss him, lips hovering close, whispering roughly, “Do you really think ‘I’ll be the death of you?’”

“WILLIAM!” Hannibal’s hips snapped up, scream working its way out a bruising, aching throat, thick ropes of come striping across his dress shirt and down a tight hand working him dry. “Cazzo!!” _(Fuck!)_

When Hannibal came to, his first instinct was to draw ragged breath into his lungs. His second was to let it out in rough, desperate growls, silk tie hanging loose around his throat. Will was still straddling him, deliberately licking white liquid off his fingers, one by one, smiling when he realized the older man was conscious. Pleased to know he had caused it. The younger man began sucking then before reaching into his boxers and pulling a beautifully arched cock free.

“I had forgotten how good you taste...” The younger man gasped out, working his shaft with long drags.

“You…” Hannibal closed eyes, barely able to hear the sound of his hoarse voice cracking and dry. He shuddered at the pained sensation of his cock stirring as moans filled the car, blissfully sharp and needy. “…understood me, William.”

“I have always _understood you_ , Hannibal.” A small, warm laugh made him shiver and slump back into the seat. “One does not require empathy to learn another language…And I…nnn… I have had a lot of time on my…nnn hands.”

“Oh William…” The older man clenched his jaw, teeth grinding at a painful spark of arousal. “If I were to hear anything but English falling from your mouth…” His voice trailed off in a low warning.

_I would divest you of clothes, bend your pliant body over the nearest surface, and fuck you senseless in the middle of a crowded room._

Maroon eyes slipped open, watching beneath hooded lids as Will simultaneously thrust into his fingers and sucked on his index and middle finger, staring down at the older man’s thick cock becoming hard again. He couldn’t breath, watching a pink tongue dart out and swirl up and down fingers. He ran a tongue across dry lips as the younger man’s twisted up into a knowing smile.

“Mmm…” Will hummed around wet fingers, leaning in, whispering against his ear. “You taste like a warm ocean tide, Hannibal, spent, exhausted, and lapping at a shoreline. Do you like it when you’re in my mouth? When you have to do as your told?”

“William.” Hands wrapped around the leather belt, tugging once, hard, before letting his wrists snap free in a thrumming bruising ache.

“No one gave you permission to touch, Hannibal. Just to look,” Will growled, leaning back into the steering wheel. “Now… stop allowing yourself to be distracted, do as your told, and drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that I nearly gave all of you near death experiences of cardiac arrest.... 
> 
> Thank fucking Christ, finally! (I'll say it, because I know it's what we are all thinking.) The reappearance of the swinging pendulum of DarkWill struggling with SemiSassyNotQuiteSureWhatHeWantsDealingWithLossWill. Also is anyone else terribly intrigued to further explore Will learning foreign languages (and hopefully speaking aforementioned languages) in Hannibal's presence? Because I am! 
> 
> Today's episode of mood music is brought to you by, a ridiculous amount of Tool or Passenger x Deftones. 
> 
> (And a broad question for research out there: Does anyone know when Will Graham's birthday is? Anyone?)


	85. Chapter 85

Will felt nothing but shaking arms on either side of his shoulders gripping a wheel, damp forehead pressed into the corner of a peaked lapel, his own shuddering breath hot on his face. An aching cock sliding frantically through his fingertips. Anger and lust ebbed in violent waves down his spine, coursing through every vein in his body. It had been building furiously inside the pit of his stomach the moment he had awoken to find himself in a moving car, chained to the passenger seat, and Hannibal smiling weakly back at him. He had simply wanted to make a point, to be heard, and somewhere between pulling a gun and the soft acceptance in maroon eyes welcoming death, he had felt something snap.

He was furious at Hannibal for knowing just how to push and edge his way into causing a reaction. Will was angrier with himself for lack of restraint, for allowing it, and giving in. Half grateful he had done so. Ashamed by the familiar rush it had given him, to be completely control, to watch the older man bend willingly to his commands, stripped and unrefined with nothing but Will’s name on his lips. Knees wrapped firmly around naked hips, seated across the older man’s thighs, staring down at a thick cock thrumming to each moan falling out of his throat.

“Unnfff…”

A broad shoulder collided with his face as the car skidded to a halt. The side of his head banged into a windowpane. Keys jangled out of an ignition and landed in a clang against the passenger seat. He let out a mild curse, loss of rhythm and shock of pain delaying climax. For a moment, unsteady palms coursed down the length of his spine, glided across trouser clad hips, and came to rest regretfully palm down on the seat. Will let out a frustrated breath and opened his eyes. Hannibal was staring back like he hadn’t eaten in months, eyes glowing dark, rippling in flashes of pain and lust, a mere shadow fading into the leather behind him.

It wasn’t that he appeared disheveled, wrinkled, and mussed to the state of debauchery. He looked utterly wrecked, defeated, shaking and trembling. Feral. Starving. An angular jaw ticked in a steady rhythm to hold down curling lips desperate to display a row of flashing teeth. The younger man let out a low breath when he reached for his shaft and a low growl rumbled in answering warning. Tailored shoulders crouched forward, glittering gaze drifting to a hand gliding up and down, nails digging into the driver’s seat to hold tighter still. They threatened to rip open leather and tear apart seams with each moan Will made, picking up the pace with a roll of hips.

“Had I known this form of therapy is what you required, Will…” Hannibal noted hoarsely, casting a red tongue across his lips. “I would have offered my services much sooner…” The younger man’s brows rose ever so slightly, lodging a knee roughly in the center of a solid chest when he tried to lean forward and make contact. “I hadn’t expected our returned lessons in restraint to be quite this…” Rigid lips parted in an aching sigh, chewing on soft skin until it bled. “…effective.”

Will opened his eyes, teeth clenched as he released a throbbing cock. “You…” He inhaled a sharp breath, pinning the older man to the chair with a deadly glare. “…planned this?”

“No…” Hannibal shook his head weakly, letting out a feeble breath of regret, looking up as if he had been struck. “Not this.”

“God, you’re an ass!” Will growled, dragging boxers and trousers up shaking legs, and moving to swing over the middle console. Nails sank into his hips, jamming him against a steering wheel, horn sounding in the distance. He let out a low hiss, eyes snapping open, teeth bared. “Are you expecting dinner and show, Hannibal?”

The older man released immediately, eyes snapping down to the seat, cheeks heating bright, rearranging his trousers and zipping up, voice barely above a whisper, “Neither.”

Stripping a suit jacket down his arms, Will threw it into the passenger seat, fingers crushing wool lapels and shoving the broader frame back into the seat, voice rising to an angry growl, “You deliberately pushed my boundaries to see what would happen, to see what I would do, to satisfy your own fucking curiosity!”

“I may have given you a slight push towards the familiar, but it has always been your choice to observe or participate within the confines of our relationship,” Hannibal answered slowly, eyes dragging up sweat clinging to the bare chest outlined by fine tailored fabric swinging open. “You chose life, Will, to regain control and take back what belongs innately to you. I was not able to give it back to you. I will not apologize for supplying the necessary circumstances to force your decision to do so.” The younger man shook him once, half hard, furious at the heat a simple trail of gaze caused to unfurl at the base of his spine. “One does not always choose how they unravel, but they are sometimes afforded the opportunity to become more than a mere form surviving on breath alone.”

“You consider this a gift to me, Doctor Lecter?” Will hissed bitterly, glowering down into the upturned face below. “Disguised in a form of choice, when you know it would make me feel as though no other choice were available to me. This was intentional! Your design.”

Maroon eyes slipped to the side, voice quieting to a low, near apologetic hum. “You cannot wound a black-backed jackal and starve him for weeks at a time, only to cast blame when it gives into its base instinctual needs upon release.”

Hands snapped up to the older man’s throat, fingers digging in. “Are you saying this is _my_ fault?”

“I am suggesting…” Hannibal let eyes fall closed to hide a spark of desire, twisting his neck slightly in palms enclosing around his windpipe. Will tried to ignore an answering echo throbbing between his legs, to convince himself this was preemptive self defense, that he didn’t enjoy it. “…you have pushed for weeks now for your therapy to include various forms of callous indifference and violence to be brought against you, and yet you remain surprised to find I have given what you requested.”

“This is _not_ what I asked!” Thumbs bore down into a trachea. “Don’t fucking twist my intentions around in your mouth.”

“Your aggression was merely misdirected towards inclinations of destructive self hatred.” The older man looked up, maroon heated in a low glow of soft candlelight, briefly, gently touching the hands at his throat. “I merely provided guidance and pointed your moral compass to seek release in a form that would not bring harm to you either physically or mentally.”

“So you…you trap me in a corner in hopes that what, I might _no_ t kill you, and hope for the best?” Will’s voice was a hollow ring, staring down at bruises forming beneath his fingertips, jerking backwards and releasing in a clouded breath of tears. “You… you wanted me to hurt you?”

_So I would stop asking you to hurt me. Stop asking to hurt myself? To punish you instead?_

“Would you have preferred for me to step back as you requested, Will?” Hannibal asked quietly, stroking fingers down his neck, eyes pleading as if to ask the violent connection to return. “Force me to watch you hurt yourself, knowing it would destroy me? Do you imagine it would have been for our mutual benefit even then?”

“You fucking prick!” Will howled, tears rushing to his eyes and flooding his vision. “You don’t get to… you don’t have the right. You can’t say things like that to me, for Christ’s sake!”

“You may continue to blame me for your becoming, William, or you may simply choose to accept, you are as you were always meant to be.” A gentle thumb brushed a quivering tear off his cheek. “Was it not your own curiosity that led you down our stairs and into my arms all fists of furious punishment? Was it not your own cunning manipulation, which set you free?” Maroon eyes flashed briefly with hurt. “Or did you not intend to enact righteous judgment for all of my failings towards you and against you, flashing before your eyes, when you placed a gun to my head?” A rigid mouth quivered into a sardonic hope. “For there is nothing quite like failure to erode away a man’s sense of hope.”

_God, he sounds… wounded._

“Tell me, Doctor Lecter, have you always been skilled at manipulating events?” Will tipped his head back, undone by the unabashed display of pain gazing back, a single palm reaching out to cover a slow ticking pulse, pressing in. “Or am I merely still susceptible to your well placed pushing hands?”

“I did not wish to watch you choose your death over my own.”

_Stop. Please don’t look at me like that._

“But you enjoy watching what I do. How I’ll respond. You always have,” The younger man growled bitterly, corners of lips snapping down in frustration. He buried the other hand beneath boxers, grabbing hold of his cock and stroking furiously. “Is this what you wanted, Hannibal? What you hoped for? To see me…” Will’s eyes snapped closed, moaning louder, hot liquid rushing down fingers, feeling a climax edging in beneath a tight grip. “…lose control and give in. Is… this what you…nnn god…”

A loud snarl sounded with a flash of teeth, nails digging into wrists and dragging his hand away. “ _No_!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hannibal, what the hell!” As soon as the older man touched him, Will jammed a dress shoe against his chest, leaving behind a grey smudge of a shoe print. Blue eyes flashed up, shaking, fists curled. “I don’t want you to fucking touch me. How many times do I have say it?”

The last words rushed out in a weak choking sound as Will was dragged forward by his throat and out of a car door swinging open. He groaned, shoved down onto the burning hood of a car, a stark contrast to icy wind whipping open his dress shirt and crawling over exposed skin.

“I do not wish to merely touch you, William!” Hannibal snarled down, trapping him inside shaking arms, palms flattened on either side of the sleek metal hood, eyes glowing red. “I long to devour you and considering you will deny all except the slow imminent demise of starvation…”

_I’m sorry…_

A skitter of fear ran down his spine. He had pushed too hard. Will wasn’t sure he was ready to face the consequences. He twisted fists in wool above rigid shoulders, prepared to shove back, to run if necessary.

“It’s not the right time!”

“When _is_ the right time, William, for you to allow me to touch without resistance?” Hannibal’s mouth twisted down in a furious roar, shoulders rolling back, as if the hands pressing back against him were claws digging into his flesh and ripping open to twist in his heart. “Only to find you snatch such a privilege of intimacy from my arms?” Red hissed out in a stream of black smoking filling eyes glowering down, voice cracking into a tremor of sheer agony. “How long are you anticipating I forgo physical desire?”

“ _Forgo!_ Jesus Christ!” Will shoved with all his might, bolting upright on the hood of the car and sliding to his feet, a fist raised in warning. He felt the disconnection of their bodies in a scream working its way out of his throat, wanting to push further away and drag the body back against his in a mere flash of a second. “I just jerked you off in the car a second ago. You would think after all these months you would be grateful I can manage that without having an anxiety attack, or complete mental breakdown, and just _leave it the fuck alone_!”

“William…”

Hannibal stepped back, letting out his name as if hands were at his throat once more, strangled, choking, and barely able to breathe as the distance grew between them. Trembling palms pushed back silver strands of hair with a rough shove, fingers digging into wool draped shoulders and digging in to ease some ache. The older man closed his eyes, letting out a hissing breath, tipping his head up towards a cloudy sky, deepening shadows falling across his cheeks and mouth. When the older man spoke again, it was a mere whisper crumbling from upturned lips.

“ _I need you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update before I trip into my clothes and race off for work! Have a lovely holiday everyone! I look forward to answering all of your beautiful comments asap! (Also I have waited 85 chapters for this moment!)


	86. Chapter 86

_"I need you."_

*

All the breath in Will’s lungs hissed out as if a fist had connected with his gut and twisted. His fury vanished with the stutter of his heart, coming to still inside his broken chest, and refusing to beat. Fingers fluttered at the hood of the car to hold on, shaking limbs sliding down it as the younger man’s body slumped down to frost covered ground. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He made another strangled noise, dragging fingertips down his throat, trying to claw out air stuck in a constricting throat. His heart began to pound in his chest, skin flushing warm and then unbearably hot.

_I can’t… breathe… can’t…_

Long fingers raked across his scalp, tugging his head back to look up into maroon eyes flickering with concern, struggling to detach and retreat. “Breathe, William.” Another tug on soft curls had him gasping for air, sinking back to the ground on his knees. “Breathe.”

“God did you just…?” Will hated how his voice came out in broken notes, strained with another rush of tears. “You can’t…” He shook his head harder, staring down at gleaming dress shoes advancing, drawing knees up to his chest to protect the fragile thing struggling to beat in his chest. “Why would you… why would you say that me? Why?”

_Don’t say it. If you don’t mean it… just… don’t._

When the older man slowly knelt down beside him, Will winced, unable to tear eyes away from mud seeping through grey wool and spreading across bent knees. He wanted to disappear. Gentle hands coursed through his hair, sweeping curls away from his face. He let out a shaking breath, hugging arms protectively around his knees. Palms settled around his down turned face, tipping it up. Hannibal wasn’t looking directly at him, gaze fixed at the soft swelling curve of his cheek, lashes fluttering in a frantic rhythm of being forced to remain open and be seen. When had he started hiding again?

“You seem to be under the impression you are powerless and at the mercy of others,” Hannibal spoke softly, allowing a single hand to cup the side of his cheek, to steady each tremor shaking the younger man’s body. “And I have need to remind you of a simple fact of mortality. You do not need to put a bullet in my brain to kill me, Will.”

“Don’t…” A feeble smile touched a rigid mouth, trembling a bit more when Will flinched away.

“I ceased to exist the moment you were taken from me. I have died every day since, a little more each time the soft curve of your hands pulled away from mine upon your return.” The younger man felt a sob release from his throat when maroon eyes rose slowly, inch by inch, and finally met his own, mirrored in a mist of tears. “And… I do need you, William, as if you were life itself. Is there any other way to express what it has felt like to live in silence without you? Beside you? To watch you drift from my arms and crowd farther into the shadowing corners of your mind. Keeping me far from the light of your beautiful eyes to keep breath circulating in this aging temple.”

Hannibal looked away, staring off somewhere in the distance, voice a mere whisper. “I had selfishly hoped our falling apart would have lead you back to me, to rediscover how to fall back into my arms and each other’s lives.” A trembling thumb brushed across his bottom lip. “How am I to patch the crumbling walls of our souls slipping apart, Will? Tell me, tell me… I am able to fix this?”

“I d-don’t need you to fix me!” Will choked out, dragging the older man forward by his suit jacket, desperate to take away lines of pain etched into skin. “I just need you to…” _Love me as I am_. “…let me fix myself.” His hands surged forward, clasping at a face flickering with hurt and longing as the older man was drawn forward, foreheads touching. “Fuck, Hannibal… I… I… I want to kiss you…”

Hannibal curled fingertips around the back of an arching neck, eyes fluttering closed to hide a score of tears as the younger man pulled back slightly. Aching words breathed out in a warm whisper across the mouth below, “Yet you continue to object when I try to give you what you want.” A thumb pushed Will’s lips apart, running a knuckle over a gentle divot and soft swell. “A shame to let a mouth as beautiful as yours rest barren without warmth. Particularly when it was made to fit so exquisitely with my own.”

The older man rocked back on his heels, disentangling the hands on his jacket, and drawing Will up to his feet. “You were made to be tasted, William, to be savored…” A warm mouth pressed gently into a swallowing throat, palms coursing down a narrow ribcage and resting at hips, pulling in. “For the hollows of your body to be worshiped by the reverence of hands and lips.”

“D-don’t. Please,” Will pushed at the hands weakly, crumbling into the broad curve of a shoulder, mouth muffled into a pocket square. “Why am I like this…why? I want to... with you, like before. I just…”

_I don’t want to hurt you. What if…_

He tried to swallow down another sob, shaking harder, clutching at arms hanging limply at his side. “What if I can’t… enjoy it? What if I can’t…?”

“ _Quiet_.” Teeth flashed white, tenor dipping hoarse and low. “Please spare me the softness of your lips whispering you no longer belong to me.” Hannibal wrapped trembling arms around the figure sobbing into his chest, palm settling on the back of a head pushing in, eyes drifting closed. “You were always here with me. Even when you were not. I…thought if I could find you… save you…” He pressed lips gingerly into soft curls, voice cracking, “I saved nothing but the memories of your soul to linger with me in my darkest hours, my greatest comfort and torment. To care for something I never knew I would be able to have. To find it taken from me once more.”

“Hannibal,” Will breathed out his name, the feel of a knife sparking to life, carving across his stomach, remembering the last time Hannibal lost faith. A swirl of color left the younger man hanging limply in strong arms, a surge of helplessness sending his limbs flailing in panic. “No, wait! I—“

Crossing the forest floor, Hannibal held tighter to the rigid body tucked safely into his arms, and quickly made his way down a gently sloping paved driveway. Will opened eyes at the sound of faint trickling water. They rounded a modest stone fountain carved in the image of Venus surrounded by a handful of cherubs resting in and around her feet, twining ribbons and roses in flowing hair.

His eyes flicked away towards a looming shadow of muted stone. A peaked roof rose up out of depths of grey and tangling tree branches. Stone sides of a house supported its frame in rough cuts, accented by large arching windows on the right and formed a peaked chimney on the left. The younger man ducked, carried beneath an archway as Hannibal fumbled for keys in a pocket, drawing them out, and swinging open a cherry colored red door.

Wrinkling his nose at a waft of scattering dust, Will blinked a few times, waiting for his vision to adjust to the dark interior. His body was lowered to something soft, shoes scraping across the floor as the older man’s figure came into focus in a haze of light filtering down from a skylight. Hannibal knelt carefully to the side, next to a faint slate blue chaise, dragging Will’s shirt closed and doing up buttons in a swift turn of fingertips. He nimbly untied dress shoes next and slipped them off his feet, sitting their muddied soles to the side.

“If this… if the carnal aspects of our relationship…” Hannibal formed words slowly, carefully, hands coming to rest on either side of shaking knees. “…are something you no longer wish for then it is detrimental to us both to consider any further physical interaction.” A peaked cheek flinched, words flattening out to a detached shadow of space and form. “I am perfectly capable of restraint should the need arise. To reestablish the roles of our relationship as they once were, of mere conversations between patient and psychiatrist. Friendship and nothing more.”

“G-god, that’s not…” Will’s head snapped up, staring back. “That’s not fair, Hannibal.”

A hand barely brushed over his own, a trail of a ghost, maroon eyes fixed to a gleaming hardwood floor. “William…” Hannibal slumped further forward, resting a head against a knee, words a flutter of soft melting snow. Will leaned down, barely able to hear him, longing to gather the crumbling figure to his chest and beg him to take it back, to promise nothing would change. “Give yourself over to me… or let me go. I cannot…I will not survive this separation.”

"Hannibal, wait—“ Will reached out as hands slipped right through his fingers, watching as the older man strode quickly across the dark room, brushing a sleeve across a hidden face before walking out the front door. “Wait…”

He stared helplessly down at sock covered feet, willing them to move, for the shaking in his legs to subside and move after the shadow melting out into the afternoon. Everything he needed was walking out the door and out of his life. His toes curled against cold hardwood, ankles aching, feet rooted to the floor. Will struggled to his feet, grappling for an edge of the chaise to keep steady. Why did the thought of their lips brushing give way to terror setting loose in his chest? Why couldn’t he get the thought of another’s teeth and mouth tearing at his own out of his head?

“Wait!” He called a little louder, tears streaking down his face. “I-I-I’m sorry. Wait.”

_I’ll get better. Just wait. Just wait. Be patient. Please. Wait._

The sound of an engine rumbling in the distance sent Will to his knees. Palms covered his face, clamping one over an open mouth to smother out wracking sobs echoing inside empty rooms and barren walls. His heart crumbled piece by piece inside wailing sounds working their way up out of a raw throat. Too late. He was alone.

_I need you…_

Had Hannibal meant it? If he truly needed him, why was he alone? Why was it not enough? Was it ever enough? Or were they just storm clouds colliding in the distance of sparking light and noise, forever pushing apart? He had pushed the one person who had ever known him, truly seen him, away, possibly forever. Was this it? The return to a life full of fleeting moments of contact and emptiness glimmering inside a glass tumbler. He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye, to tell Hannibal one last time how much he loved him.

“But I… love you…” He choked out to shadows. “I let you… in…”

Will had never been able to speak the words, to say he had wanted to spend the rest of his life, with Hannibal, and no one else. For however long that might be. Will cried out, palms flat against the wooden floor, searching for the warmth of trailing hands fading from his skin. He would have rather died to the gentle rocking of that cramped boat, starving in the arms of the man he loved, than this. Anything but this.

“William?”

Will’s blurring vision rose slowly from the floor, heart stopping, teeth clattering out, “Y-y-you insensitive fuck!”

Dozens of suitcases and various forms of leather bags dropped to the floor. In a blur of movement, Hannibal crossed distance between them in a mere second and dragged Will up from the floor and into a crushing embrace. Their legs tangled, tripping, sending them falling back into the chaise. The younger man could barely breathe, sinking further and further against a chest below struggling to rise and fall beneath his weight. His nails sunk into forearms, dragging them tighter around his frame, vision dimming to a grey haze as they squeezed.

“S-s-stop threatening to leave me!”

“I…merely went to retrieve our luggage, Will,” Hannibal let out weakly, drowned out by aching cries. “I would never leave you. Unless… you asked. Only then. I didn’t think—”

“Stop thinking!” Will choked out, tearing off a grey suit jacket and fumbling down a long line of buttons. “I-I-I can do this…” He jerked the dress shirt open, pushing it down curving biceps. _I can do this. Just shut up. Stop thinking. Just…close your eyes._ “I’ll fuck you, alright.” Shaking hands reaching for the front of trousers. “Just don’t… don’t leave me.”

“William…” Sturdy hands pushed his away, a mouth following a sob working its way up his throat.

“Hannibal!” Will shoved back, rolled underneath the older man’s body, wrists pinned to the cushions. He stared helplessly into maroon eyes, struggling to break free, tongue twisting hot and unbridled in his mouth. “Don’t you want me to fuck you? Or have you merely forgotten how much you like it?”

“Are you sincere in offering up your body to me?” Dark eyes narrowed, flipping the younger man on to his stomach, harsh palm digging into the back of his neck. Will suffocated against the pillows, feeling a palm work its way up the back of his thigh, burying a cry as it grabbed a fistful of his ass and squeezed. “Or do you truly believe I would not be able to see through yet another poorly veiled manipulation?”

“I-I-I can handle it.” Will’s muffled voice seeped through the cushions, desperate to convince himself.

“There is no need. You have nothing to prove to me. There is no need to bring pain to us both…” Hannibal shrugged back into his dress shirt, reaching for the jacket and pulling out a gun, offering it back, palm up. “Would now be considered an inappropriate time to discuss your recent possession of a firearm, Will?”

“It…Hannibal…” Will reached out for him once more, trembling hand pushed away, cold metal resting in his palm, as the older man moved to an opposite side of the couch. “… It wasn’t meant for you.”

_It was meant for him. For those like him._

“This is not the first time you have drawn a gun and had me in your sights, William, and suspect it will not be the last.” Hannibal tipped his head, an affectionate smile warming the corner of his eyes before dimming dark. “Does it afford you some form of comforting protection I am unable to offer?”

“Yeah but you don’t have to keep fucking accepting the idea I’ll kill you with such gallant ease!” The younger man snapped, flinging the gun between them, shoulders hunching forward, arms swinging protectively around his waist.

A soft drawl of pain answered. “I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion. I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more…”

“Christ! Stop!”

Will’s eyes snapped shut at the gentle rise and fall of firelight glowing in the distance, shuddering inwardly, gooseflesh scattering down his skin. He wanted to be alone. To know Hannibal was in another room. To listen to the soft shuffle of movement, to pretend they were lying in the small cabin, side by side, resting softly in arms and breathing each other’s air. Maroon eyes fell on him, questioning, waiting for him to ask.

“No, no, I don’t want an interpretation. Just drop it.” He bit the inside of his cheek, casting eyes around dark room, making out vague shapes of open archways and a staircase in the distance. “Is this a house or mausoleum?”

Hannibal shot him a withering look, rising to his feet, and returning to the other side of the room to perch on top of a large leather suitcase. Will tried to swallow down acidic bile rising, flooding his mouth, and leaving his lips in twisted forms. When all he really wanted to ask was for the older man to hold him, to let him crumble and hold his pieces for a few hours, without needing to piece him back together.

“Why is there no furniture except this goddamn ostentatious chaise? What is your thing with chaise lounges and why is it placed here under this theatric display of a skylight?”

“Which of these questions…” Long fingers spread wide before clasping over a knee. “…would you like me to answer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delays, my darlings. It has been a difficult week battling migraines, so things might be rigidly slow for awhile. 
> 
> Mood Music: "Hold" x Built for the Sea
> 
> Welcome to the coast of Western France! Where I now have to construct an entire house in my head and figure out where everything is again. 
> 
> A soft drawl of pain answered. “I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion. I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more…”  
> (“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion. I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more. I could by martyred for my religion. Love is my religion. I could die for that.” ~John Keats)
> 
> If only Will would have asked for the damn interpretation, and let Hannibal finish. 
> 
> Next chapter: who did Will kill? Why? And has Hannibal been pursuing his culinary passion once more, or hasn't he? And an acceptable breakdown we can all *actually* handle.


	87. Chapter 87

“Which of these questions…” Long fingers spread wide before clasping over a knee. “…would you like me to answer?”

*

“ _Hannibal_.”

The older man sighed softly, glancing around the darkened room. “It is virtually empty because it is ours.”

“I don’t understand…” Will reached out, catching a duffle bag in his hand, and placing it at his feet. It felt lighter than he remembered. “If this is one of your enlightened metaphors…”

“I sketched out its plans and the rest of the estate approximately four and a half months ago after purchasing the property…” Hannibal shrugged, glancing down at the watch strapped to his wrist as if bored by the conversation, skillfully averting a gaze searching for his own. “Pooling our resources together, I made inquires to seek an appropriately skilled architect and asked her to create this for us…” He glanced up, a corner of his mouth ticking. “As for the chaise, I find they offer the most comfort when I wish to close my eyes and rest. And skylights offer an appealing aesthetic ambiance to gaze up at.”

Will rose unsteadily to his feet, brows drawing low, voice faltering, “Did you—did you build this… _for us_?”

_God… why would you want to? Why would you… Tell me again._

“You made it very clear it was _our_ money, Will.” The older man noted firmly, reaching out for a shaking hand pressing it to his lips quickly before releasing. “We have built it together. I wanted to create a home for us both… to shape and fill its walls in our fading memories and our entwined futures.”

_Tell me you need me._

A feeble breath unfurled. “Ours?”

“ _Ours_.” Hannibal rose from the luggage, dusting ineffectually at the footprint stamped across his dress shirt, a hallmark stamp of the younger man’s affection or vengeance. He picked up two suitcases in one hand, tugging for Will to follow as he made way towards a staircase. “Let me take you to your room.”

“M-my room?” Will stumbled up the first step, clutching at the hem of a dress shirt, eyes squinting to see through the dark.

_My room? But…_

Trailing after the gracefully moving figure, Will was led up the stairs to a landing cut off by a wooden rail balcony overlooking the rooms below. He glanced up at the skylight. He held on to the railing, fingers shaking, trying to work up the courage to turn around and face the inevitable separation.

_Are you punishing me?_

“Do you not wish to see your room?”

A tug on his left arm brought his attention back. Hannibal stood at a door to the right of the stairs, pushed open, arm extended for him to go in, an invitation to what enter what felt like the younger man’s final resting place. Will felt a lump rise in his throat, shuffling forward, before he was pulled in with a jerk on his sleeve. Two leather suitcases sat in the middle of an empty room. A small single daybed rested in a dark corner covered in a thin plastic. Grey velvet cushions lined a bay window over looking a wooded area carved in pathway of smooth slate stones and small shrubs.

“I thought perhaps we might place a garden below this area here to watch life blossom and grow upon each rising sun,” Hannibal said, pointing to the area below with a faint smile before quickly looking away. “Come.”

_Are you more interested at what the world has to offer now, Hannibal, than looking at what I am no longer capable of giving?_

Will stared at leather suitcases, only his bags, remaining on the floor not a few feet from him like loyal dogs staying where they were commanded to remain. Had they returned to their beginning of a shared roof and separate spaces once more? His eyes wandered through the barren room, heart sinking to his stomach. His fingers curled to keep from shaking, longing to call out, words stuck dry and chaffing inside his throat. He followed creaking hinges, shielding his eyes to step through French doors surrounded in white light.

Light poured in from vast glass windows placed from floor to ceiling, lining the back wall and stretching off to the left, leading out to a small stone balcony on the other side. Thickets of winding forest grew less and less dense, leading out to a white sandy shoreline in the distance, glittering silver water lapping lazily at its edge. A contemporary square bed frame rose up with crème cloth edges and a wooden lattice rail. A large mattress covered in simple white Egyptian cotton sheets tucked into its center, veiled beneath plastic sheeting. A small stone fireplace was built directly across from the bed, damp with cold and empty longing.

Hannibal glanced behind, standing at the far side of the room, gazing out into the distance, safe to look at the younger man in a glass reflection. “It is perfectly private I assure you, William, do come in…” Arching shoulder blades stretched across white cotton fabric, running a hand back through his hair. “I asked the architect to locate a special kind of film for the windows to provide a modest one way mirrored glass on the outside, while maintaining the transparency of the view on the inside.” Fingers tapped an unknown rhythm at hips. “I may have also requested radiant heating for the floors in this room and the master bath.” Maroon eyes slipped back over a tense shoulder. “I had wanted it installed in the entire house, but considered you might find the expense extravagant.”

“Are we, are we, a-a-are…” Will closed his mouth to keep from stammering, jamming hands deep in his pockets, mouth trembling uncontrollably. He forced out words in a rush of breath. “Are we sleeping separately now?”

Hannibal turned quickly, face flushing scarlet before striding over and reaching to pull the younger man close. Dry hands pulled away as Will stepped back, forcing every muscle in his body to tense, to coil and walk out to bury his emotions in some corner where they would never be found, never be seen.

“You may fill your room in whatever manner and possessions you feel befits its purpose, Will. It is yours to do as you see fit,” Hannibal answered quietly, placing hands in pockets to keep from reaching out. “You may use the remainder of your own money. Or you may use mine. I wish to give you access to my fortune and accounts to ensure you are cared for. I would like you to have a life of comfort… What is mine will always belong to you.”

_What is yours…? What about you? Do you no longer belong to me?_

Tears flooded blue eyes, nails biting into skin. “I don’t want fucking possessions, Hannibal!”

“I am not banishing you from our bed…” The older man turned away, going back to stand in front of the open window, as if it was too painful to remain near, inhaling sharply when Will came to stand directly behind him. “This is our room should you choose to stay. For you to wake each morning and gaze out at the rising tides of the Arcachon Bay, to dream softly as you rest upon white sandy beaches, or escape into the comforting shallows of the sea.” A small smile tugged at a rigid mouth as a shaking hand reached for his. Hannibal turned and stroked hair from the younger man’s eyes, gazing at his mouth, a quivering threat to let lose hell or tears. “I imagine your skin would glow golden in the sunlight and your mouth warm with sea salt of ocean tides dragged out in twilight.”

Keys jangled from a trouser pocket, followed by a black phone, both pressed into Will’s palm. “…What is this?”

“There is an Audi waiting for you in the garage outside.” Will stumbled back as if struck, fingers clenching around the objects burning into his skin. “You will find a set of credit cards without limit inside your duffle bag attached to a Swiss account and several passports with varying identities. I will take care of the financial obligations.”

“I-I-I just said I don’t want your fucking money.”

“Bordeaux is a mere forty five minute drive away. There is a small flat I have purchased there in both our names, should you desire to stay there. An option. Not an obligation.” Hannibal’s voice continued in a relentless rush of tidal waves, looking away once more, voice rough and insistent. “There is a tracking chip in your phone. Call it mild reassurance. You may destroy it if you like. That is of course your choice. It would bring me some sort of comfort to know where you are…” A low voice ebbed away, breaking across a shoreline. “…Even if it is not by my side.”

“What _the fuck_ does any of this mean?” Will growled out, fists clenched at his side.

_Don’t say it. Don’t say…_

“I wish to provide for you, to care for you, even from a distance of separation.”

Blue eyes swung down to the keys and phone in his palm, tears splashing down on to them. “Are you… asking me to go?”

“I am merely informing. You are not a prisoner here.” There was a thickness to the older man’s voice, a tension wrought in shadow and briar patches. “What you do with that information is entirely of your own accord.”

“And you? What do you want?”

A palm fell over maroon eyes flashing in a mist of tears, other hand trembling and curling at a side. “What I have longed for…” Hannibal turned to face the younger man, words strangled and shaking out, sturdy frame crumbling against the window. “…in feeble supplication of blind faith without knowing as soon as my heart began to beat. Understanding in a moment of pure clarity what my very soul ached for as soon as I laid eyes on you.”

Keys fell from unsteady hands. A phone skidded across plastic sheeting and fell to the floor. Will advanced across the floor in several long strides, nails digging into broad shoulders, and shoving a sturdy body back into glass windows. Panes rattled beneath their weight. Hannibal let out a small noise of protest, tensing, eyes fluttering shut as the younger man pinned his wrists to the side in a bruising grip.

“Just let me…” Will growled out, head thumping down over a skittering heart.

A feeble breath rustled curls.“…William.”

“Shut up! Just shut up this time, and let me hold you!” The younger man closed eyes to fight a well of tears, mumbling into skin and a starched collar, “For a man of such eloquence, you have absolutely no fucking tact, Hannibal! If you wanted to say you cared… all you had to do was say you didn’t want me to leave.”

“Will you…” Hannibal went still, ceasing to breathe. “…leave?”

“No… will you?”

“Never.”

“May I… sleep here with you tonight?”

Rigid lips trembled against his forehead. “Nowhere else do you belong but in my bed. In my arms. In my life.” He felt the older man wince, chin tipping up. “If you would return to my arms that is…”

Releasing one finger at a time, Will brought arms around a heaving ribcage and buried his hands between sagging shoulder blades. He brought his face up and nestled into a gentle swell of a throat working furiously to swallow down incoherent sounds. His eyes gazed respectfully down, avoiding tears tangling in fair lashes above. He hated how human Hannibal looked in that moment, to see how effectively he had pecked at the man’s armor and begun to rip out bits of flesh and bone. Both of them bloodied muscle and torn sinew reaching out for the other and hoping for a swift and easy death that would never come. For gentle ease of last confessions of love and devotion neither had been able to say. Sturdy hands reached for his waist, pulling in, limply hanging on to his hips. As if anything more than gentle touch would cause the younger man to disappear and scatter across the floor like fine grains of sand, drifting forever away and out of reach.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Will spoke roughly, wincing, amending the statement quickly. “I don’t mean to hurt you. Not now. Not then. Not earlier. I just…you say all the right things at the wrong times, and I am having a hard time not hurting you. You know what your words do to me…”

“It was not your intention to wound me, Will,” Hannibal murmured quietly, hands moving up and cupping the back of his neck, stroking away fading bruises. “As it is never my intent to cause you pain. Your intention was far more permanent. Why is it you insist on pushing my limitations? On pushing your own? To release the monster inside of me? To stir the demons inside you?” The older man paused. “Do you take pleasure in having me so helplessly at your mercy?”

_Because it’s what I know. It’s what I can handle without hurting._

Will tipped his head up, chin resting on a collarbone, half smirk upturning his lips. “You seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in it…”

“Clever boy.” Maroon eyes darkened. “Forever avoiding the questions asked,” Hannibal remarked, rustling a hand through his curls before pushing away and crossing out into the open room in search of air.

“Wait, Hannibal—“ Will latched on to a retreating wrist, staring at the floor, cheeks flushing. “I… I liked it. Touching you. Having you beneath my fingertips to bend beneath my will. It’s being touched…” _Intimately. Physically. By you. I can’t stand._ He blinked rapidly, feeling fingertips brushing softly down his cheek. “I want to give you what you need.”

_Tell me I’m what you need._

“I cannot take away what was done to you, William.” The older man shoved a curled fist inside a trouser pocket, gazing past and through Will to the windows, to follow a cloud rippling across its mirrored surface. “You may have me in whatever way you desire, Will, by your command. On my knees. At your feet.”

“You can’t mean…” Will sucked in a breath and held it, grip tightening ever so slightly. “I’m not just going to…”

_Bark orders and hope you obey._

“Do you imagine I would deny you anything of myself? I offered you the taste of my flesh to bring you comfort.” Hannibal visibly flinched, shadows filling his eyes before blinking them away. “Is it so hard to fathom I would invite you to use my body if it brought you release?”

“I… imagine you take issue with the appearance of defeat.”

“Reciprocity is not a means of manipulative devastation. It is a privilege transpiring between two individuals with forethought of intent and accepted course of action…” Hannibal drew his wrist away, shoulders squaring, stance becoming defensive and vulnerable all at once. “This is a gift, William, I will not extend the invitation again. If this is what you crave, I am yours to place and position in a manner you deem acceptable. A dominant fills the role of a spiritual guide and a physical protector to create a safe environment to reach transcendence. You have told me in explicit detail you do not wish for my protection.”

“It’s not that I—“

“You never need to justify what causes you pain, William. You have always been sensitive to touch… and if this dynamic change in our relationship is what you need, I am willing. I am yours. Submission is freedom. It is not about being used. It is about being _of use_. Do you not wish to know my darkest fears, hold them to your chest, and offer what it is you wish to give me, while taking what you want and need in return?”

Will felt his cheeks burning, gaze lowered to the floor, picturing the older man tight within his grasp and gasping nothing but his name. “N-no…”

“You seem to confuse the idea of sexual dominance…” Hannibal tipped his head up by a single finger, staring down the bridge of his nose, searching. “…with sexual abuse, Will. You are not violating the bond between us if I am giving you explicit consent.”

“C-can’t…”

“You have always had control over me, William,” The older man whispered softly, pressing a mouth into his forehead. “Every word. Every touch. A form of control. I am merely asking you to possess it without reservation. Without shame.” Fingertips brushed down the nape of his neck, voice becoming rough. “And… I find I do not mind your particular idea of control over me.”

“Can I think about it…?”

“I imagine you already have given our early interlude.”

“Shut up and show me the rest of the house.” Will snapped eyes shut, cheeks flushing brighter at the faint chuckle it elicited. “ _Please_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay guys. These migraines have my brain 110% scrambled and unable to string together sentences.


	88. Chapter 88

Two figures moved through damp darkness of the house, spectral figures drifting from room to room, gazes sweeping over nothing more then barren walls and empty rooms. Hannibal’s words were still ringing loudly in his ears, swirling in bright light and shadow in the depths of his mind. Will followed in a haze, close on heels of the feet ahead of him, nearly tripping on the last stair and sending them both headlong to the floor. Sturdy hands caught him by the waist and lifted him back to his feet.

“Are you alright, Will?”

“S-sorry… just a little tired,” He muttered, taking the offered hand, led blindly down a hall.

As soon as the words slipped off lips, Will felt exhaustion crash over his body in a sting of sore muscles and a persistent ache hammering behind his eyes. He was pulled through another door. He relaxed, eyes drifting across familiar books lining shelves wall to wall in an expansive study. It looked nearly identical to the one they had left behind. An oak desk with cabriole legs rested barren and bereft, the single piece of furniture gracing the room at the far end. A smaller fireplace encased in glass waited patiently to be set ablaze on the left. A faint smile pulled at his lips before drawing down in a frown. He glanced at the older man standing patiently in the shadows, watching his every move.

_Why do you try so hard to comfort me, Hannibal? How can I comfort you? If you won’t let me. If I can’t comfort you… how you need?_

“I hope this will do…” Hannibal whispered softly, glancing out a set of glass French doors leading out to where he had suggested they plant a garden. “I wanted to recreate one room where I thought perhaps we would both feel safe retreating to should the world become too overwhelming.”

The younger man nipped at his tongue. “Do I overwhelm you?”

“Let me show you the rest of the house.” Dark eyes flicked away. “This way.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Will let out a frustrated sigh and followed after.

An index finger pointed to a closed door as they walked passed. “A guest bathroom is just beyond the door there.”

“Are we entertaining guests now, Hannibal?” Dark brows arched up.

_And whom might we be entertaining? As dinner guests? Or… dinner?_

The older man ignored frustration rising in his tone, gesturing towards a large arching open frame leading to another room, pointing to a bay window on the left. “I would like you to have a space to work on your fly tying gear here or whatever else brings you pleasure.”

_Are you assuming you no longer are able to give me pleasure?_

“A small arrangement of furniture there, for you to rest and relax, should you grow weary.”

_Weary of what? You? Me? Us? Jesus Christ, I can’t do this._

They rounded the stairs again, an open space on the right completely barren. “I would like us to set up the dining room area here where it is easily seen and accessed from the kitchen.”

An ache settled into the younger man’s shoulders. A clean slate. He should be happy. Grateful. Or at the least feign interest in playing house. Is that all it would be now, an act, an indelicate dance of what was and what would never be between them? Will followed through another sweeping archway and towards kitchen. It gleamed in grey marble countertops and white washed cabinets accented in nickel brushed hardware.

Hannibal ran a hand across a wide island counter, admiring the large open space with a faint light in his eyes, imagining the scents of fresh rosemary and thyme drying in corners. He touched a wide metal bodied refrigerator and paused to rest a palm across red knobs of a large wolf stove. For the first time in months, he looked at peace, melting blissfully back into his element.

_Why aren’t we talking about this? About before? About any of it?_

Blue eyes strayed from a leaning figure, lingering on a closed door to the right, sandwiched between two marble countertops. Will walked over to it, a sense of unease filling the pit of his stomach, sensation of a blade trailing across his skin. He felt it uncoil his fingertips, reaching out, and taking hold of a handle. It twisted to the left. And then to the right. It remained locked.

“What’s this?” Will asked, trying to force the terse pang in his voice to soften, motioning towards the door.

Hannibal snapped out of his reverie, tilting a head back in the direction of the voice addressing him, eyes going dark. “A wine cellar and a pantry rests beyond that particular door. The one beyond leads to lower levels of the house. For now it is deemed off limits.”

“For who?”

“You.”

“Is it what I think it is, Hannibal?” Will advanced around the island, corner of his mouth turning down as maroon eyes blinked slowly, nose turning up to stare back at unbridled defiance drawing near. “How many more have there been since I came back?”

“ _Enough_.” Teeth glittered, trapped behind a line of a tensing mouth. “Enough to ensure your safety.”

“What do you mean—“ Hands curled around a collar as Will yanked the older man forward, pointing back at the locked door and demanding, “Show me.”

“I gave you permission to command, not dictate, William.” The older man reached out, fingers latching on curls at the base of his neck, tugging unspoken warning. “Do not test the constraints of your limitations. This is a discussion for another time.”

A rumbling growl answered. “Hannibal.”

An ankle hooked around the back of a knee in a flash of movement. Will fell to his knees, pain blistering across the fleshy edges of his palm and spreading up his thighs. He cursed, fingers latching in hair and pulling his head upright. Hannibal glowered down, eyes shining bright then hissing black in a mere second. The younger man snarled up, unable to free himself from fingers twisting against a tingling sensation of his scalp.

“You will be shown when I deem you ready and in the right frame of mind to observe,” Hannibal addressed coldly, tearing his gaze away, face tilting up so Will could only see the arch of a neck and point of a chin. “Let us travel back in time for a moment, dear one. Would you be so generous as to clarify an earlier statement?”

“Which one?” The younger man spat out sarcastically.

“For one not to question a man who takes pleasure in killing.”

“You know I enjoy it.” Will’s upper lip twitched in a snarl turning to a blackened smile. “You praised my darkness.”

“Now is not the time for malformed petulance, Will!” He cursed again, hanging by the roots of his hair, fingertips coiling across his jaw. “I would rather not snap your neck as I consider it quite lovely to admire when attached to your shoulders.”

Snarl hissing between teeth, Will blindly reached up and dragged the older man down to the floor with him by the hem of his shirt, meeting dark eyes with a half smile. “You told me I could put you where I wanted you.”

Dark eyes glowed red. “Who have you killed, William?”

“Someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer!”

Glaring back, Will edged into wooden drawers of the island counter as Hannibal advanced, crouched, and moving forward. The older man was in his element here, all shifting muscle and feral prowess. He wondered what the cabinets would like painted in red with a body between them.

“When we went to the market a few weeks ago, I just… it was too much. The noise. The press of the crowd. The… too many people.” The younger man swallowed as hands curled into the collar of his shirt, shaking him firmly to continue when the silence had dragged on too long. He swallowed again, aware of a different kind of heat pressing in, at the sensations their closeness was stirring. “I needed to get away,” He let out softly, wanting to reach out and push lines of worry scoring cheeks and pronounced forehead.

“If you were distressed…” Hannibal loosened his grip slightly, eyes straying to a shoulder, guilt pulling at a corner of his mouth. “I could have taken you home. All you had to do was say the word.”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it!” Will snapped. He immediately wished he hadn’t, watching the older man rock back on his heels and recoil beneath the safety of veil ate at his heart. “It’s not like we were really talking at the time…And you seemed so fucking happy shopping for your fresh herbs… I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Hannibal cast a red tongue over his bottom lip, sucking in, chewing on it, to hold back another apology.

“I just needed to get away for a few minutes.”

“From me?”

“Not from—“ Will smacked the back of his head into the counter. “Not you! Alright! Not specifically you. Just away, Jesus fucking Christ! Why don’t you understand it’s not you? Something is wrong with me! Just me.”

When the younger man opened his eyes, Hannibal looked like he was ready to snap his neck right then. His shoulders were hunched forward, fists pressed to the wooden floor, tensed and ready to spring forward. His eyes were boring holes into the spot where Will’s head had impacted. The younger man looked away, muttering a half hearted apology under his breath. For yelling. For causing himself pain. For in turn causing Hannibal’s. Always the cause. Never the solution. He never felt like a solution to anything these days, least of all the one to end their arguments half peacefully.

“I tried to make my way back to the car, but I was upset and this guy…” Will averted dark eyes drifting to stare up at his face, wavering between unbidden fury and controlled violence. “…followed me and kept asking me if I was okay. And I wasn’t okay and I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I mean how can you be okay if just being out of the house causes you anxiety? I wanted to go home. Just go. And he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

The younger man drew a knee up this chest, slinging an arm over it, and pushed ineffectually at curls continuing to fall of his face. He was grateful for their shaggy shield, to hide behind, to remain unseen. A light touch settled on his shoulder, a silent request to continue.

“He… he followed me down this alley and pinned me. He had a knife…and he told me to get on my knees.” Shrugging slightly, Will let his vision go soft, haze over and become nothing but blurring shapes and malformed color. “So I… put the barrel of a gun down his throat instead.” A small smile played over his lips, remembering the hot spurt of blood on his face, copper seeping into his tongue. “And then I gutted him. I stood over his body and watched him bleed out. It was… beautiful.”

_So incredibly beautiful… but not how it was with you, Hannibal, not transcending._

“ _William_.” Hands pressed hard into the older man’s face, arms and then fingers shaking, voice sharp enough to cut deep, accusatory. “You could have been killed! You could have been—Why didn’t you tell me!”

“It doesn’t seem like something I should have to ask your permission for, Hannibal!”

“I am not suggesting you need anyone’s blessing! However, I would be putting it mildly if I was to say I am not overwrought with consuming rage to find you covered it up and kept the truth from me!”

“Lying is kind of our thing, isn’t it?” Will shouted, starting forward, growling as the older man got to his feet. “Clearly you are lying to me, aren’t you! For how long, I don’t know. Just consider this an even exchange! You get to have a murder kitchen below stairs and I get to have a few measly self righteous kills to myself!”

“It is one thing…” Hannibal advanced dragging the body up and backing the younger man into a corner, fingertips swirling over a block of sterling silver knives in passing. “…to return to the quiet peace of my work in silence…” Dark eyes narrowed. “Given I cannot seem to find any at home. It is quite another…” Will inhaled sharply as strong hands lifted him off the floor and shoved him into a corner, marble cold against sweating palms. “…to return to me, fresh faced with new clothes hanging on your frame, fresh lavender in your arms, and tender lies upon your lips.”

“I had assumed a half crazed American covered in someone else’s blood might draw what you would consider unnecessary attention,” Will ground out, painfully aware of the fingertips coasting up his knees, heat stirring in his blood. “The lavender was merely for decoration. And you told me to use your credit card, didn’t you?”  

It hadn’t been for decoration. Will had bought it with his own money. The suit. The tiny budding lilac colored flowers nearly wilting from the cold. They were out of season and Hannibal had wanted them to make lavender thyme sorbets. At the time, they had laughed given it was still the dead of winter and the younger man made a silent promise to seek them out. It was the very reason he had braved the cold, the crowds, the endless anxiety. He had paid handsomely for the lavender at a florist shop, never quite managing to haggle a lower price in broken French. And Hannibal had deserved to see him dressed well, not running back to him like a child, blood soaked, and babbling for the inability to control his emotions.

Hannibal smiled darkly, words ringing like grey puffs of breath out in icy air. “It is one thing to kill with forethought and intent, it is another to act impulsively. While the extradition laws of France are particularly appealing, they are not without flaws and I do not particularly relish the idea of being caught quite so soon. Unless of course, that is what you want?” The older man hissed, thumbs digging into a soft stomach and clamping on hips, dragging Will forward to the edge. “Would you rather seek your own death so as not to suffer at my side or see me caught to suffer on the other side of glass beside yours, Will?”

“Why would you even—"

Teeth snapping forward, Hannibal whirled around and left the kitchen, dress shoes grinding across the wood floor and banging up steps.

"Don’t fucking walk away from me, Hannibal. I’m talking to you!”

Will stared after the retreating figure breathlessly, clutching an edge of the counter. Teeth grated loudly inside his skull. He heard nothing but a heart raging inside his head. Heat in his blood simmered to a low boil. He felt the bruising grip of hands on his hips. The imagined pressure of a palm pressing into the back of his neck. Shaking limbs hadn’t subsided the steady outline of his cock stirring, rising, and thrumming with a dull aching need.

“Fuck this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is concerned for everyone's safety at this point? Oh me. Pick me!


	89. Chapter 89

Will stomped up the stairs, following a trail of clothing left in the wake of the older man’s rage. Furious enough to leave prized possessions inelegantly discarded. For a moment, the younger man considered if he might as well be among them. A suit jacket lay crumpled in the middle of the stairs. One dress shirt lay in ruin at the top of the landing. Leather shoes were kicked into the middle of the master bedroom’s floor, thrown away in a scuffing tumble. The younger man paused on the other side of a door to the far right of the room, palm flattening against it. Everything he needed, all he had never known to hope for, a few feet away on the other side.

_Please… please don’t walk away from me._

For several moments, a thousand scenarios played out in his head like a blurring loop of where they had started to where they were now. He imagined what he would say, what he would do differently. If he hadn’t been so careless with his life in trying to save Hannibal’s. If he had merely fought harder to overcome being taken. If he had simply been stronger to overcome what was taken from him. If he had just closed his eyes and merely been able to slip away from the moments it was happening. Will rested his head on the door, trembling hand searching for its handle. Was that it? Sheer weakness? As fragile as the teacup every human being had ever treated him as.

_Perhaps it was only my weakness, which drew you to me, Hannibal, the scent of flailing prey within your reach. What is it I could possibly deserve from you now except the finality of your teeth?_

Water hissed furiously on the side, spattering against walls and streaking down glass. He closed eyes, biting down the corner of his lip and pushed the door open. He sucked in a breath, the older man was half undressed and stripping out of remaining clothing with a ferocity he had never seen.

“What the hell are you doing…” Will tried to push out a thick huskiness settling into the back of his throat, eyes sweeping over every inch of gleaming skin within view.

When was the last time he had seen Hannibal undress? Seen him stretched out beneath his body or wrapped in tangling sheets? Simply to gaze at the way skin stretched over his thick bones and draped exquisitely across arching muscles? To reach out, kiss the corners of his mouth, merely to see a look of shock wash over with pleasant surprise and soften to each touch?

“I would like a moment of peace to myself and am in desperate need of a shower from yet another bit of ruin. You saw to that, did you not?”

Trousers rumpled to the floor as toned legs stepped out of them. Will bit down on his lip, gazing at tensed clefts of skin shadowing a gentle swing of balls. He had forgotten Hannibal had worn nothing beneath them. He wondered if he too had forgotten how they tasted, how they felt in the palm of his hand, at the curve of his cheek. His to explore. His to claim.

“I, for one, am rather glad we were forced to move as I was running out of viable excuses to spin for both our tailor and our dry cleaner, and all because you cannot control your impulses!”

“My—unngh!“

Will let out a frustrated howl as a glass door shuddered closed. For a moment, the younger man considered going in after fully clothed and dragging Hannibal back out to face him. Soaking a bespoke suit was the least of his worries given its current state and the possibility of reconciling with the older man’s ire. He wondered what the tailor would think of it now, ruined or elevated, soaked in mud and covered in come. He stripped off his shirt, throwing it down on the floor with huff, half muttering incoherent phrases.

“Stubborn ass. I hadn’t realized we were scheduling sessions in the shower now.”

Trousers yanked down his legs, peeling off socks to join them. He reached for cotton boxers at his hips, hesitating. Too intimate. Too revealing. They remained. Quietly, he pulled open the glass door and stepped in, toes drawing back before settling on cold marble tiling.

Billowing steam parted to reveal Hannibal standing in the center of a shower, surrounded by various spouts lining each wall, water sputtering out and across golden skin. It was unbearably warm. Scalding. Small unlit ivory candles were tucked back in crevices carved into stone. Two tier steps lined the back wall, various glass bottles stacked near its edge. Water cascaded from a large silver faucet screwed into a smooth stone ceiling. Droplets ran over rigid shoulders, thrumming down arms braced against the far wall, snaking and winding around rigid thighs and pouring between curled toes. Quivering drops clung to fair lashes, lingering and pooling inside parted lips. Will wasn’t sure if they were tears. If there was any distinguishable difference, or if that too had blurred.

“God… you’re beautiful…”

Will hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud until Hannibal opened his eyes, gaze slipping over, and settling on his mouth in a dark swirl of warning. “You should go. It is not safe to share the confines of this space with me. Do not test my patience further by remaining…”

“I don’t want to lose you, Hannibal,” The younger man growled emphatically, stepping in, a cascade of water plastering boxers to his thighs on the left and another matting hair to his head.

Hannibal turned away, lifting hands over his head and stretching, feigning indifference at their closeness. “Do you agonize over the idea of loss, Will?” Blue eyes followed the arch of his spine, lingering on the taunt sway of his ass. “Where permanency is a transfixed state of being, where in moment we are breath and in the next we are merely dust?”

“Surviving is not living, Hannibal! Breathing is not being alive!” Will advanced one word at a time, stepping through the cascade of water, and pushing the older man out of it. “I agonize over that.”

Strong hands drew him forward as the older man leaned languidly back against stone, head tilting back to study his face. “Would the establishment of my death resurrect your soul from the burning ashes of our lives from before?”

“Jesus! No!” Will growled, planting feet firmly in front, arms stretched out to keep them apart. “Would forcing yourself on me bring back what we had?”

Pin pricks of crimson glowed in dim light. “Forgive me. My recollection may be a bit hazy. However, if I recall the only one in this room who has begged for violence in that _particular_ kind of therapy has been _you_.”

“You said—no, you _told_ me to give myself to you or you would leave!”

“You _heard_ what you wanted to hear, William!” Hands snapped up around his frame and pressed him into the corner of a shower, the older man nudging closer, face flashing red, chest heaving with strain to keep from shouting. “It is not what I said! Never once have I spoken of leaving you! And you have never once asked to clarify any statement which has come forth from my lips.”

“Then why…” Will’s teeth snapped forward, nails digging in to forearms holding him in place, miles of space between their bodies. He tensed, eyes staring over a shoulder and searching for the door, a way out. “…the display of forcefulness on the chaise earlier? _You held me down_.” Cold blue eyes drew up, narrowing. “If you didn’t want me to wrestle power away from you, you shouldn’t have offered it.”

Teeth flashed in reply, a dark snarl recoiling. The very idea abhorrent.

“You begged for it! Insisted!” The older man’s growl steadily rose to a hoarse scream. “As you have continued to do…” Forefinger and thumb jammed beneath his jaw, forcing Will to look up as Hannibal leaned in. “And I responded to your cruelty in kind, William. I have _never_ degraded you! I have _never_ stripped you of your dignity and taken what no man has the right to take by force!” The older man inhaled sharply, jaw clenching, eyes screwing shut, dragging hands away and stepping back. “How many times must I apologize for allowing another to—”

“N-n-n-o!”

Tears sprung to Will’s eyes, covering them with a hand, trying to block out the harsh sound of a raised voice trying to bring life to things he would rather forget. He had seen Hannibal at his worst, the monster deftly unveiled. He had never heard his voice rise more than a low growl or a snarl of threat. This was different. This was a complete loss of control. This was the older man teetering on a edge, desperate to stifle down a selfish desperation of need, guilt ridden, helpless to allow for anything except guilt to eat away at something beyond his limitations to predict or protect from.

The younger man shook his head once, looking away, pleading, voice hollow. “Please don’t say it.”

“Why are we not allowed to speak about what has been done to you?” A hand brushed away clinging curls, settling at the back of his neck, the older man nearly mute with broken softness bleeding into his tone. “About what I… let happen to you?”

“If you say it…” A voice shook out, limply sliding down the shower wall, eyes covered. “I don’t want it to become real, Hannibal. I don’t want this to be our lives…”

Gentle arms came around his body, holding him up, a warm mouth tracing its way down his neck. “I would give you my life, William, to return you to yours, safe and unharmed…”

“Please…” A hand curved around his waist, pushing the divot below his hip into a hard shaft, the only physical display of their need for each other brushing. “Don’t…”

_Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him. Don’t…_

Hannibal rose his head, gazing down, into eyes struggling to blink away tears. “If you do not wish me to touch you…” He kissed the either side of Will’s cheek, slowly, gently so as not to startle, words coming out a soft aching whisper, “…Push me away, William.”

_Give yourself over to me. Or let me go._

“N-no…” His shaking hands curved around a ribcage, settling around arching shoulder blades, strength and comfort quivering beneath skin, quietly whispering, “I can’t. Just don’t…”

_Don’t hurt me. Don’t let go. Don’t go._

Nudging the younger man’s head up with his chin, Hannibal gazed down into comets colliding into earth, brushing away tears with flicks of his thumb. “Has it never occurred to you there is no need to sacrifice your body to heal what ails me?” The older man whispered quietly, brows drawing low, lines creasing his cheeks and forehead. His shoulders sagged forward, holding tighter, eyes drifting closed when Will held on, shifting a little closer. “Have you considered for a moment perhaps all I need is to have you near? To stay with me? To allow me… to shelter you and hold without fear of you pulling away.”

Mouth trembling, Will dug nails into the side of the older man’s neck, looking up into a flickering dark gaze for the longest time before speaking once more, a mere growling command. “Tell me again.” Pinpricks of blood formed a seeping line of red. Hannibal looked back, unflinching, unwavering, eyes open and allowing himself to be seen. “And don’t say it, Hannibal… don’t lie to me.”

“ _I need you_.”

Arms came around in a crushing embrace. Will’s eyes snapped shut, prepared for claws and teeth, tensing. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. Hannibal stood statue still, holding on, running fingers in circles across his scalp as minutes dragged by. He remained motionless, afraid to move, to breathe, to speak. For a long time they stayed like that, clasped, warm water threading and pooling in the arch of their chests pressed together, hands holding tight around waists and shoulders. Nothing except the tingling sensation of warmth spreading through the younger man’s head and settling in his heart. Safe. No teeth. No harsh breath. Just skin. Soft fingertips. And the cleansing rush of water. Will let out a broken sigh and crumbled, held up by arms, weak kneed and trembling.

“I…I miss you, Hannibal.”

“Shh… Please don’t speak. Let me touch you.”  

Hands trailed down his spine, fingertips counting each vertebra one by one, pressing gently into the divots above hips. Palms slid down the outside of his thighs, disappearing when the younger man tensed, shifting slightly.

“I am _not_ him, Will…” Hannibal pressed a mouth to his ear, whispering insistently, hands no longer touching but merely holding hands in his.

“S-sorry…”

_I know you aren’t. I know. It’s just…_

“Gražus...” Soft breath coursed across skin, slipping forgein and exotic off gentle lips, causing the younger man to shiver. “Pasitikėk manimi. Norėdami prisiliesti tave.”

Will let his eyes slip shut, focusing on nothing except the soft rising and falling of consonants. For some reason, he longed to hear the sound of the older man’s voice, as if he hadn’t heard it in ages. Or perhaps he hadn’t heard it. Not really. Were you truly able to miss the sound of someone’s voice that had remained beside you and with you in the darkest hours? To long for someone you had never truly forgotten? Who had drifted in quiet supplication beside a silent crumbling deity of memory?

“Trapus. Ir išsigandęs. Leiskite jums prieglauda amžinybę?”

Hannibal dragged the back of nails lightly over his ribcage, touch mirrored on each side, swirling them up over a trembling stomach and dragging up a heaving chest. Will held onto broad shoulders as the older man leaned, warm breath whispering out across his throat, light and shallow as if it hurt to breathe.

“Tell me again.”

“ _I need you, William_. Kol mirtis mus išskirs…” The older man bent his head, hiding behind a silvery curtain of strands, bringing hands up and running his mouth across every knuckle and curled finger, one by one.

Will shook harder, shivering, wrapped in a flourish of scalding water and warm arms. He struggled to breathe, simply to fill air in his lungs and release. Lips parted as thumbs stroked them open, the younger man let out a shuddering breath.

“T-t-thank you…”

Hands came to a standstill against his throat. “Why is it you feel you must express thanks, dear one, when I have done nothing?”

“F-for this…” The younger man ducked his head down, resting it lightly on a shoulder, hands trailing over peaks of hips. “I-I don’t… deserve this. Any of this.” His throat closed tight to hold back a tinning cry. “I…I just… want you to know.”

_For the house. God, you're so fucking good to me it hurts. For remaining. I know… this isn’t easy. You made a safe space for me and I want you to know how much I need you._

The older man remained silent, shadow filling his eyes, curving hands across a cheek once more. Will shoved back in to them to feel the pressure skitter across the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his throat. He sighed as both hands came to frame his face, stroking and touching, silken and smooth, rough and desperate. Steadying. Reassuring. Real.

“May I touch you with my mouth?” A breathless request. “Against your skin?”

“I’m not…” Will tipped his head back against the wall, feeling his cock stiffen, breath warming skin, fingertips swirling around his navel. He hesitated. “Alright…” Hands stilled. He looked over, blinking. “Not because I am giving in. I… please don’t stop? I-I-I miss your touch.”

“Place your hands here,” Hannibal ordered softly, pressing shaking hands to silvery hair. “Pull me away if you need. Is that clear?” Lips pressed into his hip, drawing out an aching sigh. “I promise to understand, William, whatever you need.”

Will nodded again, threading fingertips tight in soft hair, catching an unmistakable glint of fire in maroon eyes when he pulled. A low groan seeped its way out of the older man’s throat as he leaned it, lips hovering above a clamoring pulse, and pressing in. Lips brushed over skin, sucking gently between teeth, half bent on devouring and savoring. Will let out a half strangled breath, arching his throat up into the pulse, sinking into arms holding him carefully against the wall.

_Don’t let go, don’t push away…_

A tongue swirled over to soothe a stinging ache. Hannibal kissed his way down a chest, mouthing shapes across every arch and angled line. His lips paused over a rigid nipple, looking up for permission. Will dragged his head forward, moaning as teeth grazed it, tip of a tongue teasing it hard. He shivered as fingertips struggled between tensing and releasing at his hips. Aware of the older man breathing in the scent of his arousal, lightly brushing heads of their cocks together. Smooth skin dragging across soaked cotton. A ragged breath left both their mouths as Will pressed hands down on strong shoulders and Hannibal willingly fell to his knees, a shift of balance between them.

“Y-you were serious…” Will sucked in a sharp breath as the older man gazed up in a posture of worship, running hands up his knees and lingering at his thighs. “You can…” He struggled to inhale and exhale, tongue knotting in his mouth. “…get up if you want.”

“I will remain wherever you want me. For as long as you will have me…” Hannibal mouthed the words above the waistband of his boxers, stroking a tongue over a navel, resting his hand on a thigh and shivering as the younger man began to stroke his hair timidly. “What do you want, Will?”

_You. Always you._

“Y-your mouth,” Will let out hoarsely, breath shaking, tugging at strands of hair and swirling away each sting, staring down at rigid cock bobbing between thighs bunching and stretching at his feet.

He wanted to blanket the older man’s body with his own, limbs entwining, until nothing filled the shower but cascading water and warm muffled breath. His eyes slipped closed. If only he could push away the memories… to promise he wouldn’t cry out, push away, and run. God, if he would only be able to promise not to run. Too much risk. Will wasn’t able to remember the last time he felt safe enough for touch except this moment. No, he wouldn’t wound Hannibal that way. Not until he was sure. He had to be sure.

“Here? Through my clothes.”

“As you wish…” Knuckles traced down jagged lines on his stomach, dark eyes gazing up, nuzzling gently against the hand continuing to run through his hair. “You once told me you would think of nothing except me? Will you do so once again?”

Rocking forward on knees, Hannibal nudged gently at legs until they fell apart, groaning again as he leaned forward and lightly sucked a mark on the inside of the younger man’s left thigh. Will covered his mouth with a hand, fingertips twisting in hair. He began shaking as lips made their way up one side of his thigh and back down the other, repeating the motion with a trailing tongue. A tongue wound its way beneath the hem of boxers, lapping beneath a wet cloth line, stroking gingerly at the seam of a thigh and pelvis bone coming together.

“H-hannibal…”

Will tugged on fine strands, melting into water rushing over his body, trembling beneath heat of a mouth, a flutter of faintness washing over. Not yet. He wanted them to remain close for a little longer. He wasn’t going to black out yet. Hannibal deserved better that that. He deserved this.

“Please?”

_Be gentle. Just stay. Stay._

Maroon eyes gazed up, rimmed with tears. “One should always strive to practice unwavering patience in all forms of worship, William…”

 

* * *

 

Gorgeous artwork provided by the exceptionally talented [quietduna.](http://quietduna.tumblr.com/post/137005280062/fic-rec-day-transcendent-suffering-by?utm_medium=email&utm_source=html&utm_campaign=new_mention_normal&utm_term=post_137005280062) Thank you SO much! This is so beautiful.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are not already crying (or you too need a song to listen to on repeat, crying, for the next six hours while writing) this song is recommended for this chapter and the next : Mood Music: "Here With Me" x Susie Suh, Robert Koch
> 
>  
> 
> Rough Lithuanian Translations:  
> “Gražus...” Soft breath coursed across skin, slipping forgein and exotic off gentle lips, causing the younger man to shiver. “Pasitikėk manimi. Norėdami prisiliesti tave.”  
> (Beautiful. Trust me to touch you.)
> 
> “Trapus. Ir išsigandęs. Leiskite jums prieglauda amžinybę?”  
> (Fragile. And frightened. Let me give you shelter for eternity?)
> 
> “Tell me again.”
> 
> “I need you, William. Kol mirtis mus išskirs…” The older man bent his head, hiding behind a silvery curtain of strands, bringing hands up and running his mouth across every knuckle and curled finger, one by one.  
> (Till death do us part.)


	90. Chapter 90

When Hannibal looked up from where he crouched on the floor, his heart wrenched inside his chest, tearing open a different kind of gaping wound. The younger man was clutching at hair as if to pull it out from the roots, a trembling shiver of skin and knees threatening to give way. He wasn’t frightened this time. Blue eyes had paled to shades of rain puddles on a grey afternoon, wide and searching, glistens filling long dark lashes in visible fear. He was terrified. Of merely being touched. Of being kissed. Sinking beneath the natural responses of his body, stranded between longing and pushing away. Shaking at the mere idea of anything more than hands and mouths between them.

_You are mine, dear one, I will take care of you._

Drawing up to his feet, Hannibal pulled the younger man into his arms with great care and precision, touching skin to skin in disjointed movements. A hand on a wrist. A palm flattening on a curving shoulder. Bicep curling over an arm. And then another. Forearms draping across a frame. One hand tucking a trembling face above his heart. The other coming to rest at a tense shoulder blade. Will collided forward, overtaking the last few inches between them with such force, the older man latched onto a stone edge and held on to it to keep from slipping.

Fingers stroked through wet curls, tucking them into a corner of the shower where hot water rushed over their bodies, enveloped in steam. Hannibal made a distant sound of reassurance when Will had finally begun breathing normally once more, fading into touch and the steady sound of their hearts beating. His eyes fell closed, head dipping forward to nuzzle the neck below and kiss it gently, each touch of his lips pressing in time to shivers racing across skin. 

“Think of me, Will…” Hannibal murmured against a cooling curl of an ear, clasping the younger man’s head to his chest. “Only me.” Bit by bit, he turned Will in his arms, pausing only to hold when whimpering protest reached his ears. Threading their hands together, he wrapped their arms firmly around a shaking chest and began another trail of lips down a shoulder. “You never need ask for this. This and nothing more. Have you any idea how much I have dreamed of merely having you in my arms once more?”

_Every night. Every setting sun. Every rising moon. The thought of you haunts me, William._

A head lolled back, lashes fluttering closed. “…Nnn…”

“Is this acceptable, William? Is it…” Hannibal held on tighter, mouth stilling across a collarbone. “…too much?”

“N-no…good…”

Will trembled harder, eyes remaining closed, loosing his right hand and dragging the older man’s with it. Down the lines of a chest. Curving across waves of ribs. Stilling at a hipbone. The younger man guided his fingers over a rough waistband of boxers, curling them around and tugging at it. Hannibal tried to draw his hand away, head shaking weakly, breath stealing out of his lungs in a rush across his lips.

“Will, I—“

_Can’t._

The older man nearly fell back to his knees as lips pressed just under his jaw, a timid reassurance, a soft whisper fluttering warm. “Just touch…”

Taking one side of the waistband, Will used his other hand to help Hannibal guide the rough clinging drag of fabric away from hips. They peeled it down quivering thighs, pushing it passed weak knees, and to the floor. He tried to control a shake rising in his bones, to remain a calm and steady figure to cling to. He had no desire for the younger man to know he was breaking on the inside. Hannibal ensured their left hands remained clasped tight, holding on to the frame shivering against his own, stirring a rush of clouding emotions to his lips, remaining unspoken. Apologies mixed with gratitude, twisting with begging forgiveness and pleading to search an expanse of skin.

_William, I will give you anything. Anything._

He remained absolutely still. The younger man reached for his hand once more, eyes closing, drifting it across his stomach, swirling it around a navel, and sliding it further down. Will let out a held breath, fingers blanketing the ones he controlled, dragging nails lightly up a side of his thigh. The younger man was firmly in control. Setting the pace. Of where to touch and for how long. Leaning back into the cold stonewall for support, Hannibal watched with bated breath as his hand was moved from hollow to curve, struggling for air, holding closer. The younger man arched back into his chest, grazing fingertips up the length of a throbbing shaft, gasping as he pushed them lightly against a velvety perineum. Sheer madness stealing across their skin and seeping deep beneath muscle and twining nerves.

“God, William…” Strangled words left the back of Hannibal’s throat. Inhaling sharply, he felt the younger man reach behind, carefully tucking his pulsing cock into the small of a back. “I… would devour your mouth. Savor the salt of your skin. Bring you to pleasure if you would allow it.”

Will made an indecipherable noise, falling in as Hannibal stroked a single finger up the lovely arch of his cock, barely touching, incapable of functioning beyond more than a minute at a time. He swept up beads of liquid trickling down a head and brought it to his lips. The older man groaned. He tasted of warm skin and a light Riesling wine. Turning swiftly in his arms, Will buried a tear streaked face in his chest and slumped forward, length of their aching cocks tangling between their thighs and hips. Instinctively, Hannibal placed a hand lightly on a gentle cleft cheek to draw in and hold the heat of their bodies close, to sink beneath sheer sensation of entangled limbs and nothing more.

A sharp cry rang out, turning into a bursting well of sobbing. “W-wait, Hannibal, wait! No, please!”

Strong arms shot out as Hannibal caught the crumpling figure from falling to the shower floor. He lifted Will into strong arms and carried him over to a ledge, sitting down and cradling the unconscious form to his chest. He leaned over to press lips of comfort into the ones below and pulled back.

_Only with your permission, William. Then I will kiss you._

He pointed one of the silver nozzles their direction, allowing a gentle shower of lukewarm water to rinse over them. Hannibal shifted the gentle figure of the boy to one of his arms, legs dangling limply around his own, and reached for a small brick of textured peach colored soap. He dragged it loosely across the body, inhaling the rich healing aroma of ground lavender and fresh rosehips, a hint of patchouli wafting against the heat. His scent would cling to Will’s every angle and curve, even if he could not.

“Nnn…” A groggy voice groaned. “Hannibal, what… are you doing?”

“Taking care of you,” Hannibal noted firmly, edging out a fierce need to protect from roughening his words, continuing to wash gently. “Ensuring you once again don’t knock your head if you faint in the shower, dear one.” A small smile touched his lips as an arm came around his neck, holding close. “Someday I would like to render you unconscious with pleasure. I am afraid today is not yet that day. One day I promise.”

“G-g-great. Always wanted to black out from that…” Lashes drifted closed for a moment, snapping wide open. “Wait, from w-what? What exactly…and w-why am I dangling here in your arms like a wet kitten?”

Hannibal considered for a moment explaining all the delicacies of practicing tantric breathing and all it had to offer in the realms of physical intimacy. He refrained, noting to bring it up later, when Will was ready, when he would be willing to allow further exploration. He considered mentioning how drowned cat might be a more appropriate allusion for a grown man. Except he was afraid he would end up blustering out how adorable a hazed fog of consciousness gave way to the soft idea of the younger man considering himself to be such a thing.

_You were never a kitten, darling boy, you have always been the lion in the room._

“Shh… let me hold you…”

“S-sorry… don’t know why… I was o-okay...?” The younger man shook his head as if trying to rid the slight slur in his speech. “You were okay? More than… o-okay. Am I making any sense?”

“ _Barely_. I find it rather…”

A dark brow arched. “Please don’t say sweet.”

_Beautiful. Terribly charming. Lovely. And you, William, are the most blissful sin and deliverance to have ever touched my lips._

“Hold on to me if you can please.”

Carrying Will to the bedroom, limp hands clung to his neck, struggling to remain conscious and not merely slip away, giving way to states of exhaustion.

“Would you…” Hannibal dragged off the plastic veil from the bed. _Our bed_. “…like for me to sleep downstairs tonight or…?”

Wet curls dragged across his chest, voice fading. “Hold my hand as we sleep?”

Peeling back the covers, he tucked Will in first, drawing back for a moment to blink away tears and admire beads of water slipping off skin and falling against soft white sheets. God, what was this feeling gutting his insides and spilling out in crimson? Hannibal crawled in after, drawing blankets around them and taking hold of the hand reaching out and pressing it briefly to his mouth. He struggled to keep emotions under control long enough for a golden sun to sink fully beneath a horizon. Will looked absolutely at peace in its fading light, a glow of skin and softness. He longed to look at nothing else. Nowhere else. Only into eyes made of sighing starlight, hiding destruction left in their wake when they fell to earth.

“William, make me a promise. Please… after tonight, do not feel such a need to vehemently apologize for… _not for this_.”

_Not for what happened. Not for struggling._

“I’ll… try…” Blue eyes struggled to stay open, to gaze back into his. “H-hann…I love you. S-stay?”

“A-always…”

With this mere utterance, Will faded from the world with a half sigh, fingers going limp in the hand holding tight and falling deep into sleep. For a long time, Hannibal focused on the steady sound of shallow breathing, drawing the hand closer to his chest and cupping it between both palms, grip tightening, nearly crushing. He tried to match the pace of their breaths, to steady the clamor of his heart. He was grateful for the darkness. For the younger man’s exhaustion. The older man allowed tears to streak down his face, shoulders shaking, chest shuddering with a fragile heart, staring up at the ceiling in silence. If this is what it meant to have faith, Hannibal wanted nothing more than to believe in whatever it was allowing Will to return to his arms.

“Aš tave myliu, gražaus vieną. Visada Jums.”

(I love you, beautiful one. Always you.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now would be a good time to explain why I appreciate all the purely emotional responses x comments I've been blessed with reading from you, dear readers, and why it touches and absolutely amazes me. You were not reading. You were reacting. You were feeling. You took a purely abstract form of words and turned them into visceral responses. Do you have any idea how rare that is? To simply feel something in response to reading? Realizing you are feeling, physically, the response of pain, frustration, anger, and grief the characters are going through? It astounds me. I owe that do you, guys. 
> 
> On another note. Trauma works in strange, bitterly mysterious ways. Its insidious in the way it seeps into your life, always there, sort of a buzzing static. The context of exploring fully the resulting aftermath of events from both views was and is absolutely necessary. And quite frankly critical. 
> 
> With that being said, this is not full resolution of happily ever after. Both Hannibal and Will have a long way to go, to struggle, and understand. It's not a matter of surviving, it is essential to fight your way back and sometimes that means fighting your inner demons and even the people who care for you the most. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me, everyone. Truly. Can you believe this thing just reached 500 pages? I can't.


	91. Chapter 91

Will had returned late for the second week in a row. He had been gone for approximately three hours longer then initially estimated. Three hours and twenty one minutes and five seconds according to the Patex timepiece ticking away over a rigid wrist. He had not phoned. Or texted. And Hannibal loathed texting. He had sent six within the last forty five minutes. It was such an archaic form of communication, if it could be called that. Will had once accused him of preferring carrier pigeons over the use of modern technology. He had begrudgingly chosen not to disagree. He had instead clamped a hand over the teasing mouth, stripped off a white t-shirt, and after a lengthy period of time, convinced the younger man to see his way was clearly the correct one and promise to simply call. Clearly the lesson had not been adequate enough. He would have to remedy that.

The older man had stalked out to the Aston Martin four times, sitting in it, staring at the blinking dot of Will’s location on his phone, just outside of _La Teste-de-Buc._ He had imaginary arguments with himself, rationalizing every thought as to why he should simply go. It wasn’t exactly crossing boundaries. Not exactly. He was fighting the urge to find out exactly what the hell was going on and why it was taking so damn long. The younger man had merely said he was going out and it had taken every ounce of strength for Hannibal to respectfully smile and nod in understanding.

He was not a man of nerves. It was unusual for anything to raise his level of heart rate outside of certain physical exertions. Yet it pounded in his heart louder than the hollow echo of a war drum. It was all he could hear, drowning out the noise of a kettle whistling on the stove. He kept reliving moments slumped on the study of the floor with a photograph of Will’s face in one hand a knife in the other, with nothing but red seeping down the back of his eyelids. On his fifth and final time marching out to the car, the younger man had pulled in to their sloping drive with a carefree wave and a smile. Hannibal had not returned the gesture and subsequently dragged him out of the vehicle, through the house, and deposited him, with more force than absolutely necessary, on an oak desk.

“J-jesus Christ, Hannibal!” Will groaned, rising from the flat of his back, rubbing an ache on the back of his shoulders, staring at the older man glowering at him from the leather chair. “What did I do this time?”

Dragging the writhing form forward on the desk, Hannibal pushed thighs apart and made quick work of the leather belt. “You are late, William!”

A belt hissed through loops and clattered to the floor. “Yeah, well I…” Blue eyes stared at fingers working a jean button loose. “Lost track of time? Are you… what are you doing?”

“You have a phone, do you not?” The older man jerked the zipper down, taking a fistful of jean and boxers, yanking hard, two dress shoes planting on either side of his thighs to keep space between them. “You could have called! You could have texted! You could have left me a voicemail to merely know you were alive! You did not. That is exceptionally rude!”

“Are we going to talk about your rising levels of anxiety or—god!”

Hannibal had been taking out both his anxiety, though he was loathe to admit it, and sexual frustration on the younger man’s cock for the past hour in various forms and positions. They had made an agreement. A new proposal of therapy. Will would receive the same form of treatment he was able and willing to give. And neither was allowed to touch if the other revoked permission. Either themselves or each other. It was an arrangement the younger man had proposed quietly and rather shyly at first. He had acclimated to the idea in stride rather quickly. He seemed keen to devoting his manner of control in a very particular fashion.

For the last week, Hannibal had awoken to a haze of lusting dreams at all hours to find his hands bound to the headboard or to his chest. A head of dark curls between his legs and clever mouth on his cock, gently sucking, or a firm hand stroking, never quite reaching completion. Later, he had found an article pulled up on the glowing screen of a phone, intentionally left on the kitchen counter, in detailed and explicit instructions on edging. Will had clearly found it useful enough to share his findings in practice.

The older man merely followed to the letter in pursuit and in kind. He had bound the boy to a kitchen chair in the dining room for the remainder of the day, lavishing equal yet divided attention on preparing a soufflé and keeping the younger man entertained with his mouth. Will had taken to the near violence of their physical clashing with ease. It was easier to bear than gentle caresses and low spoken words. One by one the blossoms trailing up his arms and chest had begun to disappear and fade. A single bite mark remained, peeking out from his starched collar on the left side of his throat. Will had a matching one on the right. Hannibal had watched him touch it often, eyes fluttering closed at its answering sting, pleased to claim and be claimed.

Softer forms of entanglements were another matter entirely. Will had either run or fainted from sheer mental exhaustion. Hannibal made sure to take care of him each time, despite his protests, while thumbing through psychological textbooks to no avail. He was growing weary of being able to provide Will relief and overcoming his own inability to do anything about it. Until one day he ran across his glasses.

 

*

_“Hannibal. I don’t think I can do this.”_

_Will looked up from where he was sitting in the leather chair. The older man sat across from him on the chaise, leg crossed, fingers bent gracefully across a knee. Leather shoes gleamed in firelight. A silver Patex flashed, strapped around an elegant wrist, peeking out from a crisp cuff. Hannibal studied him closely, shifting the blank yellow legal pad on his left and chewed thoughtfully on the tip a fountain pen. Dark eyes curved over open knees and lingered on the hand stilling on a softening cock._

_“I thought returning to familiar surroundings would help ease your anxiety, Will.” The older man leaned forward, head tipping to the side, fingers interlaced, gesturing a shrug with his thumbs. “After all, is this not where you first began fantasizing about the physicality of our relationship? A return to the familiar should elicit certain sensations and trigger an association of memories.”_

_“Yes,” Will hissed, pushing back in to leather, leg crossing and then uncrossing, trying to find a way to maintain any ounce of dignity. “But I was usually fully clothed for our sessions. Not naked and not…” His eyes glided down to his erection, flushing bright. “…doing this.”_

_“You were not comfortable with the intimacy of our bed or a shared shower. We have tried the kitchen and the Aston. All of these times resulted in you fleeing and not speaking to me for the rest of the day. You are leaving me with very little options to help remedy this situation.”_

_Will felt his face grow hot, blinking rapidly. He got up quickly, eyes locked on the door, crossing the floor quickly. This was different then before. It did not precede a desperate clashing of hands and skin. Too gentle, too personal. He began to shake. Perhaps it was too late to expect a setting where he felt safe enough to be touched and seen without reaching a full blown panic.  
_

_A strong hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled back. The younger man tumbled down into a lap all flailing limbs and twisting ankles. When his cock made an obscene slapping sound across his stomach, he shoved a hand across his face and tried to hide a blush creeping down from cheeks to neck. He was so embarrassed his teeth hurt from clenching inside his mouth. It used to be easy, second nature, and now it felt hopelessly forced and alien. Fingers laced through his, tugging the hand away to reveal metal half rimless glasses perched over sharp cheekbones, flashing in the light._

_His voice came out raw and hoarse. “What are you doing?”_

_“Trying a different form of therapy.” A single corner of a mouth turned up, catching eyes fixed on metal frames. “Please, Will, try to relax.”_

_Swallowing hard, Will allowed his legs to be arranged over bunching thighs, wool brushing against the back of his knees and calves. A cool belt buckle dug in to the small of his back. Arms drew him back until he sunk into the chest behind, letting out a struggling breath, looking up at Hannibal’s face framed in glass, wearing a pleased smile. He swore internally, feeling his breath hitch, cock doing the same. Will felt his cheeks flush, eyes snapping down to the larger hand working purposefully up and down his shaft once, then twice, before offering it back, aching for touch._

_“Try again.”_

_Fingers curled around the base as the younger man tipped his head back, stealing glances across a glinting frame before allowing eyes to sink closed. He didn’t need to look to feel heat building in the base of his spine, to remember in every single detail the last time Hannibal had worn glasses. He began stroking slower this time, mimicking the touch he had just received, working from the base to tip in unhurried motions._

_“I would like your mind to recall my touch in forms of pure pleasure alone. Particular aesthetics, situations, and possessions should provide you with the stimulation necessary to filter through the haze and give focus to when you sought pleasure from my presence alone. Allow yourself to fantasize about my hands…”_

_Breath rushed out of the younger man’s lips as metal frames pushed against his temple. He knew Hannibal was leaning forward, watching._

_“There is nothing to fear, William. Listen to the sound of my voice. Let it guide you.”_

_He stroked a little faster, rolling thumb and fingertips over his head, liquid rushing out. A curl of fingers splayed across his throat, drawing out a moan as Will arched into it, head pushed back into a rigid shoulder._

_“Do you feel my mouth…” Lips glided down the side of his jaw, licking between the space of fingers. “Are my fingers moving across you…” Nails raked up the inside of his right thigh, trailing lightly over his balls and squeezing. “Are they stroking… inside you?” A rough breath made him shiver, biting down on his lip, grinding back into a belt buckle and hard cock below._

_Will placed a hand over the one at his throat, gently squeezing fingers. “Would you?” He asked, voice caught between a groan and hoarse whisper._

_The older man’s cock jerked beneath grinding hips. “You have never asked this of me before…”_

_“Want you…” The younger man bucked his hips into his hand, hot liquid and sweat mingling between fingertips, fading into the rise and fall of words pressed to his ear. “God, want you to. To know what it feels like for you.”_

_“William…” Hannibal leaned forward, applying light pressure at his throat, resting an ear above his pulse to listen to it hammer harder. “Of course I will care for your needs as you have mine…” Teeth nipped down the curve of his ear. “Am I caressing…” Lips settled over a fading bruise coloring the curve of a neck and shoulder, sucking and biting it back to life. “Bruising? Marking you as my own?” A tongue circled over the sting, hot mouth nipping at a shoulder blade. “Do you feel my tongue against you? Inside you?”_

_Will groaned out a strangled answer of pleasure, lashes fluttering between light and dark, vision fading and sharpening beneath red splotches and increasing pressure at his throat. His hand jerked harder, faster, rolling hips back into the ones below and up into a slick palm. His toes curled. Ankles hooked around the back of clothed calves. He heard moans rising, growing, louder. He felt like a match was struck and he was going up in flames. White heat coursing up the base of his spine. A strong hand held him firmly in place at his throat, a reminder of being safely moored in the present._

_“Have my fingers opened you, Will? Are you ready for me? Do you feel the tip of my head teasing between your cheeks? Sinking on… inch by inch…”_

_“F-fuck!” A half choked curse rang out._

_Hot liquid spilled across tensing fingers, dripping down the front of Will’s chest. Hannibal released, murmuring something softly, pressing a kiss into the nape of his neck. He slumped back, nails stroking over aching skin and muscle as he struggled to regain his breath. It came out in short quick gasps. He closed eyes tight. He knew if he didn’t do something soon he would hyperventilate. Fingertips burned down his arms, searching to hold his hands. He felt too much._

_“How do you feel, Will?” Hannibal asked quietly, pressing a mouth into a damp temple. “Will?”_

_Will tried to force limbs to move, to untangle himself from the confines of gently stroking hands and lips. When he found his body unwilling to heed his commands for escape, he half turned and buried his face in a waistcoat. He hadn’t realized he had starting crying until Hannibal’s hands were fluttering over his skin, alarm rising in a normally placid tone._

_“Have I upset you? Have I… hurt you?”_

_“…Good.”_

_Blue eyes looked up, nodding for reassurance, mouth wavering up in a smile and drawing down in a frown. Will meant it. His body was over sensitized, struggling to push away and pull closer. He didn’t want to let go. He gritted his teeth. He was going to hold on and wait for the feelings of rising anxiety to pass. He needed to do this._

_“I’m g-good.”_

_“It has been some time since you have willingly sought pleasure for the simple act of release, William,” Hannibal murmured softly, swinging legs up on the chaise and drawing the younger man close, cradling him to his chest. “Your body is merely overwhelmed with the aftershocks. You did very well.”_

_A dry cloth ran down his front, brushing lightly across his cock and cleaning in swift, short motions. The older man took his hand, running a tongue across it before wiping it clean._

_“It is paramount for you to feel safe after our sessions, dear one. Let me hold you awhile longer.”_

_Will clenched his jaw, dragging wrists roughly across wet eyes. “What about this?” He asked roughly, reaching out and cupping the outlines of a throbbing cock clothed in fine plaid._

_A necessary distraction._

_“Nn…” Hannibal let out a low moan, head falling back in to cushions. “Something to discuss after you have rested fully.”_

_“I would like to watch you…” The younger man drew back a little, settling in on his side, hand stroking down a waistband. “And I’m not asking permission.” A belt buckle flicked open. A button popped loose. Fly whining down. “Would you close your eyes and imagine me riding your cock, Hannibal?”_

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My utter and endless apologies for delays. I have felt terrible the last couple weeks. Please enjoy a short return to passages of time, which I will explain in greater length after the next chapter.


	92. Chapter 92

They had been playing a game of groping and sucking at all hours of the day and night, each attempt trying to outdo the last. Or perhaps, more likely, to see who could outlast the other before seeking knees and asking in no polite terms to be allowed to finish. Sometimes they would stagger their clever assaults of tongues and hands. Other times they would follow one after the other, both breathing hard and shaking by the time they swore the other off. Bent over the kitchen counter. Splayed near the edge of the balcony. Books torn out of hands and replaced with bobbing heads and swirling tongues.

A game of walking slowly to a finish line neither quite crossed. That is until the previous week when they had run errands in Bordeaux and picked out a few necessary pieces of furniture for the house. Hannibal had insisted they would not be sitting on the floor any longer to eat their meals. Will had not touched him since. At least, not in the same way. 

*

_Hannibal allowed eyes to run over a gleaming cherry oak wood table one last time, giving it a final appraisal before handing his credit card to the clerk and arranging a time to pick it up at a later date. He found Will leaning up against a wall outside of the shop. He had stayed long enough to shuffle through the store and point quickly to things he liked and argued amiably about the older man’s more sharp modern choices. It had been an intimate exchange of barbs for a few moments at least. Domestic even. His anxiety had risen as more customers entered the shop and had politely excused himself, hurrying out the front door for air._

_Cheeks flushed when Hannibal stepped in, pressing him gently against the wall with a hand on his chest and another curling their fingers together. “Are you alright, Will?”_

_“G-good…” Will plastered on a fluttering smile, a bit more pale than usual. “Just a little crowded. Could we… go home?”_

_With a short nod, Hannibal reached for a cold hand and tugged the younger man down a cobblestone road. Will shuffled after, flushing a hue of a sun rising at dawn, eyes flicking between their entwined hands and avoiding the gazes of any passing by. Hannibal pulled closer, placing their hands in the right pocket of his camel colored wool coat, brushing down skin with soft suede gloves. He wondered exactly how overwhelmed Will was to allow such a public display of affection. He loved the feel of fingertips shivering against his, seeking out touch, and holding tight. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? Squeezing the hand in his, he felt his heart warm and touch his lips, rounding a corner and leading them into a narrow alleyway._

_“William!” Hannibal barked out his name with a rough breath, aching shoulders peeling back from a stone wall, eyes darting to the left and to the right, and finally coming to rest at the hands swiftly undoing the silver buckle at his waist. “This is hardly the place!”_

_“But I want you…” Will growled, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking his head back, mouth working its way roughly down his jaw and throat. “And you are going to listen to what I want, aren’t you?” The older man let out a rush of breath as Will dropped to his knees, reaching in and letting his cock cool, stormy blue eyes gazing up. “Stand still and take it.”_

_“This is not the kind of atten—o mio dio!”_

_Head falling back, Hannibal closed eyes and threaded fingers through soft curls below. The hot mouth wrapped around his shaft was setting a vicious pace accompanied by a trail of spit and loud sucking. Low groans were rising from his throat, biting down on knuckles to muffle the noise. Nails sunk into the back of his thighs, hips jerking forward and sinking in to the back of a throat. He was sure to find bruises later. That is if they didn’t get caught first._

_He yanked on the collar of a navy wool jacket, groaning louder as his cock popped out of a mouth nearly bringing him to finish. Lapping at spit clinging to corners of upturned lips, Will rose unsteadily to his feet, expertly tucking in tails of a shirt and smoothing wrinkles away. It took the younger man nearly as little time to dress him as it did to undress these days._

_A dark brow arched. “Getting frustrated, Doctor Lecter?”_

_“Not as frustrated as you will be in a moment.”_

 

_“Shit! Fuck!”_

_A car door flung open right before Will tumbled across a wide leather backseat. He was splayed on his back, staring up in a half daze as Hannibal crawled on top, slamming the door behind him. A crinkle of plastic sounded as each of them moved. The younger man creeped away as the older one advanced, a low growl on his lips and a glow of ember in his eyes._

_“Jesus, Hannibal…” Will let out breathlessly, dragged back and pinned into place. “You’re going to ruin your precious suits! And after you just paid a good sum of money to clean them too.”_

_A rough command sounded. “Do as your told and lie down.”_

_“What? You aren’t going to make me drive us home again?”_

_Teeth dragged off suede gloves. “Give me your wrists.”_

_Tilting his head to the side, Will looked up at him quizzically, following the flurry of fingers yanking off a pale blue paisley silk tie._

_“I… bought you that, didn’t I?”_

_Hannibal grunted a half answer, yanking wrists forward and winding the tie up from the wrist and binding forearms, knotting tight. He rocked back on his knees to admire his work. Will lay remarkably still, far too clothed for the older man’s liking, though the bulge of denim was very much to his tastes. In a rough twist, he flipped the younger man on his stomach and tore down jeans and boxers in a single motion._

_“God…” Will let out a loud whine, knees and cock shoving down into leather, stifling a half amused laugh. “You must really want to come if you’re being this rough with me, Doctor. Aren’t you worried some sweet granny passing by will see you between my legs sucking me off?”_

_“I bought this car particularly for the privacy offered by tinted glass, William.”_

_“Given this some thought, have you?”_

_“And I have no intention of touching your cock.”_

_Without another warning, Hannibal dragged the body over his knees and began licking wet stripes up an ass thrust up in the air, begging for undivided attention._

_“W-wait, Hannibal, oh god!”_

_The older man let out a low growl, gently pushing cheeks open and drawing the flat of his tongue up a velvety ball sack, over a rough perineum, and lingered teasingly light over a sensitive pucker of skin. Will buried his head against bound arms, lifting hips ever so slightly in invitation, making a small half moan of approval. Hannibal returned his tongue, swirling up then down, thrusting lightly and gently until the younger man was shaking, rocking his hips forward into a bent knee. He increased pressure and thrusts in unison, groaning louder at the noises each one brought forth._

_“D-doctor L-lecter, please don’t stop! P-please, god you’re going to make me—“_

_A gentle slap flushed red against a cresting cheek. “I did not grant you permission.”_

_“Fuck. Y-you haven’t done that in…” Blue eyes shimmered over a shoulder. “Hannibal, please, don’t stop.” Fingertips swirled across the sting, aligning each fingerprint. “Nnn…”_

_Will pushed back on bound wrists, sending Hannibal colliding back into the door. He groaned, massaging an aching spot coming to life on the back of his skull. He didn’t have a chance to think of a just punishment before the younger man was between his legs and yanking once more at his trousers._

_“Take these off, take your fucking pants off, for Christ sake! God, why do you wear so much clothing!” Will snarled up, eyes burning bright. “Say anything but Italian to me and I stop, do you understand?”_

_After only a few minutes, Hannibal wasn’t certain if he was speaking any language at all past a certain point. Each language blurring into the next, becoming a steady rise of moaning and hips thrusting up, plastic crinkling in the distance. He was spellbound, watching lips plunge down on his cock, bound wrists straining to jerk up the length of his shaft._

_“God, you taste good!”_

_Hannibal’s eyes snapped closed, hips lifting, thighs tensing, heat flashing white behind eyelids._

_“Wait! I want to—“_

_The older man rushed back to his senses when lips left him hard, aching, and cooling in the damp air._

_“I want to have you like this.”_

_Will clambered up in his lap, tripping over the mess of jeans pooling around knees and smacking their heads together in a loud crack. They both let out a groan. Hannibal let out a shuddering breath when he heard the first sounds of small laughter rising from the younger man, light and airy, crinkling around soft blue eyes._

_He reached out, stroking a side down a flushed cheek. “Face to face…are you certain?”_

_“Yes, now since I am apparently not allowed to use my hands…” Will bit down on his lower lip, eyes shifting away, cheeks flushing. “You should probably use yours.”_

_He pressed a hand over a heart. It was beating fast. “Are you sure?”_

_“Stop speaking English or we don’t do this.”_

_“Which one would you prefer?” Hannibal murmured quietly, reaching for both their cocks and slipping them into his hand, letting out a rush of breath as they glided together._

_Will bent over, sucking a mark on his neck red, warning in a low growl. “Any. Neither of us are going to last. So just talk fast.”_

_When Hannibal returned to his senses, he felt warm breath lapping at the edge of his jaw as Will nuzzled slightly against him. He remembered not to touch. As much as he wanted to hold the younger man close, he would have to wait until he was asked. Digging out a simple cotton pocket square from the inside of a jacket pocket, Hannibal went about cleaning them both up. He had never been so grateful to be covered in sweat, semen, and saliva. His brand new dry cleaned suits on the other hand…_

_“I simply could no longer afford you to ruin the silk ones, Will,” Hannibal noted, watching a wry smirk quiver over soft lips, eyeing the pocket square with raised brows._

_A loud wrap on the windows sounded, shadowy figure on the other side._ _“_ _Salut? Tout va bien?”_

_“Jesus Christ!"_

_Will jumped and scrambled away from the window, head whipping down and teeth tearing away the tie binding his wrist. Hannibal was quite certain he had never seen someone get dressed quite so quickly. He took his time. Tucking away the pocket square. Shimmying back into trousers. Doing up buttons and straightening seams._

_“You are lucky it is not la gendarmerie, William,” Hannibal offered with a wan smile, watching pink cheeks turn to red then crimson. “I do not think being cuffed by them would give you as much pleasure as when I do it. ”_

_“_ _Est-ce que tout va bien?_ _Je_ _entendu des cris_ _._ _”  
(Is everything alright? I heard screams.)_

_Hannibal stepped briskly out of the backseat of the Audi, nearly knocking an older woman to her feet, clothed with a bright pink scarf around her coiffed hair. He closed the door behind him, cutting off her curious stare, neck craning to see. He was not fond of others looking on what belonged only to him. He didn’t discriminate based on age or gender. Will was his. His and only his to look upon._

_“_ _Mes excuses pour vous effrayer madame…  Mon partenaire se laisse emporter lors de plaisir. Je dois obligerais quand il est tellement insisté._ _” Hannibal drawled on in a low tone, offering his most genuine smile, watching horror flash across a face and waved after the woman bustling away down the side walk muttering to herself. “Bonne journee!”_

_Hannibal got back in the car, teeth flashing wider and wider at the look of embarrassment turning Will into the shade of a glistening pomegranate. He was exquisitely irresistible when blushing. Hannibal would have kissed him breathless had he been allowed._

_“God! Jesus! Hannibal, what did you say to her!”_

_“In short, she was concerned by the sheer amount of screaming emanating from the vehicle. I assured her my partner merely becomes carried away during pleasure. And you were most insistent about receiving it and who was I to deny you.”_

_“Hannibal!” Will smacked a hand over his face, hiding eyes behind it, head tipping up to let out a loud breath of frustration. It ebbed out slowly into a curious sigh. “Wait—did you just call me your partner?”_

_A fine eyebrow rose, fingers splaying wide. “You are, are you not?”_

_“I’ve never heard you… say it.”_

_“I do not need societal conventions and labels to know we are in a relationship, William. It is unnecessary to define what we are, as has always been the case.”_

_“Don’t you think you should buy me flowers and ask me out on a first date before seeing if I’ll be your boyfriend?” Will asked, eyes the color of a clear blue sky, dancing, clambering lazily back on to his lap. “Or even before throwing me in the backseat of your car to make out for that matter?”_

_“How very childish…”_

_Hannibal swallowed hard, staring at his mouth, wishing he could press their mouths together to quell the deep ache rising in his heart. He wondered why he had waited this long to be in this much pain. His eyes drifted closed, faint smile touching lips. Will had been right all along. Love was sufferance transcended._

_“I believe we are well beyond many of these suggestions or interactions, Will.” Hannibal pressed a kiss into the forehead brushing over his shoulder, nestling in. “And as much as I deeply desire to hold you here against my chest… I believe it is best I take you home before we really do have the police at our door. So to speak.”_

_“Can we…” Will blinked slowly, eyes heavy with sleep, mouth crooked in a smile. “…take a nap when we get back? Together?”_

_“Of course, dear one.” Hannibal murmured quietly, stroking hands through hair, heart stilling in his chest._

_Shrugging out of his jacket, Hannibal tucked it around the younger man’s shoulders and lowered him gently in the backseat. There was no use trying to carry him to the passenger seat. He was already asleep. And he never looked as beautifully peaceful as during sleep, with the exception of lying in Hannibal’s arms._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you, dear and faithful readers, the first thing you are going to notice are very specific passages, experiences, and items referenced in both this chapter and the last. This was intentional. Hannibal has (rather cleverly I feel) combined exposure therapy with very precise and deliberate elements. All the while making sure Will is fully within control and consenting. 
> 
> (For example, recreating their sessions where we first began in Chapter 1. The glasses. The tie. All of these specific events occurring in chapters wayyyy back when Will first returned to Hannibal. He is painstakingly recreating and redirecting Will's mind to return to these specific moments and memories. I also couldn't help making reference to that one time Will and Hanni were, indisposed shall we say, on that lovely French countryside picnic and those passerbys came along.) (Chapters which I would name one by one in length but I am oh so tired and need to sleep. :) )
> 
> (And in the process becoming, once more, hopelessly besotted with Will day by day, knowing he is trusting him enough to let him back in, bit by bit.)


	93. Chapter 93

Heaviness drifted away from muscles bent over a pristine steel countertop, seeping out of a palm pressed over a glinting blade rocking back and forth over an expansive wooden cutting board. Fresh rosemary neatly scattered in its wake, essence trailing up towards a high ceiling in hints of woody sweetness. Sharp silver scraped across wood and swept under spindly forms, balanced precariously on a flat edge. An index finger pushed them down the chef’s blade into a white porcelain cup, leaving thin dotted crimson along its point. Rigid lips parted, swirling a tongue across a bead of rising blood before drawing the tip away, shadowed corners turning up in half smile.

Hannibal pressed palms to a cold edge of the counter, eyes sweeping over contents filling the gleaming stainless steel space and admiring a half a day’s work. He was certain the presentation would be impeccable and the meal divine upon completion. He had rather hoped it would be the perfect end to a blustery March day, drawing Will in from the cold, cheeks flushed red and eyes bright. The younger man had been taking more and more time to himself, tension easing out of the shadows of his eyes and movements once more becoming almost tranquil during the day. His easiness had spilled over and the older man found himself drifting through a familiar flood of peace settling over their lives.

Hannibal had begun devoting time once more to the culinary arts. He felt their absence like a dull ache in the minutes of separation, drifting by rooms to make sure Will still remained, bent over a fishing lure, or sitting alone just within sight of the balcony. He found it difficult to breathe. The return was always the same, a cold nose pressed into the back of his neck, shivering arms searching to find the curve of his waist. A return of seeking touch. A reminder the other was near, if only out of reach. Each time, his heart stopped for a moment, fading into the scent of pine lingering in gentle eyes filling with grey skies and placid shorelines. He wondered if it was possible for the younger man to become more radiant with each passing day.

A half dozen caramelized pastries glazed and baked to crisp brown perfection rested on cooling rack on the right. Their rounded dome bodies filled the room with scents of split vanilla bean and hints of rum. Heat emanated from a metal wolf stove, warming contents of a dark crimson liquid simmering with a faint hiss inside a circular copper bottom pot. Amber glowed in an unopened bottle of _Dalmore 64 Trinitas_ whiskey nestled in the corner behind the pastries.

 _Yes…_ Hannibal blinked, a slow smile tugging at his lips. _This should please William._

Wiping hands on a crisp linen towel, Hannibal realized he had been humming along to a soft classical waltz composed by Mozart, _Piano Concerto No. 21_ , playing softly from the Victorian bell curved gramophone placed near the fridge. He smiled again, reaching over and twisting a red knob on the stove to a low setting to allow the broth to return to a simmer. He gazed down into his reflection, tucking back silver strands of hair behind his ears. A sound drew his attention towards the other side of the room, gazing across the other side of a wide island counter. His lips twitched, turning from the stove, running hands over an apron at his waist.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

Water dripped steadily, splashing from an elegant spout and on to an upturned forehead. Shaggy copper colored hair clung to a face outlined in soaked remnants of tattered navy colored linen draped carefully over eyes, nose, and mouth. Crooked teeth gnashed below its veil, scraping across a gag wound tightly around the back of a head, tied to a wooden chair leaning back against a wide sink. Water ran down an arched throat, bleeding into a sopping wet black hoodie and a pair of dark polyester running sweats clinging to shaking knees. A large puddle of water had begun to form around feet and seep below an overturned pale for the last twenty minutes.

Pushing up an edge of a dove colored sweater, Hannibal glanced down at his watch and then back up at the man he had been water boarding for the past two hours. Not strictly for that amount of time. He had done so in between carefully seasoning dark tins with beeswax and oil and delicately glazing tiny sponge like cakes. There was really no reason for the time to go to waste. It really was much easier to concentrate on preparations in complete silence. Or the absence of what was deemed noise. The older man considered the man’s unwillingness to cooperate most distasteful. He was making it increasingly difficult to prepare a proper meal in a timely manner.

“Are you merely going to continue making this much noise every time you return to consciousness?” Hannibal asked mildly, peeling away wet linen and slinging it over a side of the sink, peering down in to hazel eyes glowering up.

A low growl answered, muffled by a gag.

“Is there something you would like to say?”

The older man watched inquisitively, watching the man jerk against the restraints, eyes wild, each movement tightening the rope at his throat. Hannibal sighed. At this rate, he would strangle himself before being of any use to anyone. He preferred his organs as fresh as possible. Though now the lungs were entirely out of the question. Rolling his head back on his neck, the older man reached down and jerked the cloth gag away.

“Why…” Teeth flashed forward, gritting, neck jerked back by restraint. “Why are you doing this!”

“Has no one told you yet, Mister d’Puont? It is d’Puont, is it not?” Hannibal moved away from the man, elbows perched on the island counter, leaning back with an easy smile, light of teeth never quite reaching his eyes. “Having Nicolas Lisandru’s name upon your resume leaves a rather black mark on your record.”

Light lashes blinked rapidly, eyes darting back and forth. “He’s dead! What the fuck do you want with me?”

“I am aware of Mister Lisandru’s current state of not being amongst the living,” The older man noted touching thumb to ringer finger, gaze sweeping across bits of rosemary and powdered flour clinging to nails. “Though I am filled with regret for not having taken his life myself.” A nail bit into his thumb, a tendril of shadow creeping into the base of his skull and down the length of his spine. “I had been looking forward to it.”

“Who are you and what the hell do you want from me?” The man snarled, water spitting out between teeth. “You have any idea who I work for now!”

“My name is Hannibal Lecter.” The older man rose up to his full height, fingertips trailing across a frigid set of pristine knives sheathed in a sterile silver block on the counter. “You may call me Doctor Lecter if you wish.” Hazel eyes followed fingertips lingering on gleaming handles before sweeping away to rest against the counter once more. “What I want is very simple. _A name_. Just as your predecessor before you gave me a name, your name, Alex d’Puont.”

“You think I’m telling you anything, you’re outta your goddamn mind!” Alex spit out, sneering, skin bulging around red lines of his throat.

Dark eyes swept over lovely purpling haze forming around thick rope. A little more and it would crush the windpipe entirely, painting the sink in splashes of blood. He would have allowed it, give in to a bit of whimsy, if he didn’t actually need the man alive. Hannibal glanced over at the knife block and drew out a small paring knife.

“You have a lovely young wife and daughter, do you not?” The older man asked coolly, slipping the blade beneath the rope. “Blonde hair, fair skinned, and lovely bright blue eyes?” Hazel eyes shot up, widening. “I had not realized being a lieutenant and muscle under a man such as Lisandru, even in his absence, was such a lucrative career for one to afford a flat on the _Avenue Elsa Triolet.”_

Fraying rope snapped free. Alex bent forward at the neck, arms strapped to legs of the deep sink by rope and ankles bound to the chair, gasping and sputtering for air.

“You took someone very dear to me, Mister d’Puont…” Hannibal traced the tip of the blade where the rope had been, following each chaffing curve and violet wave. “And while I am loathe to use family as a means of assuaging your cooperation…” A knife tipped a red face up by the chin as the older man crouched down on the floor, making sure they were eye to eye, level gaze darkening. “Make no mistake. I am particularly skilled at keeping a limbless man alive for weeks at a time and have done so successfully on more then one occasion. Would you like me to reunite you with your wife and child this way, Mister d’Puont? Or would you prefer to give me the answers I seek?”

“If I tell you, what then?” Alex snapped his head back from the knife, drawing a line of blood seeping down a jaw line, eyes narrowing as he laughed, mocking, “You’ll let me go I suppose. Right?”

“Oh no, Mister d’Puont,” Hannibal rose to his feet, sliding the blade neatly back into its sheath and turned back with a terse shadow lifting lips. “You belong to me.”

Trailing around the counter, Hannibal lifted a glass lid and briefly stirred simmering broth, a waft of steam washing warm over his cheeks and lips. He eased his grip on the wooden spoon, briefly closing eyes to draw down a veil of calm he was not feeling. His fingertips twitched along an imaginary blade. His skin itched, longing to be quelled in blood. He wished for nothing more than to jam the lengthy flat edge of soup ladle down the man’s throat and drag out answers from him. He had dinner to prepare, which was difficult to complete when Alex d’Puont was the main course.

“I became acquainted with a friend of yours only last month,” Hannibal noted lightly, placing the lid back on and drifting back over to study muscles clenching above grinding teeth of the face below. “He was quite the opposite of you. Chatty even. You see…your friend, Mister Renaud…”

Hazel eyes dilated wide.

“…was rather insistent it was _you…”_ Hannibal braced arms on either side of the chair, leaning forward, towering over the man below, ticking a tongue across an incisor. “…who rammed the muzzle of a gun into Will’s mouth and told him to get on his knees.” Dress shoes hooked under the wooden chair, kicking it forward. “You then stood aside as your partners fractured one of his ribs with their steel toed boots and split open his mouth with their fists. His imagery was very vivid in detail.”

“Oh god…”

Ruddy skin paled tan, ivory, and then white as Alex hung from the chair precariously tottering forward and backward by its weight, leaning on nothing but its two scuffed legs. The older man took in a deep breath and held it. His outer shell remained removed, detached, and dispassionate. On the inside his bones shook with such violence he feared they would splinter and shatter. He had waited a long time to find this particular one. This particular man.

“Excellent,” Hannibal noted, smile widening as hazel eyes traced the length of his arm, fell upon his hand, and then upon a glinting butterfly knife resting between thighs.

 _Certainly Will had not intended me to use it in quite this way…_ A light singe of heat filled his blood. _Though I believe there may still be a time when he would approve._

“I was hoping I would not have to refresh your memory. I did so appreciate the theatricality of the placement of the note and the photograph.”

Crooked teeth flashed. “You’re welcome.”

“However…”

Hannibal drew away, teeth grinding in his skull and gently placing the butterfly knife on the counter. He would have to wait. Not yet. His nerves coiled, twisting and knotting into dark cancerous masses brushing below every inch of skin. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Will’s face looking out from that grainy photograph, helpless, beaten, and turned over to hollowed cruel lines of gathering nightmares.

Low laughter brushed corners of his mind, shadow uncoiling. _You’ve gone soft, friend. What was the purpose of feeding the pet your flesh if you were merely keeping him alive long enough to experience the long honored tradition of torture and rape? He’ll be choking down your brittle bones for the rest of his life._ Dark wisps trailed behind the back of his eyes. _You didn’t even have the stomach, no the decency, to kill the monster yourself._

“It is not very sporting…” Hannibal let out a hiss of hot breath through teeth, tipping a chin over his shoulder, dead eyes staring down at the other man. “…to violate and beat a man after you have already bound and gagged him, Mister d’Puont. A lesson I suspect you will take with you to the end. I already know there were five of you who came to my home that day. To _my_ home and took what belonged to _me_. Two of you are dead already.”

A lip curled into a snarl. “All this over some lousy faggot…”

Fingertips tapped to a halt against the butterfly blade. A needle whirred over a record, skipping in a static loop. A dress shoe connected with an edge of the chair, wooden legs clattering against cement. Groans sounded loud, skull cracking. Silver flashed bright in the light. Hoarse guttural screams pierced the air. Blood sprayed hot across black eyes and sharp teeth, trickling down skin and seeping into a twisted mouth. A severed left arm hung limply from ropes. Hannibal rolled back his shoulder, closing eyes to taking in the reverberating screams filling his ears and warm trickles running into his mouth.

_What a symphony you make, Mr. d’Puont… a little louder for the aria. Yes. Have no worries. No one can hear you in this place._

“Under normal circumstances…” Hannibal’s maroon eyes drifted open below half lids, setting the broad cleaver aside and smiling at the mouth gaping open in a rush of white noise. “I prefer to use anesthetics when dismembering animals as humanely as possible.” He reached for a nearby towel and jerked it around the gaping wound in a makeshift tourniquet, arm severed just above the elbow, listening to the man howl louder. Another spurt of red slinging across his cheek. “It would appear, however, you will be the exception.”

“Now, I do hate to cut our conversation short…” Dragging the gag back over a rippling mouth, Hannibal felt tension dispel from his lungs in a short exhale and a blink of an eye. “However, tonight’s dinner requires a great deal of preparation. As I am sure you are aware _Rognons d’Ageneau_ to be served properly must first be braised on a low simmer in Chartreuse and red wine then topped with hints of rosemary. But before we are too hasty…” He glanced back at the man with an easy smile, turning a red knob to the off position and moving the broth to a cool burner. “I really _must_ proceed with the removal of your organs while you are still able to draw breath.”

Muffled screams sounded, eyes widening, body flailing against restraints sending a shower of blood pulsing through white cotton and spreading across the concrete floor.

Glass of a watch glimmered in the light. “As it is, I have gotten a late start and would rather not keep my partner waiting on his return. How do you feel about the possibility of serving Irish coffee to compliment the _canelés de Bordeaux_ served for dessert?”

Pushing red stained knit up straining forearms, Hannibal ran a towel over his face and down his neck, dabbing at pools of blood lingering in the hollow beneath his throat. He glanced at the small cakes, heart warming in his chest. He wondered how the sweet custard and caramel crumbs might taste clinging to the corners of Will’s mouth upturned in a soft smile. Hollow shrieking made him sigh. He was looking forward to some peace and quiet and the aroma of kidneys lingering beneath candlelight.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right,” Hannibal nodded, striding over to a cabinet and pulling out a syringe filled with a finite amount of _succinylchloine_.

 _No one said you would be unconscious, Mister d’Puont, only that you will be unable to do anything about it._ Fingers flicked against the syringe, liquid skirting out. _You will suffer as he suffered. Paralyzed, bound, and fully awake._

“You have far too much on your mind already deciding on who’s name you would like to give me to worry about my dinner menu.” Maroon eyes drifted up, embers flickering to red. “And Mister d’Puont, I assure you… you will give me a name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it the Mozart or flowery descriptions of food that made you think this was going to be romantic? Hm.  
> (I mean, I am not saying the next chapter *couldn't* be, but. This was better right? Haha.) Or welcome to the episode of: what Hannibal is doing in his spare time. 
> 
> Fun Facts: The particular whiskey mentioned actually has a stag head for the design of its glass bottle. It's amazing. Caneles looks like the most delicious pastry in the world and I need one. Succinylchloine is a type of muscle relaxer x paralytic , though if too much is used it paralyzes your lungs and you, well, die. (Thanks, Gusi!)
> 
> Trying to get back on track with a regular writing schedule again if my brain will allow! I hope everyone is taking care and I will be making a conscious effort for messaging x commenting tomorrow night. I miss you guys! 
> 
> And I am 100% dedicating this chapter to QuietDuna, because they are exceptionally talented. No seriously. LOOK AT THIS beautifully hand drawn animated gif artwork they have made for us for TS: Chapter 90. (Because I've been screaming about it since I saw it earlier today and can't stop smiling!! Or swearing eloquently about its beauty.)
> 
> http://quietduna.tumblr.com/post/137033931956/hallofmybeginnings-quietduna-fic-rec-day


	94. Chapter 94

Tension hovered over a gleaming oak table in the form of silver dishes and elongated shadows cast long underneath flickering candlelight rimming outlines of an angular face. Hands clasped, pressed to a mouth, glowing eyes shifting to follow a glint of silver lifting to lips and disappearing. Will shivered beneath the intensity of a gaze watching every motion, deliberately drawing out the spoon through parted lips, tip of a tongue licking off last drops of broth clinging to a bottom lip. He felt rather then saw an intensity of heat in eyes locked on his mouth, drawing in a low breath. He was certain it wasn’t just the whiskey warming his blood.

_Am I on the menu, Hannibal?_

Across the other end of the table, Hannibal leaned forward on elbows, nothing more then a collective shadow watching with distinct interest as they ate. They hadn’t exchanged more then a few pleasantries and remained mostly silent during dinner. There was something about the way the older man was perched, filling every inch of his chair in shifting muscles peeking out from white cuffs rolled up elbows. His body was lithe, moving slow and purposefully, a predator at rest, radiating an aura of pure power and strength, drawing Will out of his chair and towards him.

He shivered again as gentle hands curved around his waist and settled into the small of his back, soft and caressing, a stark contrast to tension darkening eyes below. Will’s eyes traveled down arms framing his torso and fell on skin curtained by loose buttons pulling fabric open at a throat and unveiling the beginning of soft curls on a hard chest. He felt thumbs press slightly at his hips. His hands slid down sturdy arms, wrapping around taut shoulders and pulling the older man to his feet.

“Dessert?” He asked quietly, eyes drifting closed as fingertips ran along the hem of a burgundy t-shirt.

“Awaiting you in the study.”

Curling fingers around a wrist, Will pulled the older man away from the table, grip tightening, listening for a list of objections or reluctant excuses. The rest of the meal would go cold without them. Dishes needed to be gathered, cleaned, and assigned their appropriate place. He heard nothing except a shadow of footfalls following after. He felt the drag of eyes lingering on the nape of his neck, swinging down the length of his spine, and lingering at his hips. A sharp twist sent him spiraling back, flattened to an open door, with the older man drawing near in a press of shoulders and thighs.

“Will...” Hannibal pushed up a chin with tips of thumbs, dark eyes blinking slowly as blue ones lifted and met his gaze with a level stare, words sparking firelight. “I would like to kiss you.”

“Yeah… I sort of got that impression over dinner…” Will let out roughly, drawing the older man in by a leather belt, and pressing their hips together. He inhaled sharply, not surprised to find the older man as hard as he was. “…by the way you wouldn’t stop staring at my mouth like you wanted to sink in your teeth.” His hands wound their way down arched shoulder blades, fingertips digging into knotted muscles near the base of a spine. “God, you're tense.”

The older man hissed out a breath, stiffening. “The day was trying.”

“And I’d like to do something about that if you’d let me care for you for a change.”

Will ducked out from arms framing him against the door, dragging the older man behind him by belt loops and into the study. Will settled back into cushions of the chaise, legs widening to accommodate, and deposited Hannibal between them, pressing them back to chest. For a moment, he curved arms around the front, palms flat against a broad chest and rested his forehead against a shoulder. He breathed in the scent of damp silvery hair and freshly cleaned skin. He loved coming home to find the older man and wrap his arms around, holding tight, knowing he would be the first to let go when he was ready. Hannibal always waited for him to let go, patient and soft when he did.

“You didn’t need to go through all this trouble for me,” He spoke quietly, pressing a kiss into a curving neck.

“I like presenting you with only the best, Will,” Hannibal murmured, chin dropping to his chest as fingers worked their way up straining tendons, digging in at nerves clustered at the base of his skull.

“Yeah, well, I kind of like you too.”

Letting out a small chuckle, Will pushed thumbs into trapezius muscles and began to work out a series of knots, smiling softly at the appreciative groans coming out of the older man’s mouth. He thought about whispering how handsome Hannibal looked, head bent, relaxed and allowing touch underneath the glow of a crackling fire. To mention quietly how his heart tensed in his chest with each endearing gesture and hard work the older man had put into the presentation of the meal. His eyes peered over a broad shoulder, scanning delicate cakes arranged in a spiral pattern on a marble coffee table, sweat clinging to two glasses filled with a dark colored liquid and smothered in swirls of cream.

He had slowly flourished back to life beneath quiet ministrations the older man offered in their daily lives, waking to a single fresh wildflower on a nightstand, arguing amiably over how to decorate the house, and falling asleep to a hand holding his. He offered what he could, assembling furniture, bringing up cups of coffee to bed, and presenting brown paper wrapped books of French poetry decorated with a new handmade fishing lure. The older man would have his own collection soon. A tightness filled his chest whenever Hannibal smiled. It seemed so rare, delicate, and fragile.

Will had never known someone to be patient with him, always written off as too much trouble or an incompatibility to be pushed aside. His nightmares, when they came for him, made his mood swings unbearable and he had to make a conscious effort not to shut down and stop speaking. He was surprised every day to find Hannibal waiting, taking in stride what he was able to offer, to give, to receive. He no longer looked pained when Will pushed away. He always returned a few minutes or hours later, head cleared, to press their bodies together and rest in open arms.

_You’re a good man, Hannibal Lecter. Good to me._

Instead of speaking, his thumbs and fingers worked their way down a spine, and buried into hard muscles of a lower back. The older man jerked as they pressed in, groans turning to near growls as they pinpointed and unraveled knots, sigh breathed out and body melting when they released. His knuckles swept up, pushing and lifting shoulder blades to stroke away remaining tension. Climbing out from behind, Will pushed Hannibal into the cushions, smiling slightly at half lidded eyes as the body melted in, acquiescing to the silent command of his hands. He finally looked relaxed, at peace. It wasn’t much, but that small offered smile meant much more then he could say.

Soft murmurs lingered on lips. “Was the meal to your liking?”

“It was delicious, thank you…” Will noted softly, lifting a hand, turning it over and pressing a kiss into its palm. “It…” He felt pink reach his cheeks. “You mean a lot to me, you know.”

_Smooth, Graham. Very eloquent. Hannibal writes you sonnets looped in cursive. You give him crumpled origami paper fortune tellers and scrawled out garble._

Humming a sound of amusement, Hannibal opened his eyes and leaned forward, sweeping a glass delicately between two fingers and thumb, offering it with a half smile. Will forgot to breathe again. Their fingers brushed as he took it, watching the older man lift the glass in a brief salutation. His maroon eyes softened in the faint light, gazing over the rim, glass pressed lightly to lips. The softness glowing back made Will’s heart thud off beat in a rapid flutter of lashes, remembering a blotch of black ink pressed beneath a poem, single word scratched out. He pressed his own cup to his mouth, cool glass pressing in, imagining it was Hannibal’s lips instead.

_You… really are in love with me, aren’t you?_

Hints of chocolate wafted across his senses, cold ice and whiskey lingering in his mouth, heavy cream clinging to lips. He froze as Hannibal leaned forward, brushing the cup away with arching fingers, gaze falling to parting lips. Will waited, heart thudding in his chest, a small pastry brought to his lips and pressed in. Mouth trembling, he bit into the crunchy caramel surface, allowing a custard center to melt on his tongue. It tasted like wispy clouds drifting across a sky. He watched Hannibal take the cake, turning it in nimble fingers, before pressing it to his own mouth where Will’s lips had been a moment before and slowly devoured the other half. The younger man inhaled sharply, setting the glass unsteadily on the marble coffee table.

_God… when did you turn dessert into an artful seduction?_

“Are you trying to get me drunk by plying me with expensive liquor and cakes, Doctor?” Will asked in a low whisper, eyes dragging up to find the older man close once more, drawing a thumb across his bottom lip. “If so, you are going to have to try much harder…”

A red tongue darted out, sweeping off a bit of cream. “Am I?” Sturdy arms spread across the back of a couch, curving glass balancing precariously in a splay of fingertips across its surface.

“I am beginning to think…” The younger man shifted against the chaise, cock growing heavy against his inner thigh. “…you have ulterior motives, Doctor Lecter.”

Left corner of a mouth ticked. “Whatever would give you that impression, Will?”

“Well…” Dark eyebrows rose in response, Will’s mouth quirking in a smile of amusement. “I suspect I could find a few examples given the lengthy five year discourse of our unique interactions of friends trying to murder friends relationship. And then of course, our near pinnacle year of…”

_Wait._

Will felt color drain from his face. “Shit! It… it isn’t? Is that what this is? Fuck, did I—

 _What day is it?_ Scores of pages flipped through his mind in a rustle of calendars, snumbers and dates blinking rapidly, pushed aside, discarded and turned, flipped and reexamined. _Did I forget something important? Of course I did. Again. Why, why can’t I—_

“William…”

Dry palms framed his face, warm lips pressing in to one cheek and then the other. A single thumb pushed away the teeth Will had nervously sunk into his bottom lip, drawing a pinprick of blood. He dragged up eyes to find Hannibal had moved closer, their knees brushing, open buttons drawing his attention to skin. He blushed brighter when the older man smiled, loosing one more button before returning the hand to his face.

“Not enough months have yet past for it to be a monumental marking of anything just yet,” Hannibal answered smoothly, running hands back through curls, and drawing his face closer. “Though I am very fond of you for having remembered. Or rather, in this case, forgotten something you have yet no need to recall.” Will sighed, leaning in to the pressure, resting their foreheads together. He liked how his lips were warmed by soft breath. “You are quite lovely when you blush, the first mist of morning dew kissing pink in blossoms of calla lilies.”

_How would I ever forget to remember the day we met?_

“I am not…” Will groaned a sound of protest, wrapping hands around forearms, eyes squeezing shut. “Is it possible for you to stop comparing my physical features to dainty flourishes of nature _out loud_ , Hannibal? You’re giving me a complex.”

“I believe I successfully constructed a complex from your mind once already, Will.” Words breathed across the shell of his ear, nails trailing down the back of his neck. “Provide me with more adequate words to describe your beauty and I will be more than happy to use those instead…”

_God, please don’t stop touching me._

When Will began to tremble, he pulled back and instead of apologizing, lightly socked a fist into a side of the nearest arm with another heated blush. He gnawed on his bottom lip, worrying he had hit too hard, or the gesture would be misunderstood. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. Hannibal was studying him, head tilted, touching the spot where the fist had connected. Will began an inner monologue composed of nothing but vehement swearing, twisting in the chair in an utter display of embarrassment, trying to figure out how to speak again in order to apologize.

Palms wrapped ever so slowly around his biceps. Breath left him in a light gasp when Hannibal smiled, creases forming at cheeks. A second later the younger man found them wrestling against the chaise, all short breaths and searching hands. He yelped as fingers sought his most sensitive spots, drawing laughter when they dug in mercilessly. His legs kicked out, heels connecting with fronts of thighs, jerking away from fingertips on his stomach. He felt a curving smile pressed at his throat. Will laughed harder when the older man let out a breathless swear, ankle hooked around his waist, and flipped on to his back in a tumble.

Heat flushed their skin bright, panting. Will lifted his head and smiled back, pleased he had managed to overtake the older man at last. As his breathing slowed, he felt the press of their chests, hearts thudding wildly beneath bone and skin in perfect unison. He felt Hannibal draw a breath and hold it, palms sliding up the arching back above. Carefully Will rocked slightly, smoothing away wrinkles on a cotton shirt, fingertips drifting over buttons and slipping them loose.

He wanted to tell the older man to breathe, for them both to breathe, as fabric parted, unveiling a glimmer of golden skin as the shirt was pushed over tensing shoulders. Will placed a palm above a heart, nails grazing over hair, gazing into maroon eyes, feeling each distinct thud match his own. He began running hands over hard lines of muscle, dipping across a ribcage, and leaning in to press his mouth above a racing pulse. A breath hitched, Hannibal stilling as a mouth lingered at his throat, kissing shoulders, tongue darting out to lavish delicate attention over fading bruises. He was surprised to find bones quivering, textured bumps rushing across skin beneath.

_Have you always been this spellbound by my touch, Hannibal? Or was I simply too consumed with my own sensitivity to notice yours looming in the distance?_

Threading fingers through fine hair, Will tugged gently and rested a single fingertip at the right corner of his mouth. “You may kiss me here…”

Trembling, Hannibal pushed his way up in to a sitting position, and drew Will into his lap with a drag of fingertips along the length of his spine. Thumbs stroked the corner first, eyes locked on to each gentle brush and press, giving it great consideration. He carefully placed a palm on the side of an arching cheekbone, stroking it reassuringly.

“It’s alright, Hannibal…”

A strangled sound answered as the older man lifted his head, lips pressing into the corner, warm and gentle, fine lashes fluttering closed.

“And here,” Will whispered softly, sighing as a mouth kissed the other corner of his, lingering above lips before pulling back.

The younger man thought for a moment he saw a flash of fear before it was buried in eyelids sinking low and opening once more. Dark eyes glazed with a shudder of breath. Hands shaking, Hannibal lifted Will upright on his knees and let his head fall back in to cushions.

_Soon… I just need more time. Will you wait?_

Fingers slipped beneath jersey, running along the hem of a t-shirt. “Where else might I press my lips to your skin, William?”

Biting into his lower lip, Will lifted hands above his head and waited, groans bubbling out of the back of his throat as every inch of skin was kissed as it was revealed. A t-shirt balled up in a fist before flung indelicately to the floor. He pushed back into the mouth sucking skin gently between teeth and lips above his hip, back arching and clutching at sturdy shoulders. Dark eyes lifted, an index finger tracing the curve of a denim waistband. With a simple nod, a button fell open, zipper whirring down, and a tongue disappeared beneath, searching before licking across a damp head, slipping into a slit and swirling.

“Unnn…”

Fingernails sunk into forearms holding tight to his thighs. Will waited desperately for relief of cool air, fabric pulled down and away. He groaned louder as Hannibal merely lapped at his head, tongue dipping beneath elastic and exploring, cock trapped beneath denim and cotton, aching to be released. He craved the connection, the closeness of breath and lips and hands.

“Do you remember this, Will?” Hannibal asked, voice dipping low, incisor nipping at the bottom of his lip. “Do you remember how long you lasted when we first began our practice in restraint? When I would taste you just like this and nothing more.”

Labored breaths fell from parted lips, mouthing kisses over an upturned face. “Hours.”

“How often would I do this to you a single day, Will?”

“If I… nnn answer correctly, do I get a reward?”

Rolling shoulders, Hannibal leaned back into the cushions and slipped down to the edge of the chaise, knees widening to reveal tented trousers. "Am I not reward enough?"

The younger man swallowed, rubbing damp palms along his jeans. Lines of a throat arched, hard lines of a mouth parting, as a curl of fingertips beckoned forward silently. Leaning in, Will felt breath coil deep in his lungs, trapping heat and oxygen as clothing dragged down to his knees, cock springing free. A hand guided him closer at the small of his back, head of his cock brushing lightly over lips.

“H-hann…” Will breathed out his name in a rush as a tongue darted out. “Wait.”

Maroon eyes drifted up to his face, waiting patiently to continue or to be asked to stop completely. Hannibal remained still. Drawing in a deep breath, Will took hands at his thighs by wrists and lifted them to his shoulder blades. Slowly, he brought them back down the curve of his spine, closing eyes to shiver as they dragged over hips and across shaking thighs to knees. He moaned, placing a palm over aching balls and dragged the other up from a thigh. Every single muscle in Hannibal’s body jerked when he guided the hand to a cleft of his ass, pressing fingertips in between cheeks, brushing lightly as Will arched into it, letting out a sigh.

_I trust you._

“W-will…” His name sounded heavy, weighed down with traces of desire and fear, hissed out between clenched teeth.

“Are you determined not to breathe for the rest of the evening, Hannibal?” Will asked softly, bending down and carefully taking the older man’s bottom lip between teeth, leaving a trail of beaded red. “Or may I borrow your mouth for a few minutes?”

Bracing one hand on the back of the chaise, Will curved his other palm to cup the back of Hannibal’s head, playing gently with hair at the nape of his neck until he relaxed once more. He was tense, even more so at the prospect of touching then the younger man felt about being touched. He was worried for a moment the older man would push away. Blue eyes drifted closed as lips opened and firm hands pushed him into a hot, wet mouth. Curls fell forward around his face, brushing over the one below as red lips drifted up and down his shaft, drawing out incoherent noises and murmurs, unhurried and gentle.

A small whine unfurled on his tongue as fingertips traced the ring of muscle, kneading cheeks, teasingly slow. Hannibal kept sucking and touching at an even, steady pace, firm grip keeping the younger man from moving forward or backwards. Will began to see streaks of red behind his eyelids, aware of thighs stiffening, back arching at a rush of heat building at the base of his spine. He began shaking, crying out as burning sensation of a finger slipped in, knees locking around a ribcage in a sudden panic. He felt heat flush his face red, creeping down his throat and spreading down his chest. Will felt a different kind of rush when another finger slipped in, moan ripping out his throat as pressure nudged at his prostrate.

“H-hann…ahh…nnn…”

He wasn’t sure when he had started rocking forward onto the mouth and back on to fingers, shaking, making incoherent noises rising to groans. He shook harder, knees trembling around hips, giving in. A hoarse scream filled the study. Will came buried in the back of a throat, tears streaking down a damp face. A tongue ran up his shaft, licking and swallowing any remains, fingers easing out. The younger man scrambled back and to the other side of the couch, dragging clothing back up and burying a tear soaked face in hands.

_Let go, please. I’m—_

“S-s-s-so—“

Stammering fell out Will’s mouth as he choked down an apology, aware of a warm hand settling on his bare shoulder to steady his breathing. He had promised not to apologize anymore. It was the only request of any kind Hannibal had asked from him. The only demand in all the weeks before and in between. His breathing came out harsh and unsteady, fingertips shaking as the hand moved from his shoulder and tugged one away from his face. He wanted to snatch it back, to hide. He couldn’t open his eyes and find the older man sitting across, lips swollen, eyes gentle and holding his hand until the clamor of fear and anxiety rattled out of his bones.

“Is there anything I can provide you?”

Will winced at how even the rise and fall of Hannibal’s voice was, cresting waves foaming across a shoreline, patiently awaiting instruction on how he could be of use. His fingers curled tighter around the larger hand for safety. He dug nails into a knee, hoping to keep steady and keep from shaking.

“Hot bath? Another whiskey?” He shoved an unsteady hand back through curls clinging to a damp forehead. “Another whiskey.” He stared at the floor, gaze drifting to a dwindling fire. “And a nap.” His voice cracked, fresh tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Or is that asking too much coming from the man who asks for everything, when you ask for nothing?”

“You underestimate how much it fulfills me to hear you ask, Will, and learn how to fulfill your needs in return…” Hannibal’s voice was barely a whisper. “I will run us a bath if that is your wish.”

“Together?”

“We can bathe separately if you prefer.”

“N-no…don’t want to be alone.”

“Then…” Will released the hand and he heard the older man shuffle to his feet, felt a trail of soft eyes over his face. “…you may make your way up when you are ready.”

The younger man waited until he had stopped shaking enough to make his way up the stairs, gripping onto a wooden railing for dear life and struggling to take in each pained breath. He paused at the top of the landing, swallowing and choking down sobs shuddering inside his lungs. Stumbling through the bedroom, Will blindly wound his way to the bathroom and fell into arms reaching out, letting himself be held up and pressed into warm skin.

“I-I’m not sorry I liked i-it,” Will ground out between teeth, fading into fingertips swirling through curls. “Just s-s-sorry I can’t kiss you or s-sleep with you yet. I love you. You know I love you?”

A warm mouth pressed into a corner of his lip. “Will, look at me…” Eyes fluttering open, Will found Hannibal smiling at him softly once more, brushing tears away at his cheeks. “You are beside me. There is nothing more I need. Just you.”

Quietly, Hannibal tugged off his dress shirt and peeled trousers down his legs, every once in awhile stroking fingertips across skin to let the younger man know he was there, a brush of reassurance he was safe. Hands made quick work of jeans falling to their feet. Will glanced around the bathroom covered in light glow of candles rimming edges of a large circular stone tub, amber liquid glowing in two glass tumblers perched on its edge. He curved an arm over his torso, blinking fast, body curling in, glancing at his cotton boxers and then at silk ones remaining at their hips. He wasn’t ready to undress. He wasn’t ready to see Hannibal undress. He began to shake again, eyes fixed to their bare feet, too ashamed to ask for anything else.

Arms came swiftly around a waist, lifting Will off his feet in a dizzying spin of white light and golden hue. Hannibal made his way up curving marble steps and waded into the large tub, lowering them both, half clothed into warm soothing water, rising steam wafting scents of lavender. The younger man sank back against the chest behind him, curling in between knees rising up from the water, arms slinging protectively around his torso to hold near.

“That wasn’t entirely necessary, was it?” Will breathed out weakly, rush of relief flooding in.

_Why are you so good to me, Hannibal? How do you just know? You never make me ask._

A cool glass pressed into his palm. “Was it not?” There was a long pause as Will drained contents of whiskey from the glass, head falling back into a shoulder and closing his eyes, blood warming. “How are you, Will?”

“Hannibal…” He searched blindly for hands, covering them with his own, squeezing hard, aching exhaustion, both mental and physical flooding in. “I’m… okay. Thank you. Thank you…you are…” Blue eyes swung up in a flutter of lashes. “...the only one I will ever love. You are everything to me. I know it’s not much.”

_I know offering the rest of my life isn’t much. But would you take it anyways?_

“Close your eyes, William…” Water swished lightly as arms drew the younger man closer, a kiss pressed to his forehead. “Rest, _mylimasis_. You are always safe inside my arms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was not a great pain today, so here is some fluff to cheer us up. 
> 
> Mylimasis: my love


	95. Chapter 95

Fingertips tapped nervously against the side of a thigh. A knee bounced up and down in a half panicked rhythm. Will had been holding a full fledged conversation with the older man in a flurry of muted sepia tones and static in his head for the last twenty minutes. He thought the whole conversation had gone rather well, until he realized it had all been in his mind. He tried to speak once or twice out loud, managing to comment on dreariness of the weather and if Hannibal thought they might ever see a spot of sunshine in the future. It wasn’t what he wanted to ask or talk about. He sat sulkily staring out the passenger window, frustrated and trying to loosen his tongue. When the older man tried to speak to him, his monosyllable answers had rewarded him with a thick silence. They were nearly home.

“I wanted to tell you I found a job,” Will blurted out suddenly, knee coming to a halt, fingertips curling in, preparing to defend.

“I beg your pardon?” Hannibal asked, glancing over once before returning eyes to the road.

Instead of drawing a steadying breath and repeating himself in a dignified fashion, like an actual adult, the younger man continued on in a whir of white noise and fluttering nervousness. He didn’t want to give Hannibal a chance to speak. What if he said no? What if he disapproved? What if he pointed out a valid list of reasons not to jeopardize their safety? What if they… fought and Hannibal stopped offering small smiles and hands?

“You know normal people work right? Nine to five? To scrape enough money together to pay their bills?”

“I do not object to you working, William…” Mahogany leather gloves pulled a steering wheel as an even voice flooded with a subtle tension. “I object to you being out of my sight.”

“I need to interact with other human beings, Hannibal,” Will protested loudly, blustering on, knee returning to a jaunty bounce. “I think—I _know_ it would be good for me. To reacquaint myself with social engagement and not be so…” He tugged at a loose thread in his jeans, brows drawing down.

 _What? Be so fucking difficult? To bring my level of panic down to a more manageable level and pretend to be a somewhat normal human being? To present you with a man who could take care of you. Who you would be proud of to have as…_ His throat tightened, jamming a hand into a jean pocket and searching for a brassy ring. _…your husband. If I ever get up the fucking nerve to ask or enough to buy you a proper ring. Who knew shooting a man ten times was less nerve wracking and far easier then the mere thought of proposal._

“Will?”

_Shit._

Eyes flicking over, Will realized Hannibal had slowed the car to a near stop and was staring at him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. It wasn’t the first time he had stopped in mid-sentence and drifted off to some unknown location in his mind. It had been his fifth. Today. He hadn’t intended to be rude.

“Sorry, distracted…” He mumbled, drawing his hand out the pocket and letting out a sigh of relief as the Aston Martin steered down a dirt path. “I shouldn’t have anxiety just leaving the house.”

 _Or thinking about leaving the house. Or actually leaving the house and then worrying we are being followed or watched or…_ He cursed inwardly, palms beginning to sweat. _I shouldn’t have anxiety worrying about whether or not you need more space. Or if I do_.

An index finger tapped on the wheel, the only light noise during a long pause. “Does this particular job have anything to do with you coming home late to me?”

“Well, yes but—“

“Or…” Hannibal looked over again, a fair eyebrow arched, glancing down at fists curled against jeans curiously. “…carrying a wafting _eau du perfume_ of wet dogs?”

“Shit. Is it that obvious?” Will answered weakly, rubbing hands roughly down his beard, wincing. “I tried to… sorry.”

Tires crunched over gravel. “Will it make you happy?”

Will lifted eyes from scuffed boots, head tipping to the side. “Sorry?”

“I asked…” Hannibal pushed a foot against the brake and clutch, placing the car into park, and glanced over. “Will it make you happy?”

_Wait, you did… Are you asking me what I want?_

“Not to be away from you… but yeah,” The younger man murmured, unbuckling and swiveling to face the driver’s seat. “A return to normalcy would be nice? And I would like to be able to…” His hands spread wide in his lap, searching for words as if trying to pull them from thin air. “…provide for you in a more legitimate means this time. I mean the pay isn’t great, so don’t expect caviar or anything. At least, not until I save. And they seem like… good people.” He sucked in a breath. “Would you mind?”

“I do not like caviar, Will. However…” Breath shuddered as fingertips reached over pushing hair from his eyes, touch soft and voice even softer. “I do seem to have an affinity towards you. I would rather experience anxiety with your absence then know you experience it by remaining.”

“I’ll come back,” Will replied weakly, watching the hand pull away and settle back on the wheel.

_Christ, maybe its all come full circle and I’m the stray promising to come home._

“It’s just a few days a week. Less if they don’t need me. It’s just… I like it there.” He felt a little smile waver on his lips, remembering visiting the day before and being barreled over by three Russell terriers and one Great Dane. “And they well, they sort of offered me a position on the spot as one of the older gentlemen had retired. I mean, for awhile, I think they thought I was either stalking them or intent on adoption.”

He watched the older man stare out the driver’s side window, running a hand absently across a steering wheel. _Something’s wrong._

“I thought better to spend my time with strays then drag all of them home.” Will had considered it, on numerous occasions, and forced himself to leave them in their kennels, tails wagging and brown eyes gazing as he left. “And I kind of like the idea of being adopted by strangers who care about dogs the way I do. It’s the _Centre de recueil Canin._ It’s near—”

“I am well aware of the location,” Hannibal answered roughly, gaze fixed on some object in the distance.

_Right. The phone._

“So you are checking up on me?”

“Hmm.”

“You could come have a look around if it would make you feel more comfortable?”

Maroon eyes flicked over to him then away. Will had become familiar with this particular look crossing the older man’s face. It was one of the few expressions he had learned to finally read. The way fine brows drew down ever so lightly causing a light crease. How a corner of lips twitched, pinching into a fine lined micro expression of unease, then released. Gaze dragged over the ticking hands of a watch, a simple mnemonic gesture to bring something from the mind into the physical to remember later. Something was troubling Hannibal and it wasn’t just nerves or worry. He looked haunted. It was a look that ensured he would be running dozens of background checks and surveillance the moment the younger man stepped from the room. He found it strangely endearing to know no matter where he went someone was watching to keep him safe. He felt a tension in his heart from knowing the older man was holding back.

_What aren’t you telling me? Talk to me…_

“Hannibal, if you don’t want me to…” Will gnawed at the inside of his cheek, gaze drifting down. “If you think it’s unsafe or a bad idea, then I understand. It was a stupid idea…” 

“Do you not think I will be able to survive a few hours of separation?” A belt clicked, swiveling back into place. “As it is, I trust your judgment to be aware of your own surroundings.”

_Well, that’s a lie. We both know you’re going to case the place…_

An imperceptible sigh lingered on lips. “I have other ways to entertain my time…”

Reaching over, Will turned the older man’s face back to his, searching eyes for answers buried deep in dark pools of autumn leaves. “Are we going to talk about that yet?”

“No,” Hannibal answered abruptly, eyes narrowing.

_What’s wrong?_

A nose crinkled in response, recoiling slightly. “Are we ever?”

“In time.” A voice dipped, bleeding soft, as the older man leaned a head back against the window.

“Can I…”

A low growl answered.

“May I…”

Teeth flashed dimly.

“I’m holding your fucking hand!” Will amended finally with a snap of teeth.

_Jesus Christ! Why is this so hard?_

Sinking into the passenger seat, Will snatched a larger hand into his lap and held onto it hard enough that he was almost certain he could hear bones creaking. Or was that his imagination? If he held any tighter, he knew they would break for sure. A fact, not an auditory hallucination. Easing his grip, he stared out at stones rising up to form their house and wondered if he was ever going to be able to correct the newly formed habit Hannibal was trying hard to dig out of him. He was told to take, to know it was provided, and to trust it would be given without fail. He just wanted to be able to offer the same thing. Was that so wrong?

Fingertips touched his jaw. “Do you ask to seek my permission, William, or to hear my response?”

“I just… need to know…” Lashes fluttered rapidly over blue eyes, letting go.

_That it’s okay. That you still want me. That you’ll still want me if I ask._

“That is an inappropriate rush of meaningless words and sounds, Will. Think about what you would like to ask in earnest and try again.”

_Will you fucking marry me? Is that alright, Hannibal? Am I good enough to ask you that? Or too broken to know for sure if I’ll be accepted?_

“I’m sorry. Fuck. Sorry. Fu—” Frustrated breath hissed out of teeth.

 _Sorry for saying I’m sorry_. _Sorrier for not saying what I want._ _I’ll try harder, I swear to god, I’m going to get it right this time._

“I’m not…I was never like this. Before.”

“What is it you believe yourself to be?”

“Weak. Unmanageable. Frustrating,” Will bit out, mouth twisting to a frown, jamming shoulders back into leather with a huff. “Are you tired of me, Hannibal?”

_Because I sure as fuck am. Tired of being a burden._

A smooth thumb coursed down his wrist, fingertips thrumming across veins wildly pumping blood through a rigid arm. He felt Hannibal watching, continuing with swirls of feather light touch, pulling breath in and out of his lungs until his heart returned to a normal rhythm. Nails brushed over clenched fingers causing them to relax, opening to reveal an upturned palm. Hannibal threaded their fingers together and leaned over the middle console, balmy mouth kissing his cheek in gentle reprimand. Stormy blue lifted to meet an unblinking gaze, mouth pressed into a serious line.

“How can one…” The older man touched shadows clinging to eyes, brushing each one away with a tender flick of fingertips. “…grow weary of discovering constellations hidden in hollows of your flesh or roaming the earth to seek a perfect sunset within your eyes?” A faint smile softened lips. “Tell me, William, how might you imagine I would ever tire of that?”

“God… please don’t.” Will closed eyes, heart stuttering to an agonizing stop. “Will you tire of this? Of me?”

_Don’t love me so much that it fucking hurts. I’ll fall apart if… you let go._

“William…”

“ _Please_.”

*

 


	96. Chapter 96

Yanking on a silver handle, shoulder ramming into a door, Hannibal escaped confines of the car with a rush of hot breath trapped in lungs and shut searching oceans blue safely on the other side. He slumped back into a metal body, letting out a shaking breath. For the first time in years, he longed to feel the crumpled line of a cigarette pressed between his teeth and poison fill his lungs in choking smoke. His affair with smoking had lasted about as long as the physical entanglement he had many years ago with an artist in Florence. Which wasn’t long. Barely a month. He had never cared for the taste, just the lips behind the glow, the way it steadied his hands. He had left them both behind without reservation to move on to more noble pursuits and a different kind of appetite.

He dragged an unsteady hand over his face. Hannibal never used to dream, always falling asleep and waking to nothing but a blank slate. Until he met Will and then his waking hours followed by near sleepless nights of only one thought, of him. Pieces of men wrapped up in his freezer was not what haunted him. They deserved far worse. He wasn’t sure how many he needed to kill to find peace. It was the sound of darkness rustling through pathways of his brain and seeping into sleep, stirring up moments in time he would rather have been able to forget.

These were not dreams, not entirely. When he closed his eyes, sunken bones rimming blue looked back, snarling and tearing meat beneath teeth, ripping into his arm and then into another man’s throat. It always faded to the same image of Will chained and bound, helpless and screaming. He startled awake each time, clenching sheets and covered in sweat, the younger man sleeping soundlessly at his side.

He would have to tell him soon. Tell him everything. About force feeding him to stave off his death. About the men in the freezer. About the list he was slowly working his way down. And then he would pray, to anything, to anyone that would listen, and beg for Will to do the same. They had fallen into step during their first encounter on pretense of truth. Hannibal would not start their lives on another foundation of omissions and half spoken lies. He would not make the same mistake twice.

_How can I ask you to bind your life to mine without telling you I have already ensured the outcome? I made you mine long ago._

“Hannibal? Hannibal, can you hear me?”

Inhaling sharply, Hannibal rushed back from a darkened corridor of his mind, doors slamming shut and opened eyes to a blinding white light. He made a noise of recognition, eyes adjusting to focus on pinpricks of wide wavering blue skies. He stared silently for awhile longer, to memorize flecks of gold ringing their edges in light.

_I have only looked at you, Will, and seen the finite remaining good of my soul in your eyes._

“Hey… there you are…” Will stroked hands down his face, settling a palm at his throat, lines creasing smooth skin in worry. “Where were you just now?”

“Would you come with me a moment?” Hannibal spoke softly, touching the hand lightly, afraid it would pull away.

“Sure.” The younger man leaned in, sensing his unease, skin pressing close. “Where are we going?”

“For a brief walk.”

“It’s a little cold,” Will’s small smile faltered, glancing down at ivory buttons gaping low on a dark teal Henley jersey thermal, long sleeves dragged down to tips of cold fingers. “I should—”

Reaching out, Hannibal dragged the younger man back, burying him in between thick layers of a crimson sweater and edges of a single breasted charcoal wool trench coat. He tucked the younger man inside and against his chest, stuffing hands in pockets, arms wrapping around.

“I will keep you warm if that is your concern,” He whispered softly, drawing edges of the coat near and over a form melting in. “To keep you with me awhile longer.”

Fingers twisted in a silk lining, holding it tighter together. “This is impractical.”

“Quite.”

Silence stretched between them. Hannibal gave the body in front of his a careful nudge and they began to weave up the sloped driveway with Will struggling to maintain a straight line and stay inside of the coat. He was a discord jumble of movement. Soft snorts sounded every time their feet tangled out of step. A quieter murmur of apology each time a boot crushed toes wrapped in a leather dress shoe. He felt a shudder of shoulders and realized the younger man was stifling laughter as they tripped through the forest.

“One of us really ought to lead, William,” The older man scolded against the back of a neck, trying to guide them towards a sandy beach, hoping the younger man might take the hint and allow him to do so. “Have you never had practical lessons of any kind on how to appropriately waltz?”

“Have I—“ A chin tipped up, blue eyes sliding to corners. “That’s funny. Very fu—ouch!”

Will tumbled forward, feet slipping on a snapped branch, strong arms drawing him in. Hannibal righted him by the shoulders, slipping one hand in the one reaching out and another at a hip. The younger man looked up, nose crinkling, letting out a breath as he was pulled slightly forward. Heart warming, Hannibal imagined he might have been able to charm Will on to a ballroom floor in his youth.

“May I have this dance?”

“N-no, Hannibal,” The younger man flushed bright pink, head dropping down as they began to sway slightly towards a shoreline. “I-I don’t dance. I especially don’t waltz. And I will, with a matter of definitive certainty, step on your feet.” Lips quirked up in a smile. “And you love those shoes.”

“I lo—“ Blue eyes whipped up, nails biting into a guiding hand. “I love these shoes, yes,” Hannibal whispered quietly, dragging a gaze away and staring at their hands entwined. “But as you can see… you have already stepped on my feet.”

_I love you. And you deserve the truth._

“Yeah well…” Will mumbled, resting a forehead against a collarbone and staring down at their shoes drifting into white sand, gaze following after their powdered footprints. “Who’s fault is that?”

Hannibal swallowed hard, throat closing. “Entirely my own.”

A hand loosened from his, another pushing lightly at the one at a hip turning and moving away. Will shoved hands deep in jean pockets, gazing down, kicking at sand and ambling towards water lapping up lazily along the beach. Hannibal let out a pained sigh, gaze following while his feet remained firmly rooted in place. He knew this was the one place the younger man liked to come to feel safe, sitting and staring out at the bay, passed the alcove, and out to an expanse of grey sloshing sea.

“What _the fuck_ is that?”

_Ah. He’s looked up._

Moored to an edge of a rickety wooden dock, gleaming bright in sunlight slipping between clouds, floated a pure snow white sail boat. A single mast stretched up towards the sky, waiting for sails to unfurl and its sleek body to sluice through choppy waves and out into a world waiting to be discovered. Hannibal felt an amused smile touch his lips, watching the younger man shake his head in disbelief, gazing at it like it was a mirage.

_Perhaps he’ll begin comparing my physique to this and do away with the old coffeemaker at last._

“The visual cue is rather self explanatory, is it not?” Hannibal called out, slipping a hand into a coat pocket.

“I know what—“ Will whirled around, eyes narrowed, stomping back across the beach and slowing when he realized the older man was smiling. He stopped suddenly, head quirking left then right. “You’re baiting me, Doctor Lecter.”

“A divine pun, William,” Hannibal exclaimed quietly, words warming in mild surprise, shrugging. “Though not baiting, merely teasing.” The younger man leaned in, frown turning up bit by bit and widening to an infectious grin. “Go ahead. Explore.”

A rushed peck on the cheek sent the older man stumbling back a few feet, struggling to regain his balance. He touched his cheek. He watched as Will raced across the sand, boots pounding across wooden planks and down a dock. Dress shoes slipping across the beach, Hannibal made his way slowly after, unable to muffle the sound of his heart beating louder with each passing minute.

“Please mind your—“ Hannibal closed his eyes when Will jumped, tensing. He heard feet land with a thud, eyes creaking open to find the younger man waving from the bow. “—step…”

“Fuck, this is huge! How the hell did you afford this?”

“Always concerned with finances, Will…” The older man murmured, wood creaking beneath his feet as he walked carefully down the dock. He imagined at least one of them needed to be well enough to take the other to the hospital. Or rather set broken bones in the safety of their home. “You ought to be more concerned with merely seeking your own happiness.”

His eyes lifted, watching a blurring figure race around the top deck admiring rigging and running hands across every possible surface within reach. Hannibal knew nothing about sailboats and had made his choice solely upon instinct. This one had felt like the right one. For Will. He had imagined him smiling over its wide silver wheel, curls tousled by a warm breeze, and finding a different kind of home for them at sea.

_Would you guide my soul home, William?_

Boots trotted back to the side of the boat, Will slung over it’s railing and beamed down. “Are you not coming?” He asked breathlessly.

“I believe…” Hannibal gazed uneasily at waves lapping gently against the white sleek body, feeling himself pale slightly. “I have had more then my fill of seafaring and ships to fulfill me for a lifetime, dear one.”

“This is _not_ a ship. It’s a sailboat. And given the size, it’s practically a yacht!” Will blustered excitedly, words slowing and coming to a sudden halt when the older man tipped his head and looked up. “Are you actually scared of the sea now?”

“It is not terror of the water or what lurks beneath, if that is what you are suggesting.” Two nails bit into a corner of his thumb, mouth going dry, trying to blink away a rush of thoughts and night terrors rolling in. “It is the association… of memories I find disconcerting.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell Will he hadn’t even gone aboard the sailboat when he made the purchase a couple weeks ago. He had paid the retired fisherman a good deal of money extra to sail it over the morning before from _Aureilhan_. Fear gripped his heart. Hannibal was worried if he boarded the vessel he would find Will stashed away below decks, withering skin and bone pleading silently for death.  

_I could not bear to watch you suffer…_

Thin fingers unfurled, reaching out. “I’ll hold your hand if you get scared…”

Maroon eyes swung up. “Now you are just being impertinent.”

Taking the hand offered, Hannibal put one foot on an edge of the sailboat and kept another on the dock. He hesitated a moment longer. What would he discover on the other side? Fingers tugged forcefully. He rushed forward head first and collided into the younger man’s arms, catching their bodies on the side of tinted windows.

“Christ.” Will burrowed hands in fine silver strands, lifting the head away from his shoulder, eyes bright. “You really don’t have any sea legs, do you? You didn’t hit your head, did you? Are you okay?”

“My skull remains undamaged…” The older man noted brusquely, straightening and tugging firmly at edges of his coat and sleeves to right his appearance. “Though I might ask for some forewarning in the future should we find it necessary to leave.”

“Is this…” Eyes blinked, blue draining away and leaving a stormy grey, voice rasping out. “…an escape plan or a gift, Hannibal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how, a few chapters back, awhile ago... I said, ahem, we had one final issue to resolve. :taps hands together nervously: Well, I mean aside from the ones we are currently working through. 
> 
> I both love and hate that damn ship, their journey to freedom, and everything beautiful and horrifying that happened on it, and don't do this to us, Hannibal, I can't take it.


	97. Chapter 97

In a blink of an eye, Hannibal watched color seep from the younger man’s face, replaced with a deathly pallor of ashen skin and wide wavering eyes. White knuckles curled against jeans, swinging fiercely side to side as Will stormed back and forth across the deck, causing the boat to rock in his wake. The older man grabbed on to a rail for support, gaze dragging back and forth over beaten paths boots tread along. Shaking hands raked through curls, clenching hair and pulling. Will muttered a single word over and over. His breathing had become ragged, arms then legs trembling as he paced. The older man cautiously moved forward, swaying and weaving closer. If he didn’t subdue Will soon, one of them would end up face down on the deck unconscious or tumbling head long into cold water.

“No, no, no, no—“

“William…” His hand was hit away. “Will.”

“Do you expect us to get caught? Is someone coming for us? Do they know we’re alive?”

The younger man paced around the vessel’s wheel, gripping on to a railing before releasing and barreling across to the bow. Damp palms ran down thighs, searching back pockets, front pockets, then reached for something in a denim waistband. Hannibal blinked and realized the younger man was looking for his gun. It was tucked safely into the nightstand beside their bed.

“Do we need to leave? Are we leaving?” The younger man stopped suddenly, stock still, looking back. Hannibal felt breath still on his lips. Blue wide eyes filled with terror, blanching paler still. “Are we leaving now? _Right now_? What do we need? God, why didn’t you tell me! Where are we going? Who—“

“Will!” Hannibal snarled the man’s name, crossing the deck and throwing them both against a side of the boat, windowpanes rattling beneath their weight. “Calm yourself! And fucking breathe!”

He crushed the shaking body against his, arms wrapping tighter until they both struggled to breathe. Legs coiled around quivering knees. Fingers threaded in curls. A small whine reached his ears. He sighed, gritting teeth, angry for having raised his voice. Will needed stability, a sense of calm, a sturdy frame to reach out for and hold. He was none of those in that moment, merely losing control and lashing out to subdue both their fears.

“I have no reason to believe anyone is looking for us…” The older man continued softly, mouth pressing into curls and waiting for trembling limbs to subside. “Jack is only one man. One man does not make an international manhunt or a federal department. This is precautionary. However first and foremost it is…” He reached for a shaking hand and brought it to his lips. “A gift.”

“Please…” Will shook his head, eyes watering, color slowly rising in his cheeks. “I can’t accept this.”

“And why not?” Hannibal watched the younger man make his way to the stern, clutching at the railing for support instead of reaching for him. He felt a jagged tear open across his heart. Had he lost him already? “It is my prerogative to do with my money as I wish.”

“It’s too much. This is all too much,” Will choked out, head bowing low.

A rush of cold hair whipped around their bodies, rustling fabric and hair, a low howling sound echoing unspoken words trapped in the fall and rise of their chests. Sighing, Hannibal shoved hands back in to coat pockets and crossed the deck with a click of heels. He saw the younger man tense as he drew near, preparing to run. Fingers coiled around a velvet box before releasing. Opening edges of the coat, he forcefully drew the shivering figure in and wrapped their bodies tight in a woolen embrace. He waited for an elbow in the ribs. A heel crushing toes. Boots scraping across the deck and disappearing down the dock. Neither moved. After a few moments, Will let out a small noise and leaned back in.

_Stay with me, Will._

“Why…” He pressed the tip of a cold nose in to a bent neck, whispering, “…do you consider my care intolerable?”

_Would you recoil from the protection of my name as well?_

“It’s not—How am I supposed to…repay you for this?”

“It is not for you,” Hannibal corrected mildly, shifting forward so they could both watch waves slosh up the side of boat, droplets of seawater clinging to their cheeks. “It is for _us_. And… I believe the pleasure of your company renders me far greater indebted to you for much more then I could possibly explain.”

_There are simply not enough languages in the world to express I owe you my life, William, for filling my rooms with something I could not even hope to imagine._

“As it is…” A soft smile touched Hannibal’s lips as Will turned in his arms, flushed face burying in the curve of his neck. His smile wavered, uncertainty flooding corners of his cheeks. “I would like for us to travel abroad. Perhaps in a few months. You have told me on several occasions what a good fisherman you are, have you not?”

Muted tones answered though a sharp lapel. “Am I?”

Fingertips gliding up the side of Will’s throat, Hannibal tipped the face up and stared down into blue eyes, a patter of his heartbeat echoing in unison to soft adoration looking up.

“You caught me,” He whispered softly, drawing a thumb across a quivering bottom lip.

The younger man winced. “Technically you surrendered the second time.”

“By technicality then…”

Hannibal leaned in and pressed lips above a heart, glancing up, desperate to drop to his knees and plead for forgiveness. To ask for Will to stay, this time forever, or as long as they had.

“…I surrendered to you.”

“You would tell me if we were in danger?” Will asked in a quavering voice, yanking the older man into his arms, nails twisting in cable knit at his waist. “You would tell me if—“

“I would tell you, Will.”

_I’ll tell you everything. And pray for you to remain here with me._

“My gestures are merely meant to please you. Would you allow me to worry about the rest?” A palm cupped the side of a face, maroon eyes warming as fingertips slipped beneath a sweater to lightly search for the comfort of skin. “Just this once, William, would you allow me this small comfort? To trust I will protect you.”

A short nod replied, voice soft. “Where will we go?”

“I have a few ideas…”

Dark brows arched suspiciously. “But you aren’t going to share them with me?”

“Not quite yet. We still have a few arrangements we need to discuss, and if you agree… “

_As a purely coincidental and entirely hypothetical example, would you take my last name or would you like to keep your own?_

“…then we may begin our journey.”

A soft nose crinkled against his throat.

_And depending upon your theoretical answer, would it be considered unwelcome if I kissed you? If not now, at the altar at the very least?_

“Where would you like to travel, William? Is there something you have dreamed about but not yet seen?”

_What else am I able to show you, to give you, to ensure you will forgive what it is I’ve done for you? To you?_

“Where ever… as long as it’s with you.”

_Allow me to keep you safe._

Palms framing a smaller waist, Hannibal lifted Will up and balanced him carefully on a cold sturdy railing. He stepped in between shivering knees, placing one hand on the back of a neck and the other around a leather belt. Hannibal curled in to fluttering warmth of breath on his cheek, pressing tips of their shoulders together to seek a closer embrace.

“J-jesus…” Will stammered out, cheeks blushing from pink to red, eyes lowering to a rigid mouth, tilting forward slightly and grabbing on to lapels for support. “T-this is becoming a habit for you.”

“I may have become accustomed to placing you where I found it most suitable after all those months,” Hannibal murmured in return, trying to edge out a blot of pain flourishing at the end of each word. “Where I always knew where to find you.”

_Where you could always find me._

“And now what’s your excuse that I can walk again?” Hands curled tighter in wool, pulling closer, a cool cheek pressed to the edge of his. “Are you really that worried, Hannibal?” The older man sighed as fingertips carded through his hair. “That I’ll… disappear again. Is that it? Or… _Jesus_!”

Hands clamped down on the body teetering backwards, steadying and drawing in.

“I, for one, would never be so cruel as to push you off a ledge, my dear one.” Hannibal smiled down at the younger man, cold hands clutched around his neck, nuzzling a cheek against a wrist. “Particularly because I imagine the water below is frigid enough to cause you more harm than good.”

_Together we fall. My arms holding you close until we cease to breathe no more._

Another gust of wind carried barks of sharp laughter. Head thrown back, Will held on to his neck and between a flash of teeth laughed up at a cloudless sky. The sound was bright and airy, accompanied by light dancing in blue eyes. Hannibal drew closer, listening hard, barely able to continue breathing and harder still to keep from pressing lips to those beneath, to draw out the sound, and hold it inside his chest. He was unable to recall the last time he had heard the younger man truly laugh.

_How beautiful you are, William, when you are truly happy._

“Is it our near death or the thought of hypothermia that amuses you so?”

“Y-your hair…”

Will laughed harder, shoulders shaking, knees clenching around the older man’s hips to keep steady. He smiled again and Hannibal had to close his eyes to keep a sting of tears at bay. He would give anything hear the soft utterance of his name. To feel the warmth of the younger man's smile. Soft fingers curled around his ears, tucking long wisps of silver back and smoothing.

“It’s goddamn ridiculous,” The younger man said matter of factly, brows creasing in amusement, eyes softening to rainwater. “I never realized you could look windswept _and_ disheveled, Hannibal.”

“Would you…” An angular face tipped to the side. “…like me to have it cut?”

“I find it rather useful long…” Silver wound around searching fingertips, voice disappearing beneath a howling wind, softly carried away. "Handsome even..." 

Rough fingers dragged though hair, drawing Hannibal closer and closer to an upturned face. His heartbeat slowed, barely beating. Will touched his forehead, sweeping away wispy strands, knuckles tracing contouring arches of cheeks, gentle gaze falling to his mouth. Reaching out, the older man traced faint hints of a white scar running down smooth skin of a cheek, eyes misting. Faint heat of lips hovered above his eyes, lashes drifting down as the younger man kissed a corner of his mouth, lips lingering, gently warm and tender.

“Soon,” Will murmured across skin, breath warm, fingertips running down a face and throat. “Soon I promise. Okay?”

Paralyzed by softness caressing across flesh, Hannibal managed a brief nod, glancing down at aching fingertips clenching a cold railing. He inhaled a low breath, restarting a pulse of blood in his heart that had momentarily stopped beating. Air shuddered inside his lung as Will slipped off the rail and hands loosened at his neck. He prayed for the moments of touch where it felt as though he was needed. He turned away, blinking back tears.

“Hannibal…?” The older man stopped in his tracks, aware of fingertips brushing the back of his palm. “No… never mind. It’s nothing.”

Maroon eyes flicked over a hunched shoulder. “Will?”

“Are you afraid of losing me?” Will shuffled across the deck, gaze lowering then flicking away towards the shoreline, to their home resting beyond entangled trees. “Is that why you… keep me within sight? I can’t remember the last time you haven’t looked in on me, even if we’re in separate rooms, just to make sure I was there. Are you expecting to find only spectral trails of my ghost remaining?”

“You are shivering, Will…”

Cupping a cold palm in leather gloves, Hannibal opened a small gleaming wood door and stepped aside, gesturing for the younger man to enter. Their cheeks brushed as Will squeezed passed, trotting gracefully down a small ladder and landing in the interior with a thud. A sensation of fear raced across his skin. Dark curls fell over eyes gazing up, waiting. Ducking through the door, the older man closed it behind him and teetered down the ladder.

The interior was decorated in stark white paint, gleaming cherry wood, and Prussian blue accents. Hannibal ambled through a galley kitchen on the left, a small booth table on the right, and walked through a living room area filled with tiny bookcases and wide stretching couches. He ducked through an archway and found the younger man lying flat on his back, sprawled across a bed, gazing up through a tinted skylight. Without looking away, a hand stretched out, palm up and waited once more. The older man took it, falling back against the soft mattress and silk sheets, holding the hand and looking up into a clouded sky. He saw their reflections side by side, hands clasped, swaying to lapping waves and drifting away in wisps of grey and light.

“I would like to lie here and name constellations with you one night, Hannibal…” Will whispered, low and rough, hand falling across his torso. “If you can name each one…you become a lot less afraid of being able to find your way home. Of losing sight of familiar landmarks and bearings.”

“What I fear…” Blue eyes slipped over to his face. “…is far more substantial then merely losing sight of you, Will. Sight has an essence of vision, a clear one of looking far into the future and knowing where a path will lead you. How it will end.” Hannibal sighed softly, caressing a thumb over knuckles, grateful for fingers squeezing back. “There was a time in my life when I accepted the foresight of both my beginning and my end. There was reassurance in its purity not clouded by hazed illusions of anything except necessity. In its simplicity… it was what I knew, a resolute truth of all of my life’s culminating events narrowing to a finite pinprick of light in the distance.”

A long pause sounded. “And what did you see?”

“Darkness. Or rather an absence of light.”

“And…” Fingertips stilled. “…now?”

“I see nothing. No divine providence of what had been foretold in the caverns of my mind.” He felt Will try to pull away and held on harder, soft tones pitching to dark shadows filtering through crashing waves. “One of the most well known forms of blindness is merely caused by colored specks of the iris flaking off and drifting off into canals. Those minuscule bits of detached coloration come together to form shades of Monet’s _Palazzo da Mula,_ recreating every brushstroke in ornate detail until one day, it is the only remaining image your optic nerve will ever see before falling in to darkness.”

Head turning, Hannibal gazed at the profile of the younger man’s face, trailing across a high brow, over a peaked nose, and falling on an upturn of a mouth pressed into a neat line. He loved that face. 

“I was never fearful of the darkness, Will, of being alone. I needed no one. I was comforted by it.”

A throat swallowed, pain flashing in wide eyes. “But you said…you said you needed me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :clutching cat anxiously: 
> 
> Believe x Mumford and Sons


	98. Chapter 98

Brows brushed low across a damp palm as Will stared up into the shelter of darkness it offered. He struggled beneath phantom fingertips buried deep in the clutches of his heart, bloodied and bruising flesh and muscle alike. Breath fluttered inside his lungs, a rustling of broken wings. He imagined rolling off the bed, fleeing the vessel, and running in search for oxygen sucked out of the cabin they shared. He wanted to flatten the older man to the bed and shake him hard by the shoulders, screaming until his throat was raw. He felt a thickening veil drape across his body, bones bound by harsh rope and dragged beneath crashing waves to the ocean floor by a millstone. He saw Abigail gazing back, fair skinned and thin lipped, smile sullen and eyes watering in the distance. He heard the sound of his name far off, drowned out in rushing water.

_I thought you needed me…Why would you say it? Why would say it to me if…_

Warm fingertips curled around his wrist, pulling. He pressed the palm over his face harder, bruising brows and the tip of a cold nose. A small noise escaped his lips. Lips brushed over each knuckle, seeking out each one before trailing from knuckle to nail. Will shook beneath each gentle illusion, terrified the touch would melt away with words he had believed true and real, to become the imagined. A thumb swept beneath the underside of his wrist, pushing at bone and forcing rigid fingers to release. Tendrils of silver wisps fell around the older man’s head in a misty halo of rain clouds as he leaned in, propped on an elbow, and pulled the hand away to place a kiss where his thumb had just been.

“You are not listening to me, William…” Hannibal whispered softly, maroon gaze blurring crimson then dimming black.

“I heard you just fine,” Will snapped back, biting down on the inside of his cheek, to refocus a stinging in his chest to pain flooding his mouth. “You don’t need anyone. You don’t need me. I got it.”

Fair brows rose. “Have I ever mentioned you are as stubborn as you are beautiful?”

The younger man flattened his cheek against the mattress, glaring angrily at water lapping against a porthole window. “Fuck.”

_Don’t say that to me!_

An index finger tipped his face back. Will pushed the back of his head into the mattress, jaw jutting up to stare beyond the tip of his nose defiantly. He decided if he had to listen to how much Hannibal needed no one except himself one more second he would scream. He saw lines around a rigid mouth soften into a faint smile of adoration.

_Why does pissing me off make you smile?_

“Ever since our first encounter…” Hannibal leaned in, pressing a palm against his cheek, thumb tucked under his chin to keep their gazes level and unbroken. “I have seen nothing except stars of the heavens fall from your eyes.” Will made a strangled noise, silk sheets crumpling in fists locked near his waist. “By the time I tried to pull away…it was simply too late. You had already left me blind, William. I saw only you.” Tears welled in his eyes, vision blurring, gaze locked on to a peaked mouth speaking in a slow pace. “Vision narrowing to the upturn of your mouth, the veracity of your mind, and only then did I find the passage of time invert and was left nothing except a longing to reverse it. To discover you in moments of my life you had never been, and not yet even existed, as if you had always been my reflection all along.”

_Y-you fucking idiot, why can’t you just…_

Dragging the older man forward, Will lifted his head and sank teeth into the side of a neck, bringing a fading mark back to life in vivid hues of a setting sun.

_Why can’t you just say what you mean?_

A low groan vibrated against his mouth, pulling away to soothe the ache with a twist of his tongue. His shaking subsided with another scrape of teeth across skin. The younger man fell back into the mattress, comfort rushing through blood, holding tight to the sweater to keep Hannibal where he was.

“Better?” A hoarse voice asked.

“I wouldn’t have to…” Teeth sank into a quavering lip. “…if you would quit fucking scaring me.” He looked away, staring at a sharp lapel, realizing the weak shaking sound fell from his lips. “Did you always think you would be alone?”

Rolling on to his side, Will dragged Hannibal down to bed with him, knees curling in to touch bent ones, seeking out hands outstretched above their heads. They swayed in silence for what seemed like an eternity, matching the pace of their breathing, fingertips brushing and lingering to find a perfect fit. He wondered how many shapes they would discover as the years went by.

“I only see you, Will…” Hannibal said softly, drawing close enough to feel heat radiating from his face, shadows clinging to eyes. “I am uncertain if I could return to the life I lived before without you in it.”

“I’m sorry…” Gazing at soft stubble running across a jagged jaw line, the younger man reached out and flattened a palm above a heart. “For not…being there for you.”

_Then. And now. Throughout it all. I will be. I promise. From here on out._

He squeezed eyes tight shut before forcing them open and looked up into the older man’s eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to put you through this. Any of this.” His shoulders curled inward, posture hunching forward in a shell to protect. “I don’t know what you went through and I’m sorry.” Words stuck deep in his throat. “I-I’m sorry for not… t-telling you every day I loved you. Or thanking you for never giving up. For saving my life. I’ve never wanted you to feel alone...”

A flash of red glinted in eyes. “That’s enough…”

“Y-you deserve better. Better then me.”

_You deserve an equal. Not someone composed of cracking veneer._

“What gives you the divine right to define your worth to me as a person, William?” A low growl hissed through flashing teeth. “How are you able to live with the certainty of imagining _I_ deserve _you_ even now?” Bruising fingertips wound around wrists and pinned the younger man flat to the bed. “I always thought our pact to absolve the other of sin remained unspoken… I do not need to forgive you, Will. You are looking to forgive yourself for a loss you have not yet fully grieved.”

_And what is it your looking to be forgiven for, Hannibal?_

“Do you listen to the words spoken to you, Will, or do you merely hear them as a falling petal might rest against a placid lake at dusk?”

Lashes fluttered closed. “I… don’t understand what that means.”

Hannibal sighed, releasing and moving to an edge of the bed. He sat with elbows digging in to thighs, pressing a nose against steeped fingertips in a form of prayer. He glanced back and pointed to an empty spot on the mattress beside him.

“Sit beside me, please,” He ordered quietly. “Please, Will. I only wish for you to be near me.”

Chin tipping into a shivering chest, Will stared out at graying seawater a moment longer before casting eyes up to a darkening sky in an unspoken plea of mercy. He rolled to an edge of the bed and shuffled to feet. The corner of his mouth ticked down in a visible wince. He felt another layer of weighty silence freeze him in place. He dragged one foot in front of the other. Sagging against the mattress, the younger man bent forward and clasped hands around the back of an aching neck for support.

“I am going to make a request of you, William…” Maroon eyes slid over to meet blue ones. “I am going to ask you not to speak. This is all I require.”

A sharp nose swung over. “For how lo—“

“Will.” Two fingers pressed against his mouth, stroking gently when words subsided to stillness. “Please. Is this something you are able to do for me?”

Heart rising to a steadying thud inside his chest, Will nodded. _Yes_.

A hand reaching for one on the back of his neck stopped, coming to rest against a trouser clad knee. The younger man stared at it before covering it with his palm, afraid to look up to see lines etched into an angular face. Hannibal had never had trouble reaching out and taking his hand, touching his skin.

“May I touch you while I speak?”

Another sharp nod. _Will you stop touching me if I talk?_

“Will you promise to look only at me?”

_Only you, yes, yes, I promise. I promise. Please._

“I am going to ask you to say nothing until I am finished. Until I give you my permission. Do you understand?”

_For Christ sake, yes. Say something._ Jaw clenching, Will nodded again.

“Then listen. Please.”

Breath inhaled sharply, filling lungs, before hissing out in a low noise of resignation. Fingers curled into a fist as touch faded away.

_Wait…_

 

Dress shoes scuffed over wood. Camel color wool draped puddles across the floor as Hannibal lowered slowly to his knees in front of Will, fine brows drawing down before maroon eyes dragged up flickering in shadowed agony. Larger palms pressed flat against shaking knees, pushing gently until they came to rest. The younger man became very still. Fingertips glided up his cheeks, lingering to frame his face, as the older man gazed up, searching blue eyes, roaming across every speck of light and shadow of skin as if to memorize their shape. A fallen petal whispered ripples across a clear lake, softly fading to effervescent light.

“Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget, What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret…”

Will shook his head weakly, trembling hands latching on to wrists. The older man leaned a little closer, fingers splaying wide across his cheeks, voice dipping low in a silent command: _Listen. Just listen._

“Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow, And leaden-eyed despairs…” Fingertips traced his brow, coursing across a temple, lingering near fluttering dark lashes. “Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow…”

“William…I have known beauty within the light of your eyes and trembled,” Hannibal whispered quietly, lips rippling with softness. “I have seen your darkness outlined in shadowed teeth and remained in awe of your radiance…” A thumb swept a tear off its course. “I let you know me and you have seen. You have filled my rooms with the grace of your presence. How I would rather fade then have never known my life without you in it…”

Will’s mouth trembled. _Please, please, Hannibal…_

“I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet…Wherewith the seasonable month endows…” Fingers slipped through fallen curls. “The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.”

“With effeminate beauty of wildflowers and corners of the Earth I have not yet seen bowing gracefully in supplication at my feet, William, would I admire them only then as a man caring for unfulfilled life of separate halves…” The older man ran hands down jerking shoulders, smoothing along a back, running over shaking elbows and cupped fists. “I would sacrifice them all, my very life, for a mere moment longer in the company of my heart’s longing to seek the echo of your own. Blinded by your vision…rendered deaf by the trill of your song thrumming softly within my lungs.”

_Oh god, Hannibal, my life is yours, just take it_. A wounded sound worked its way out of Will’s throat.

“Darkling I listen; and, for many a time…” Hannibal rose slowly between knees, drawing the shell of an ear close to lips, breath violently gentle warmth. “I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme…” The older man placed a damp palm across jagged scars running up his left forearm, and another at his throat. “To take into the air my quiet breath…” Blue eyes fluttered as fingertips wound beneath jersey and traced a smile line across his stomach tenderly. “Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain.”

_Don’t you fucking leave me. Don’t leave me. God, is that what this is? Goodbye?_

Blurry gaze lifting, Will reached out to find even tones falling from the older man’s mouth as tears streaked from the corners of his eyes. He clenched teeth together to keep from speaking. To keep from reaching out and suffocating them both with searching hands. Drown them in ragged breathing and a flurry of torn garments. Palms ground down into watering eyes as Hannibal lowered his head, gasping to steady breath, resting a hand against Will’s hand to steady rising sobs.

_Hannibal, why are you crying? Talk to me!_

“The Nightingale became the very connection Keats had never known coming to life, becoming the only substantial beauty he had ever cared for and ever would in all his remaining days.” Another sob ground out. “He did not wish to forget its song, longing to keep it forever near, knowing it would leave him. And he grieved when it did…”

_No!_ Red marks slashed over cheeks as Will dragged a tear soaked face up near his, breathing ragged, choking and gasping for air, pleading. _Please. I don’t care what you do to me. Or to them. I don’t care about any of it. I love you. Fuck, I love you more then life itself. You won’t lose me. Please for fuck’s sake, tell me… I’m not going to lose you?_

“He longed for death after being rendered wounded by its loss, unable to return to a life without its lovely form and gentle breath…” Hannibal leaned into palms, fair lashes fluttering shut in another rush of tears, clutching to a smaller waist for support, breathing out a hollow whisper, “After all, what kind of man would be able to survive the mortal wounds of parting after knowing a connection of the purest forms of compassion and having it ripped away in a form of certain cruelty?”

_Am… I… your Nightingale, Hannibal?_

Tears flooded blue eyes, soft cry rising. Frantic hands ripped at the hem of a jersey shirt. He sucked in a tortured breath. A burning mouth kissed fiercely across a ragged smiling scar. Will latched shaking hands into fine hair, eyes wild, every single bone in his body trembling. He cradled the head buried against his stomach with light touch. Hot tears streaked down his scar. Another tiny noise of distress rose to a howl inside the younger man’s mouth as quiet muffled moans broke into sobs wrenching out of lungs pressed between his thighs.

_God…please, Hannibal. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to fucking do!_

“I-I-I tried to tell you, W-will…” Nails sunk in to his waist. Will’s eyes snapped shut, biting down on his lip to keep silent. “I t-t-tried. It wasn’t enough. I-I god, p-please forgive me…”

Raking nails back through curls, Will felt trickles of blood pooling beneath a bruising grip, heart slamming harder in his chest in a deafening echo of beats and wounded cries. When Hannibal began to shake violently, breath rushing out in hot uneven tempo, his body responded in kind.

The younger man screamed inwardly as a sheen of sweat broke out across his chest, drowning in emotions radiating in and around him. He tried to steady shallow breathing, blinking back a haze of swirling grey and red. He touched silver hair then the back of a damp neck, fingertips making their way over shoulders, then hands clamped at his waist, then back to tear soaked cheeks buried deep, in frantic search of any kind of recognition.

_H-hannibal… I don’t… I… I can’t breathe. B-breathe, H-hann… c-can’t…_

Maroon eyes rimmed red lifted. “W-william…I—“

_I…can’t…_

“ _Don’t_!” Will smashed a heel of his palm against an open mouth, strangling them both, forcing choking sobs back down their throats. “F-fucking don’t!”

Muffled agony sounded across skin, tiny and fading fast. “P-p-please.”

“No!”

Crushing lapels, Will hauled Hannibal up to his feet, throwing them back into a cabin wall, sending a cluster of small ornate porcelain vases shattering across the floor. Maroon eyes strayed towards the sound, snapping back with a hard shake.

“We aren’t broken, Hannibal! We don’t need time to reverse to gather back together! We are together, right now!”

With another snarl, the younger man latched on to silver hair and leaned quickly forward, teeth flashing to claim lips. The older man flattened his face against the wall, back of a hand flashing out and covering lips, head shaking weakly with pleading eyes. _No._

A knife gutted insides of his lungs, breath punched out, as he watched Hannibal sink to the floor, trembling, knees up, and slinging an arm protectively across a face.

_What… the fuck have I done to… make you deserve this? What have I done to you, Hannibal?_

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ!” Will screamed, slamming a fist against the wall where they had been moments before.

Letting out a ragged breath, he slid down the side of the wall and joined the crumpled figure on the floor. He stared down at shaking hands, instruments of their destruction.

“I’m… sorry…” The younger man offered weakly. “I shouldn’t have done that…” He stared blindly at the top of a cresting head buried in arms. “Any of it. I promised. I’m sorry.”

“I-I c-cannot…” A muffled voice sobbed. “…live without y-you.”

“I…I’m not asking you to, Hannibal…” Will buried a fist into the corner of an aching eye, silently cursing every deity he could think of. He wondered if he cut out his heart if it would hurt less. “Please don’t say that.”

_If I carve it out and place its bloody beating mass in your palms, Hannibal, will you believe me? Will you have faith even then?_

“Just don’t say it, whatever it is you need to say…” The younger man continued painfully, forcing his tone to even out, swallowing down answering sobs. “Not yet. Just give us a little while longer? _Please._ We’ve fought so fucking hard for this… for each other…”

_I’ll fight for you. Whatever it is. God, just fucking stop crying. I can’t…bear it._

“C-c-c-can’t breathe.” The older man squeezed eyes shut, head slamming back into the wall. “C-can’t…”

“HANNIBAL!” Will howled, teeth snapping loud, nails flashing out. “Yes, you can!”

He dragged the huddled form across the wooden floor in between his knees. Roughly, his fingers dragged through fine hair and shoved a tear soaked face into the crook of an elbow, knees and arms locking violently around trembling skin. A palm cupped the back of a head, fingertips coated in red. Will hissed out an indecipherable swear, gathering shaking hands and legs wracking with sobs against his chest. Hannibal crumbled inside his arms, cries cresting and filling the cabin with insufferable echoes of sheer pain.

_What have I done…_

“I’ve fucking got you!” Will growled against the curve of a neck, teeth grinding down in a fierce scowl. “And I’m never letting go! You hear me? I love you, goddammit! Are you listening to me?” He blinked back burning tears, crushing the feeble body fading in his arms, staring icily up at stars drifting across a velvet sky. “You belong to me, Hannibal, and I will protect you with my fucking life.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. I'm not crying. Because this didn't hurt so fucking much because we've essentially had to relive the unspoken horror of the ship, the shower scene when Will first returns to Hannibal after leaving, and every goddamn painful occurrence between them since... And Hannibal has been breaking so quietly all these months, over what he's done, what they've gone through, that he can't even kiss Will and pushes away. 
> 
> EVERYTHING IS COMPLETELY FINE. I am not distraught at all. 
> 
> Also fucking Ode to a Nightingale x Keats, explained. I'm done. I need to go to bed. This is all too upsetting. 
> 
>  
> 
> "You have ravish’d me away by a Power I cannot resist: and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often 'to reason against the reasons of my Love.' I can do that no more – the pain would be too great – My Love is selfish – I cannot breathe without you." - John Keats


	99. Chapter 99

Gleaming dress shoes paced back and forth through a walk in closet, making an abrupt left turn and halting in the bathroom. Hunching over a marble counter, Will let his head fall forward against a mirror fogged up with steam, a shaking palm pressed against its cold surface and choking the life out of a silk indigo tie in the other. He stared back into murky eyes of a blurred reflection, jaw locked tight and willing for the trembling in his hands to subside. He eased away, rubbing a clouded spot clear across a reflective surface and placed the tie around an upturned collar. His palms were damp with condensation and sweat. He had given up on tying a double Windsor knot after the first four tries and had spent the last twenty minutes failing miserably to steady his hands long enough to tie a half decent single. He hadn’t been calm enough to keep from pacing. Inhaling a deep breath, Will closed his eyes and tilted his head up, mind rushing back to a different time.

 

*

_The feel of a sturdy bare chest pressed against his naked shoulders, a sharp chin tucked in the curve of his neck. Dark maroon eyes gazed at crimson silk winding nimbly, obediently through elongated fingers and coming to rest in a perfect knot resting at a dipping clavicle._

_“See?” Fingertips smoothed silk down his bare chest. “Not as difficult as you imagined?”_

_“Yeah well…” Will shivered as lips wound down the seam of his jaw and neck. “You make it look effortless, Hannibal, so that’s not really fair is it? Especially given everything you do seems to come to you easily.”_

_The older man leaned back, admiring the mirrored image of their half naked bodies framed in reflections._

_“I would like the motions to become second nature to guide your fingertips…” A rushed noise left lips, nails tracing lightly down his sternum. “To drape your form in blood red silk and nothing more…” Teeth nipped at his ear. “A presentation of immaculate design at my feet. Stretched across our bed…” Breath hitched in his throat, fingertips tracing down a rough outline between his thighs. “Would you enjoy being bound to one of our chairs, wearing this tie, and nothing else, Will?” Head bending forward, Hannibal sucked a bruise into an arching chest. “Would you revel in having me tied and bound to our dining room table, completely at your mercy?”_

_A needy sound answered. “Y-yes. G-god yes.”_

_“Mmm, I’m pleased to hear it, Will.” A corner of a red mouth kicked up. “However, first… we must educate you on how to properly tie a Windsor… Please, William, I would like for you to pay more attention to my hands then my mouth at the moment.”_

 

*

Will groaned, eyes slipping open to find his hands winding the tie into a knot of their own accord, muscle memory tugging it snug at his throat. He shifted slightly, trying to ease pressure building between his legs. He was plenty distracted already. That was the very last thing he needed. Folding down a crisp cornflower blue collar, the younger man smoothed the tie down his front and buttoned cuffs at his wrists. He leaned closer to the mirror, touching three sharp nicks coursing down the side of a smooth jaw where he had cut himself shaving.

_God… Is anything going to go right today? I’m too fucking old for this._

He let out a frustrated breath and began running a fine tooth tortoise shell comb back through water droplets clinging to dark hair. His eyes closed again when his hands began to shake, tucking curls back into a smooth shape, swept off and away from his forehead. Setting the comb down, he carded fingers back through dark waves, eyes narrowing to glare at a single stubborn curl refusing to stay with the others. He inhaled patchouli clinging to his fresh skin, ducking back in to the walk in closet to retrieve a single breasted suit jacket.

* 

 

_Fingers tapped against a glass. “This one.”_

_It was the first decision Will had made all morning without hesitation. He shifted weight to another foot, gazing down at hundreds of glinting metals and glistening stones lining a black velvet case. He had felt what seemed like a hundred pair of eyes lift and follow his every movement for the last forty five minutes. He glanced down at his faded coat and threadbare jeans. He must have seemed like the kind of man who either took a wrong turn crossing over the tracks into a rich neighborhood or someone aiming to case the place._

_A younger woman stared at him from across the counter, blonde hair wound in a skull crushing bun slicked over a prominent forehead, dressed in a simple black silk wrap dress clinging to every curve. Her hazel eyes were cold, looking down at him from the sharp peak of a nose. Her simple white name tag read: Jeanne._

_Thin lips forced a smile. “Are you certain, monsieur?”_

_“Yeah…” He answered, stuffing a hand in a denim coat pocket, adjusting a thick crimson scarf at his throat. “That’s the one.”_

_“Would you not prefer something with perhaps a little more elegance?” Spindly manicured fingers swept dramatically over a case filled with a blinding dazzle of diamonds spiraling out in size and shape. “Do you not think she would like a bit of sparkle to show your purest devotion?”_

_The younger man’s mouth ticked._ You… are being exceptionally rude. Perhaps you’ll be our first set of hors d’oeuvres at the reception. _Inwardly his head tipped to the side, rolling the abruptly alarming thought from one side to the other._ I should probably feign concern for that… _He shrugged._

_“Sir?”_

_“ He is a culinary artisan. Not a gemologist,” Will corrected, flashing a friendly predatory smile. _

_And the only rock he would appreciate would be one we would use to bludgeon someone to death if a situation ever were to arise._

_The woman blinked, nose wrinkling in a faint hint of disgust._

_“I would like to see this one.” His fingers tapped the glass once more, adding a terse addendum. “Please.”_

_With a scowl, the woman drew out a set of flashing keys and unlocked the case, reaching in and pulling out a velvet tray before placing it on the counter. Will ignored the set of red nails tapping deftly at a curving hip. Eyes sweeping over rows of silver rings, blue eyes locked on to a simple thin band crammed between a gaudy pear shaped diamond the size of a dime and a loud winking flash of ruby and sapphire. He plucked it gently from its suffocating confines and turned it over in the palm of his hand, focused on its soft shine while tuning out the voice addressing him._

_“An eighteen carat white gold, four millimeter band brushed with fourteen carat rose gold on the inside and etched in…”_

_He lifted the ring in between finger and thumb, turning it to catch the hint of warm light rimming the inside, the color of Hannibal’s eyes fluttering open upon waking, soft and faint. He felt a faint smile touch his lips. Its edges were outlined in thin bands of high polished silver, minimal with a hint of refined beauty._

_Will cut off the high pitched voice tinning steadily on, setting the ring carefully on the glass. “I’ll take this one.”_

_“And your…” He watched the women tip up her nose, searching for the right phrase, disdain working its way across pink lips. “…partner’s ring size, monsieur? Are you absolutely sure this is the correct one?” She clasped hands on the counter, eyeing him with a look of suspicion, sizing him up. “We do not offer returns.”_

_Blinking slowly, it took every ounce of strength for Will to remain where he was, hands tucked in his pockets with a smile widening across his face, thin and shadowed. He let out a quiet breath, casting a gaze around other couples milling around the tiny exclusive shop dressed in their stiletto heels and tailored suits screaming blue blood old money or flashing metal accents of the obscenely nuevo rich. He tried to stifle heated irritation stirring in the back of his mind._

_He wanted to get back to Hannibal, tucked in a cocoon of sheets and blankets, where he had left him sleeping and sedated for the last week. He needed to make sure he was sitting beside him when the older man woke, pressing a gentle palm to a warm forehead and plying him to eat with a simple egg noodle soup. He did not want to experience the terror filling eyes looking back if he wasn’t there, haunted and drifting in waking moments of abandonment. It took hours for calm to settle over them both. He just wanted him to feel safe._

_Will cleared his throat, gaze sliding through narrowed eyes in a pointed look of displeasure. “Given I have been the one staring at my boyfriend’s hands for the last five years of my life…” The woman tipped her chin higher as his voice rose ever so slightly. “… and have simultaneously sucked and been thoroughly fucked by them for the last eight months, I am going to say that out of the two of us, Jeanne, I am probably more intimately familiar with his ring size then you are.” _

_Pale skin flushed bright red, eyes darting to hushed corners of the shop muffled in shocked gasps. “And how will you be paying for this today, monsieur?” Jeanne asked coldly, eyes narrowing, fingers gripping the glass, loathing dripping from her mouth. “Credit or monthly installments?”_

_A black duffle dropped to the counter, zipper jerking open and revealing stacks of currency. “Cash. In full,” Will growled, shoulders rolling back, icy stare meeting the women levelly. “Otherwise I am happy to take my business elsewhere.”_

_Murmured whispers filled the shop. A plump man in a lavish black tailcoat bustled through the shop, squeezing behind the counter, and practically shoving the young woman to the floor and out of his way. He had to be the proprietor. Tiny gold frames clung precariously to a wide nose. He mopped delicately at his forehead with a grey hanky, puffy cheeks bright with a blustering smile._

_“I am terribly sorry, monsieur, for allowing one of my sales associates to blunder such a delicate transaction and upset you!” Beady eyes glared at the younger woman and she turned on her heel, stalking away. “Surely you must accept my deepest apologies.”_

_A different kind of vulgar smile twitched across Will’s lips._ So this is what it’s like to experience elitism and privilege of the rich.            

_“Is there anything I am able to do to persuade you to stay with us?”_

_Dark brows rising, Will feigned disinterest, glancing at the time on his phone and then towards the front entrance._

_“Anything at all, monsieur, say the word!” Plump hands gesticulated wildly._

_Blue eyes dragged back, lifting the ring. “An engraving on the inside.”  
_

_“Of course, monsieur, we can have it ready for you by tom—“_

_“Now,” Will interrupted, easing a half friendly smile across his face. “If you would be so kind.”_

_“Yes, monsieur, I understand. Of course. Of course.”_

_With a twitch of round fingers, another sales associate rushed over with a tray of velvet boxes in varying shapes and shades of black and navy. The plump man reached for one._

_“No, not the black one.” Beady eyes glanced up then back down to the duffle on the counter. Will pointed to a small square crimson velvet box sitting in a rotating glass case featuring a set of stud diamond earrings tucked into its slot. “The one in the corner there.”_

_“Sir, this is not traditionally—“_

_“We are not very traditional,” The younger man noted sharply, head tipping to the side and forcing another smile, words softening. “He likes this particular color on me. The color of his eyes.”_

_“Very good, sir. And what shall we engrave for such a blissful occasion?”_

_*_

 

A tailored suit jacket slipped over shoulders. Kneeling on a hardwood floor, Will dragged a grey plastic tackle box near his feet and lifted the lid. He removed the slotted partition filled with various lures and supplies, setting it aside by rows of dress shoes stacked neatly along the floor. He pushed aside plastic bags filled with twine, feathers, and hooks. He drew out a crimson velvet box, resting it on his knee. He tucked everything back in the box and pushed it to its rightful place in the corner.

The lid creaked open. The younger man slipped the silver band free with trembling fingertips, lifting it to stare at a simple engraving etched in its rose gold insides. He never considered himself sentimental or overwrought with unnecessary emotions of attachment. His nightmares and unique mind had been enough to keep most things, most people, safely at bay. Glimmering in fine etching was the one date Will knew he would never be able to forget.

“Until the day you walked in to my life insisting…” Will whispered softly, tucking the ring back in its slot. “…there were no forts in the bone arena of my skull for things I loved…my life was fairly simple. Uncomplicated. And…routine. And maybe it was the way you looked at me…I just hadn’t realized there was only room enough for a man I didn’t know I was in love with yet.”

Fingers curled around soft edges of the box, knuckles turning white, hand shaking. He glanced up at plaid suits neatly lining hangers above his head, fighting for breath and to steady a heart ramming against his ribcage.

“The thing is… I would be honored if you would spend your life with me, Hannibal.” A mouth trembled, words bleeding soft. “Would you…would you marry me?”

_Jesus Christ, it’s not nearly as eloquent as it needs to be… Alright, just get it together. Everything is going to be fine._

 

Rising from the floor, Will turned on his heel before he had time to think about turning back and trotted quietly down the stairs, clutching the tiny box in a hand buried in a trouser pocket.

 _Stick to the plan, Graham… everything will be fine. Just casually ask him to go out to lunch. A ridiculously romantic lunch. Not suspicious at all._ He stopped on the last stair. _But what if he asks why I’m dressed up? Shit. Tell him… what are we going to tell him? “I thought you would more thoroughly enjoy my aesthetics in a fine suit then sight seeing around Bordeaux?”_ _Alright, not that. We’ll think of something._

Winding slowly down the hall, the younger man let out another low breath and paused. _What the hell kind of excuse am I going to need to get him on the boat? There’s no way he is going to believe we would be going fishing dressed like this._ A nervous hand roughed through his hair, letting out a groan, before carefully trying to piece it back in place. _Tell him you want to test it out on the waters and you would like for him to go with you? Yeah, alright. If it gets cold, I’ll offer him my jacket. No, I will make him wear it whether he complains or not. He would like that. "Just shut up and let me take care of you, Hannibal." And then we... then we propose.  
_

Will paused at an ajar door outside of the study, shrugging away tension in his shoulders and fidgeting at the tie at his throat nervously. He peered in, letting out a small breath. Hannibal was sitting with his back towards him on the desk, staring out glass doors, wearing a heather ivory Henley jersey shirt and a pair of jeans. The younger man let out a soft sigh. He had taken to wearing his clothes the last few times they had been apart. He seemed relaxed in them, at ease, and in Will’s eyes irresistibly charming. It was now or never. And he really wasn't fond of the second option. 

They hadn’t spoken about the last week. Hannibal had been near mute and entirely inconsolable after the night on the sailboat, slipping somewhere into darkened rooms and empty halls of his mind. The younger man would have let him wear nothing except pajamas every day if it meant seeing him less distressed. He had remained, silent and steadfast, at their bedside until Hannibal had slowly come back to his senses.

A watch flashed below a starched cuff. _How am I going to get him out of the house without changing in to a three piece suit? He’ll insist. And I don’t want us to miss this reservation_. A corner of his mouth tugged up. _I’ll just say I can’t resist the idea of getting him off in a pair of jeans. That should do the trick. An entirely plausible detour between lunch and a proposal at sunset._

Will jumped when Hannibal began speaking, dragging him out of a hazed reverie.

“D’accord. Oui. Oui…” The older man turned slightly, phone pressed to his ear, an easy smile flashing across his face. “J'compris.”  
(Okay, yes. Yes…I understand.)

The younger man tilted his head slightly, one hand curled around an edge of the door, listening carefully. There was a kind of softness lingering on each word.

“No. Nos interactions devront rester bref.” Hannibal reached for a fountain pen, tapping it absently against a bent knee. “Il serait mieux si il n'a pas savoir à ce sujet.”  
(No, our interactions will be brief. It would be better if he did not know about it.)

“Oui, juste à côté de la rue de Temple. Café de l’Ormeau.”  
(Yes, just off Rude De Temple.)

 _Who… are you talking to, Hannibal?_ A tightness settled in his chest.

“Honestly…” Hannibal let out a soft laugh, rising from the desk and planting feet in front of a glass window. “I am surprised you are able to remember our lessons in French at all! Well, I suspect it is because you were far more interested in mouthing the sounds then learning the actual words.”

Will’s hand tightened around the box crushed in his fist, teeth sinking in to a heavy tongue. _Who is on the other end of the line? Who is making you smile and laugh so easily? I…I tried everything._ _Held your hand and read your favorite books out loud. Made you a half decent chicken soup not from a can._ An irritated huff filled his cheeks, lingering on the tip of lips. _I even paraded around in one of your plaid suits and all I got was a half hearted wavering gaze of recognition._

“Ah, well, yes.” A long pause reigned, the older man’s voice dipping low, barely loud enough to register. “I understand if you would desire something with a bit more privacy given the circumstances. I have a flat in Bordeaux we can use if you like. Yes, perfectly small and intimate…”

His heart stopped in his chest, releasing a velvet box scalding his palm. _Oh god…_ His mouth went dry, blood running cold. _There’s… someone else._ _Is that…_

“Mm-hmm… a moment, please.” A pen scrawled across a piece of paper resting on a knee. “Yes, I have written it down. It will take approximately an hour for me to reach the location.”

... _What you wanted to tell me?_

“Of course. Yes, it will be a pleasure to see you as well. Merci.”

Stumbling blindly away from the door, Will weaved through the hall and made it as far as the stairs before collapsing against them. He stared at shaking hands, heart thudding loudly in his ears. His body flushed hot. The room started to spin. Colors melted from light to dark. He let out a weak noise of desperation, clutching at his chest, trying to smother a stabbing sensation buried in his heart. The very oxygen in his lungs was ripped away and sucked out of the room. 

_C-can’t breathe. God. Can’t…_

“Good morning, Will,” A blurred figure addressed him.

Sucking in a mouthful of air, Will trapped it in his lungs until it burned before releasing. His vision steadied, focusing on curving lips leaning in, fingertips brushing down his cheeks. Hannibal was smiling faintly, balancing on the banister as a maroon gaze swept down his figure appreciatively. The younger man felt another rush of heat. He was going to be sick.

“You look very handsome,” The older man whispered softly, palm cupping the side of a face. “Do you not work today?”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Words snarled off twisting lips, head jerking back.

“I…” Fair brows knitted together as Hannibal carefully leaned back, measuring out a safe distance between them. He appeared to be in pain. “…apologize. Have the nightmares returned?”

Will glared up, nails biting into palms. “Just one.”

“I have a few errands to run.” His head tipped to the side, gaze shifting towards the front door uneasily. “Would you like to come?”

“Not in the least.”

Pushing passed the older man, Will stalked across the floor and braced hands on the dining room table. He felt wood creak beneath the force of his grip, threatening to splinter and crack.

_Ask him. Ask him who the fuck it is._

Blue eyes swung over a shoulder. “Who are you going to see?”

Unblinking dark eyes looked back before sliding away. “I have an appointment with the tailor in Bordeaux at eleven forty five. Why do you ask?”

_A lie. Why are you fucking lying to me, Doctor Lecter? Isn’t this what you wanted me to know?_

“When will you be home?” The younger man asked bitterly, glancing at his watch and biting away a tremble quivering across a bottom lip.

The reservations didn’t matter now. None of it did. Typical. What had he expected? 

“A few hours I suspect. A bit longer perhaps given the traffic…” Hannibal strayed from the spot where he had been rooted on the stairs, placing a palm on his forehead, anxiety filling corners of eyes. “William, are you certain you’re well? You look a bit peaked. You are quite warm. If you would like I could cancel—“

“I don’t need you to fucking stay home and take care of me!” Will snapped, yanking away and placing the length of the dining room table between them.

_I didn’t mean to be a burden. I just thought you needed me._

He stared down at his twisted reflection in gleaming leather, balled fists shoved into his pockets, internally swearing and screaming. “ _I’m fine_. Just…go.”

_Don't let him just..._

“I’ll…be home in a few hours, Will.” A soft voice called, door clicking quietly shut.

_But I… love you…_

Will swallowed hard, gaze dragging up slowly from the floor. He waited for a sound of shoes scraping across the threshold. He waited for a creak of the front door opening. He waited for the older man to reemerge, carrying an armful of something and a blushing apology on his lips. Nothing answered in the silence. His heart sank. His stomach dropped. He watched the Aston Martin roll around the stone fountain, wind up the paved drive, and disappear out of sight in the underbrush of twining branches. Tears sprang to his eyes. He hadn’t even glanced back.

_I wanted… you to…stay. To choose…me._

Tailored fabric sighed off shaking shoulders and draped over a high backed wood chair. Nails looped through a knot at his throat. Silk coiled in a discarded heap at his feet. An index finger looped through a leather band, setting a watch face down on the table. It ticked loudly in deafening emptiness of the large house. Fingertips curled around a velvet box, drawn out by a quivering wrist. Raw screams shook rafters and echoed in high ceilings as Will hurled the box across the room and turned blind eyes and white knuckled fists towards anything within reach. Nothing except splintering wood and maddening sounds of a breaking heart filled his ears. His own screams to keep him company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I am clearly not still grieving over the previous chapter. Also thank you for all the beautiful comments and emotional breakdowns you shared right alongside me with that one. I'm so glad I wasn't the only one exceptionally upset by it.) 
> 
> Now would be an appropriate time for you to pull out your Hitchhiker's Guide with the large friendly letters that reads: Don't Panic.
> 
> It is. And it is not. What you think.


	100. Chapter 100

Pacing back and forth down the driveway for the hundredth time, Hannibal returned to the Aston Martin and sat down on its cooling hood, head bent and neck aching with tension settling in his shoulders. He carded fingers through hair, sending silver strands cascading over his eyes. He rubbed damp palms over jeans and let out a low breath, trying to will his legs to move and draw closer the house. Fading scent of sandalwood clung to his skin in hints of rich amber and twilight. His ankle shook a dress shoe anxiously against the damp concrete, heart tightening in sharp pangs as he looked down the drive and towards the front door where he knew Will waited. The younger man was going to confront him. He could feel it crawling over skin and seeping in an ache behind his eyes. He was going to have to explain this time. There was no sense putting it off any longer.

Walking briskly towards the house, Hannibal stopped on the front stoop and paused a moment to suck a deep breath into his lungs. He shivered, head shaking away gathering storm clouds. His fingers curled around an antique brass handle. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment to steel himself. The door creaked open with a light push and the older stepped quietly into the house, as silently as he had left it only hours before.

“Hello Doctor Lecter…”

Silver of a knife tip twirling on the dining room table drew Hannibal’s attention up from the floor. He blinked once then glanced behind him at the open front door, hesitating. A pair of bright blue eyes regarded him coldly from a gloom of shadows. Will was sprawled in a chair at the head of the table, dress shoes kicked up on its edge, intently carving wood from its surface with a pearl handled hunting knife. Dark hair stuck out haphazardly around a veiled face in a crown of thorns.

“Hello, Will,” The older man addressed evenly, drawing away from the door, placing one foot directly in front of the other.

Twisted mangled bodies of wooden chairs lay scattered across the dining room, spiraling out, strewn far into the kitchen and passed stairs. Muscles in Hannibal’s jaw ticked, gaze dragging away from the destruction and traveled up skin revealed in a dress shirt gaping open.

“Is this your attempt at a welcome greeting?” Tense fingertips glided across the length of the table, dress shoes clicking across the floor. “Or were you merely eager to seek a form of punishment, Will?”

Lips twitched up in a snarl. The single unscathed chair joined its brethren on the floor with a sharp crack. In rush of movement, a hand dragged him forward by a fistful of jersey and the cool edge of a knife rested at his throat. The older man slowly breathed in, chin tipping to the side, gazing down dispassionately at Will between half lidded eyes.

_What are you waiting for, Will?_

Lightning flashed in blue eyes, strained growl rumbling out a bare chest. “Is this your half assed attempt to have a discreet affair?”

“Not precisely.” Hannibal’s gaze strayed to the steady pressure of a blade, voice dipping low. “Might I remind you we bought this dining room table only a few weeks ago. I would prefer you not ruin it quite so soon.”

Placing two stiff fingers against the blade, Hannibal flicked it away from his neck and turned, stepping over splintered wood and making way towards the door. There were only two options. Walk away. Or allow it to play out. He instinctively rolled a shoulder forward as blade swiped in a hissing rush of air. Gracefully side stepping, the older man turned and walked backwards as Will advanced, shoulders hunched and teeth flashing, a wolf howl on sardonic lips.

“Who is it, Hannibal!”

Another swipe. A step to the left, another to the right.

“Who is she?”

Dark eyes blinked, dodging another lunge and glancing at the floor to find a safe path around splintered legs of a chair.

“Tell me!” Edge of blade nicked the side of his cheek.

Letting out a low growl, Hannibal stopped in his tracks and let the younger man collide into the wall of his chest. He caught a blur of a wrist and twisted slightly. Will let out a sharp cry, eyes flashing up, gaze widening with a short inhale of breath.

“ _A man_?” A trembling mouth twisted into violent shadow, color draining from an upturned face flashing with disgust. “God, why don’t you just invite him over and fuck in the bed we share! Perhaps you would like me to watch. To understand how quickly I can be replaced once you’ve bored of me. Why is it never enough, Hannibal?”

“William. Enough!” Hannibal crushed the wrist in palm as the younger man tried to jerk away, strength giving way in a half pitiful moan. A knife clattered to the floor before being abruptly kicked away. “Calm yourself.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” The younger man shoved with both hands, eyes brimming with tears, clutching the bruising arm to his chest and stumbling backwards. “Is that why you’re wearing my clothes? My scent? So while you’re fucking him you can think of me!”

The older man tilted his cheek towards the harsh growls rising in a hoarse scream. He let out a feeble sigh as Will rushed on.

“For once in your fucking life, Hannibal, tell me the truth! I want to know! I want to know who it is.”

Eyes strayed to a single suitcase hidden by the open door, words faltering in a dry choke. “It was a man.”

A hysterical laugh left Will’s lips turning up in a quivering smile, shaking hands raking through curls. “Who?”

Biting down on his bottom, Hannibal lowered himself carefully to an edge of the dining room table, voice fading, “Daniel.”

“ _Him_!” The younger man swung around, throwing hands up the air storming towards an overstuffed beige couch, bracing shaking arms on its back. “Goddammit! I knew it!” A fist pummeled an armrest, shoulders shaking as words turned to harsh muffled sobs. “You weren’t being patient with me! You weren’t being kind to me because you understood or to make me feel safe. You were doing it out of guilt!”

Trembling fingers interlocked around a bent neck, soft whisper escaping lips. “There are moments in time I wonder if you know me at all, Will…”

Tiny clacks sounded on the stoop, clattering steadily over a wood floor. A short bark echoed in the quiet room. Hannibal lifted his eyes with a sigh of relief. Will spun around, falling back in to the couch, eyes wide. Winston looked between them both, leash dragging on the floor, with a lopsided grin and let out another happy yip of recognition. Nails scurried across the floor towards the younger man, fluffy tail wagging back and forth excitedly.

A veil of white fell over a face. “Nnn…”

“Will!”

Rushing forward, Hannibal caught the sinking body in his arms and gently lowered them both to the floor, burying a nose in the curve of a shoulder and scolding softly, “William, dear one, you really _must_ learn to breathe…”

“Y-you…” Dark lashes fluttered. “…smell like him. I hate it.”

_“You taste of him, Will. You smell like him. You can’t…”_

Touching a palm to his forehead, Hannibal curled against the couch back and shook his head with a half sigh, keeping a protective arm slung around a chest and pulling the crumpled body between bent knees. The irony was not lost on him.

“I will shower in a moment.”

A tiny whine sounded, wet nose pushing at a tear streaked face.

“H-how…”

“I asked Daniel to collect your dog from Jimmy Price’s home last month before he disembarked in the U.S. to run another shipment…” Hannibal murmured against soft curls. “He agreed. For a sum. I assure you Winston has been thoroughly cared for. I had not wished to get your hopes up in case something went amiss.”

“D-d-dangerous…” Will shifted slightly, trembling fingers stretching towards golden fur out of reach.

“Come, Winston,” Hannibal commanded softly, pointing to a spot in front of their outstretched legs.

The dog scooted forward, haunches trembling, waiting eagerly for attention. He unhooked the leash and set it aside. Hannibal took the younger man’s hand and guided it along a soft head, over ears, and down a neck.

“Dangerous within reason. Worthwhile in longer currents of time…” Will let out a small noise, legs curling up to his chest, raising eyes slightly. “Price was always such a forgetful man. Who is he to think anything except how careless he was to leave the front gate open?”

Hannibal reluctantly released as the younger man pushed forward on his knees, arms falling around a neck, burying a face in a sloping golden shoulder. He wondered if the dog reminded Will of home.

“That’s it, Winston. You were always a calming influence on your master, yes?” Hannibal reached out and stroked along a flank and a back, speaking more to calm himself and steady his nerves. He tried not to think about the luggage tucked in the corner. “You have traveled the edges of this earth to be with him, have you not? Where time and walls became insubstantial obstacles to overcome, to reach out and know he would be by your side once more.”

He disentangled from the couch and floor, rising unsteadily to feet. For awhile, he gazed quietly down at the figure holding tight to the dog and crying quietly into fur. He glanced at the door. He decided to close it before another near escape caused all three of them to have mental breakdowns.

“W-w-why…” A hand latched on to his wrist. “…are you such a _dick_ , Hannibal? Why would you let me believe you found someone else?” Clouded blue eyes swung up. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me you were doing something really fucking—god! If you insist on being so goddamn perfect, could you just t-tell me instead of, instead of—”

_Not perfect, dear one, far from it._

“Will…” Hannibal spoke his name softly brushing fingers through curls, warmth burning his heart. “I had wanted to surprise you. Though… I will admit it played out a bit differently in my mind. It was not my intention to distress you.” The older man gnawed at his inner lip, confessing in a rush of words, “He ran off for a moment when I opened the car door and I… I hadn’t wanted you to panic. One might find it difficult to explain having lost something I had yet to give you.”

The younger man leaned close, forehead resting on his thigh, clutching Winston tighter.

“You of all should know my soul is riddled in flaws stitched with good intention. Far from perfect.” Maroon eyes brimmed with glistening light. “I wanted you to have a reliable companion. You ought to have a familiar comfort to return to if I am unable to offer what you need or am not present to provide suitable companionship. Do you truly imagine I would seek out another's touch when it is yours alone that sustains the very beating of my feeble heart?”

_When it is you alone I long for every waking moment._

“You are perfect to me…” Hushed tones answered, a hand sliding up to clasp weakly at his. “I don’t know anything else. I want everything and nothing, and it fucking hurts to know…to think… It’s all this jumbled mess of noise inside my chest.” Will looked up, brows rising and creasing his forehead in painful eyes, wet tracks staining cheeks. “What if it doesn’t work out, Hannibal? After everything? When all I want is this, just this.”

 _Please, Will._ Eyes snapped shut as Hannibal jammed his lips into a thin line to keep from wincing. _Allow my fears to remain unspoken._

“William, all anyone can ask of another is to appreciate our moments as they are lain before us,” He whispered quietly, words laced with pain as he tugged the hand from his own. “I’ll leave you and Winston to become reacquainted.” He gazed at the dining room table, shaking his head in half bewilderment and adoration. “I suspect the dining room is not the only one that needs tending, yes?”

A tiny noise followed. Hannibal had only begun to turn his head before his body surged forward, palms colliding with an arching wall. Air in his lungs pushed out as legs tangled around his a Will held on tight around his shoulders with shaking fingertips shoved into his chest. He sighed, pressing a soft palm over hands. He would wear a fine dotting of blue bruises by morning.

Lips pushed into his left shoulder blade, muffled. “T-t-thank you.”

“Will…”

“T-thank you…”

“William…” Hannibal felt bones shaking harder against his back, twisting slightly and gathering Will into the circle of his arms. He was worried he might faint again. His grip tightened. “Please… it pains me to see you upset. This was never my intention. I should have… been more clear. I will be more clear in the future.”

_Why do I find it difficult to speak when you are near?_

“N-not upset. Not like t-that.” The younger man looked up, gaze shattered with a soft pleading, voice straining from a feeble whisper to a rough growl. “I _fucking_ love you, Hannibal!” Fingertips stroked gently over and through tears. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to find anyone else. Be with anyone else. I don’t want anyone to touch you but me! Or kiss you…” Hands shook him by the shoulders, emphasizing each word. “Or say they love you. Because I would rip their fucking heart out and lay it at your feet! I want to be the last person you touch… or kiss. I know that sounds possessive as hell, but I…”

_Mylimasis… you possess my very soul. I entrust it to you to keep. You are mine. Will you trust me to possess yours?_

Winston let out a concerned whine, coming over and pushing a wet snout at their legs, anxiously nudging them closer together.

“I suspect there are several in this room who might echo such a sentiment in return,” Hannibal noted quietly with a light smile, holding Will close and ruffling a hand through golden fur. “There is nothing in this world I would not do to ensure your happiness, William. I do not wish for any other amorous intentions towards you except mine present in your life. And I think you must know with a degree of certainty any such actions would result in a prompt succession of dinner parties.” Pain fluttered deep in his chest. “I only wish you saw the best in me…”

“I do. I fucking do!” Will shouted up, cheek flinching as the older man looked down patiently, stroking away creases and worry lines. “I’m just an idiot, alright? I acted like an ass and _I’m sorry_. And I’ll apologize every goddamn day if it makes you happy! Even if you don’t want me to. I will. I’ll say I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to leave. And I…I didn’t know how to ask.” Dark lashes fluttered in mist light. “I just… I don’t understand why you stay sometimes.”

“Would you believe me if I said I found your challenging exasperation growing a kind of fondness inside my chest?”

_I love you. Every part of you. All of your broken lines match my own, William. Therein lies beauty._

Cupping the fragile face in steadying palms, Hannibal dipped down and placed a reassuring kiss to a warm forehead, softly replying, “You know very well why I stay. Though I confess, every day I wake to find you remain is a blissful kind of tragedy.” He stroked away dark shadows clinging to blue eyes, smiling gently. “The faint light in your eyes is far too lovely for me to allow it to extinguish.”

_And I would like you to remain._

Will’s head fell forward into his chest, mumbling. “I’m so…tired…”

“I imagine your activities before my arrival were quite strenuous. You need rest.”

“Sorry…”

“They are just mere objects, Will. They can easily be replaced.” A hand curled at the nape of a neck, rubbing lightly at knotted muscles.

“Can we go to bed?” Hannibal stilled, waiting for his lungs to fill with air once more. He felt fingers tangle around his hand, bringing it to quivering lips, hush of aching words following, “T-to rest for awhile, I mean.”

Winston yipped encouragement, tail swishing loudly across the floor. He was certain he saw a glimmer of mischief in deep brown eyes. A trouble maker for certain. A corner of his mouth tugged up. A perfect fit. He quickly walked over to the door and closed it. Hands shoved deep in trouser pockets, Will stared helplessly at them both, blinking slow as if he was afraid they might disappear.

Extending a hand, Hannibal felt his heart beat slow as it was taken and replied, “Lead the way.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. SO. I see a good majority of you took the Guide (and gentle admonishment) and threw it out the fucking window for the last chapter. I am going to admit at first I was confused, given I had offered reassurance, and then I was pleased and then I laughed. Because I am utterly astonished and quite frankly flattered by the sheer amount of emotional investment. Bless your darling souls. You are beautiful. 
> 
> Heavy in Your Arms x Florence and the Machine
> 
> I have a great deal to say in regards to your questions and comments, however, my pain level has been intolerable today and I need to rest. Expect a thorough explanation to quiet your gentle fears in the next end of notes. To explain, it will be... vaguely intimate in nature, for all struggling to understand the pendulum swing of Will's emotional state and (in)stability. 
> 
> Also, congratulations for reaching Chapter 100 and welcome to 640 pages. (Of hell. I mean. Suffering. I mean. Agonizing blissfulness followed by just agony?)


	101. Chapter 101

“Will you please take this off?”

Heat touched the corners of Will’s cheeks, staring at the hem of a shirt a moment longer before dragging it over stiff arms and throwing it to a far corner of the room. He averted his gaze, gingerly touching upturned wrists, skimming up faint scars running up forearms, and holding bent elbows. He looked intently at a clavicle, to keep from lifting his eyes and letting the older man see flecks of vulnerable fear drifting in irises. A damp washcloth trailed down an arching neck and across broad shoulders, droplets trickling down a graying chest. He remembered hating the scent of floral and lavender lingering on Hannibal’s skin during their sessions after being released from prison. He spent the entire hour trying to concentrate on anything except hands and a mouth caressing all he had wanted. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him more now that they were together, a sensation of imagined loss ebbing in the back of his mind.

A weak noise left his throat. “I just…”

_Don’t want you coming home with someone else’s scent._

Lips pressed against his temple. “It’s fine, William.” Hannibal pulled away, a small smile tugging across his face, holding tight to the hand lingering on his chest. “Go on…” He gave a light push towards the door, taking the towel. “Winston has waited long enough to see you. And you will feel better after I have changed into something else.”

Walking out to the bedroom, Will found his dog waiting eagerly by the fireplace, tail thumping happily back and forth across a Persian rug. He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, soft pain thrumming inside his heart. He dropped to the floor and threw arms around a neck, roughing hands up and down silky fur. Winston jumped, two paws pushing him down and trampling his chest with a triumphant yip. He let out a strained laugh, wet snout tickling the side of his throat. A tongue lapped at his cheek. The younger man gently wrestled with the dog until they were both panting. A tail lashed his legs furiously, paws thumping down on his chest once more, before a heavy body sat promptly on his stomach and pinned him in place. He stroked hands gently through fur, vision hazing in a blur of tears. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it all.

“Alright, alright.” He laughed quietly, scratching behind floppy ears. “You win, Winston.”

“He appears quite pleased with his conquest.”

Lashes fluttering open, Will stared up at an upside down version of Hannibal perched on an edge of the bed in a shower of silver strands, gazing down with a haze of flickering candlelight rimming dark pupils. Struggling to a sitting position, the younger man tugged off his dress shirt and draped it over a slate blue wingback chair. He imagined being covered in dog hair again was something they would both have to get used to. Shuffling over on knees, he put a weary head against a thigh and let out a sigh as fingertips glided over his shoulders.

“Rest with me a moment, Will.”

Will crawled up on the bed, lying on his side with knees tucked forward and hands pillowing against his head. The older man mirrored his position and gazed from the other side of space between them. A low buzzing in his head filled with a grocery list of blustering apologies and gritting teeth. He stared at an angry nick on a right cheek. He cursed inwardly. He wondered if he had been right. If he was now a walking ball of uncontrollable emotion acting on impulse, blinded by something he wasn’t able to control or to see.

“Is something wrong with me?”

Maroon eyes blinked open, registering a glimmer of shock and then pain. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I hurt you.” Will touched the nick tentatively, lowering eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…” His voice faded softly, tucking hands under his head and touching an empty ring finger. “I just…don’t understand. I meant to ask you to stay and I let you leave. I was going to beg your forgiveness and instead…”

_Instead I threatened your life._

“Do you know why I cut you open and left you to bleed out in my kitchen, Will?” The older man stretched out a hand and placed it in the middle of empty space between them.

Shuddering inwardly, Will shook his head, offering a feeble reply. “For the same reason you have every right to do so now. I hurt you. I wouldn’t blame you… if you did.”

“You wounded me, William,” Hannibal spoke softly, flinching when a hand touched his. “And instead of telling you I would rather seek death’s embrace then watch you choose another place over the one I offered, forced to live my life without you in it…” A pained smile touched dark lips. “I buried my compassion deep within your skin to ensure you would never forget me.” The older man sheltered an upturned palm in his, absently stroking. “Have we not hurt and killed each other every day since trying to find our way back in the other’s lives? Is it considered sinful to wound those closest to us in order to see if they will return? And if they return, will we ever be certain they stay if we do not test their resolve to remain?” An index finger touched the nick fondly. “Test me, William, if it is what you need.”

“Hannibal, I…”

_Need you._

Attention slipped towards a pitiful whine. Winston’s chin rested on an edge of the bed, big sad brown eyes flicking between the two men curled up on its surface.

Will lifted his head, shaking it with a firm command, “No, Winston.”

A soft sigh sounded to his left. “Come, Winston.”

Blue eyes darted between the dog bounding eagerly on the bed and the older man gazing at him between blurs of golden fur. His mouth hung open in disbelief. He closed his eyes and opened them one more time. Sure enough. His dog was not just on the bed. He was on the bed and had pinned Hannibal to it. Winston lapped at an upturned face, whining affectionately louder against arms coming around a neck and tugging lightly on a red collar.

 _I…_ His heart crumbled. _…didn’t think it was possible to love you anymore then I do._

“No, no. That’s _quite_ enough,” A bemused voice spoke, fair brows arching above shaking ears. “Lay down.” With a satisfied snort, the dog turned around in a full circle three times before settling on the bed, head on paws, and eyes drifting shut. “Good boy.”

Will stared helpless and bewildered over a fuzzy sleeping head resting between them, eyes refusing to stop blinking. What had he just seen? A hallucination? He opened his mouth to speak several times but nothing came out. He must have looked like a gaping fish flopping on the deck of a boat.

A corner of a mouth turned up. “These are extenuating circumstances, William, this is _not_ to become a habit,” Hannibal drawled quietly, lifting up on an elbow, stern words accompanied by a tender gaze. “I would like our bed to remain ours.”

“H-hannibal…”

_You’re so fucking good to me._

The younger man swallowed down a rush of emotion, burying a face in a golden coat and curving an arm around the dog. “Do you…do you know what happened to the rest of my dogs? I…worry.”

“All accounted for and doing well. From what I am to understand, Jack adopted most of them. Price and Zeller offered to take one.” A muted chuckle sounded against fur. “I suspect he was less then pleased at the beginning of the arrangement.”

Peering carefully over a collar, Will caught a glimpse of pain flickering across the older man’s face, gazing down at space between them, at arms holding close to something other then him. A fleeting curve touched lips pressed against a silky coat.

_Oh Hannibal, are you trying to ask to hold my hand this time?_

“There is no need for you to worry, Will…” The older man continued, pausing for a brief moment with a bated breath. “I would give you back every single one if it were possible…”

Scooting up to pillows, Will rested his head, curving against the whimpers of the dog as he shifted and offered an upturned palm with a lazy smile. Hannibal ticked a chin to the side before moving closer, fingers threading around the other resting above a collar and laying his head near the younger man’s. They searched each other’s eyes, staring openly in flickers of thoughts rising to the surface.

“How many dogs would you let me have?” Will asked, mouth curving in to a crooked grin.

Dark eyes blinked slowly, heat touching edges and the younger man heard an echo brush through his mind. _An entire pack if you would allow me to wake to your beautiful smile upon each sunrise._

“ _One_.” A firm command rang out.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Very_ certain,” Hannibal answered sternly, eyes narrowing and leaning down to kiss a tip of nose. “I do not wish to wake one day to find I have built an entire house separate from ours just for your collection of strays to live in, William.”

Humming a satisfied sound, Will’s eyes drifted closed. “Would you do that for me?”

“Yes, Will.” A soft sigh answered.

A steady sound of breathing rested in the room, quiet and fading in unison. A heartbeat pattered beneath their entwined hands. Will drifted in the sound and sensation. Was this what home sounded like? Is this what family felt like?

“William…” Hushed tones washed over his face. “Happy birthday, dear one.”

_C-christ…_

A sharp pang dragged Will back from blurring edges of sleep. His blue eyes snapped open in a rush of tears. Clambering over the sleeping dog, surprised maroon eyes widened as he collapsed against Hannibal and crushed him to the mattress, shoulder burying against a trachea. He breathed in fresh skin, filling his lungs in comfort.

“C-cutting o-off… my air…d-darling boy.”

“Well, I can’t breathe either!” A muffled growl answered, squeezing tighter. “So just get the fuck used to it!”

A choking laugh sounded, hands pawing halfheartedly against the shoulder digging in. With a huffed breath, Will rolled off and gathered the dog to his chest. He grumbled incoherent mumbles until Hannibal reached out, curling against his back. An arm draped around his waist, resting across his arm, and holding Winston in their joined embrace.

_Family. A dysfunctional, loving family._

“Mmm…” Lips vibrated against the back of his neck. “I am beginning to suspect your violent attempts on my life are your purest forms of showing affection as well, William.”

An elbow jabbing in the ribs drew out half laughter before shaking shoulders stilled and Hannibal pressed a kiss to a bare shoulder, voice singing with grey smoke.

“Had you wanted me to take you out, dear one? To a fine dinner somewhere to celebrate?” Silver hair caressed his skin, words mouthed into his throat. “I will admire your form over a simple champagne all evening if you wish, clothed or otherwise, to ensure you understand there is nowhere else I would rather gaze then at you.”

The younger man bit down hard on his lip, covering a quavering mouth. “F-forgot…”

_I just wanted to get us to that fucking restaurant and for you to say yes… I didn’t realize. Who forgets something like that? You never forget, Hannibal, would you ever be able to forget me? Promise you won’t._

“So you were merely dressed elegantly to draw my attention?” A muffled sob caused fingertips to still. Hannibal pried a hand away from a golden back, rolling the younger man on top of him, holding up a face in both hands, eyes darkening. “Have I said too much, William? Or not enough?”

“H-h-hurts.” A head dropped to his chest.

“Would you allow me to get up for a moment?”

“Absolutely not!”

“If you are certain...”

They tumbled to an edge of the bed. Strong hands swept under his thighs and lifted him up on peaked hips. Will’s hands flashed out to grab hold of a neck and broad shoulders, eyes wide and face flushing bright.

“H-hann, I didn’t mean—“

“Too late I’m afraid.” Hannibal shrugged, heaving him forward, and gathering legs around his waist until ankles hooked. “You made your decision.”

The younger man flopped his head against a chest, groaning. “Good Christ, I really _am_ too old to be carried, Hannibal.”

“Given you did not even recall your own birthday, Will, I think I will dictate when it is to stop lifting you off your feet.” A chuckle puffed against his shoulder.

Resigning to his fate, Will settled into arms surrounding him, one slung around his shoulder and the other at the small of his back. He was sure he looked absolutely absurd. He wasn’t exactly sure why he let the older man keep slinging him around like a rag doll. He wasn’t sure he wanted him to stop. Fingertips pressing into his skin felt steady. Arms digging into his frame felt powerful. He knew Hannibal was strong, a predator with deadly claws and snapping jaws. This was different. He felt protected, even from the worst versions of himself. Loved in spite of everything. Safe beyond measurable reason.

“I have something for you,” Hannibal announced, sitting him abruptly on a kitchen counter, smiling down.

Blue eyes shot up, arms crossing. “ _No_.”

“No?” The older man pressed him back into cold marble, arms coming down on either side.

“No,” Will repeated more firmly, glancing down at a small rectangular box tied in a red silk ribbon. “I can’t take this.” He pushed the gift away, shoulders hunching forward, head dipping low, guilt flooding his senses. “Why are you doing this, Hannibal? Any of this? For me? I just. I don’t think…I don’t think…you should try so hard when I’ve been such a complete ass.”

Hannibal pulled a protesting figure into his arms, pressing them back to chest, pulling at dark curls to expose a neck. “To show…” Fingers splayed across the front of his throat. “…my appreciation…” Will whimpered as a mouth pressed a deep kiss in. “…for all you have done for me, William.”

_It hurts. It hurts. Please._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you distressed by Will's distress or angry, I am going to try to explain from a vaguely intimate level. Please don't ask for details. People experience trauma differently. When something happens to irrevocably change you, a kind of split occurs: the person you were, the person you are, and the person you fight every single day to be. You can never be the person you were before. You are left with pieces of all you knew and all that's left, and you try to get back there, to a semblance of that person you once knew. For me, I first chose silence, many years of it. I got so good at repressing there were days even I convinced myself I was okay. No one knew. And if no one knew it wasn't real. A long way down the line I admitted it once when I was older and shut back down after rejection. Years passed. I trusted someone with those pieces. A different kind of trauma occurred. I don't talk about it. Try not to. It broke me, all those events culminating in to one, feeling I was even more unworthy of human touch, let alone love. You didn't want to look at yourself in the mirror. You hated what was looking back. Why would anyone else? Why would anyone stay for that? You didn't even want to breathe, to know you existed. So for awhile you sunk further. Virtually stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. Everything hurt. Everything hurt worse when someone was gentle and tells you to keep going. And so you do. And when you couldn't, you relied on those years of practiced skill to shut down and not feel. Became so good at it, you simply didn't. And when you did, you filtered only emotions that were safe: anger, hurt, to form a protective shell. You can't control the need to protect yourself, it is the control you have. And when those persons you have come to rely on to survive continue to stay, you push and lash out. You push because you can survive one more break. Because they are everything and you know you wouldn't. It's easier then hearing you are okay, and they will wait, always patient. And you don't want patience, acceptance, you want your life back. And you push to believe, to understand they'll stay. That they won't hurt you. And won't reject you because you feel it's what you deserve. Until you make your way back, find your way out, and are able to put those pieces back together and accept yourself as you are, not as you were. And you can look that person in the eye and thank them for not allowing you to fade. 
> 
> So it's alright if you don't understand. It's good if you don't. Please realize this culmination of written emotions are not for shock value. Just reflections and passages of time threaded in to the work and events. If you have something negative to say about it because it doesn't make sense to you, I would appreciate it if you simply didn't. This isn't a scold, just be mindful about negativity in regards to trauma please.


	102. Chapter 102

Hannibal pulled a protesting figure into his arms, pressing them back to chest, pulling at dark curls to expose a neck. “To show…” Fingers splayed across the front of his throat. “…my appreciation…” Will whimpered as a mouth pressed a deep kiss in. “…for all you have done for me, William.”

_It hurts. It hurts. Please._

 

*

“For what!” The younger man snapped, sinking in arms, trembling setting in. “I… couldn’t even make you decent soup! I burned it, twice! I couldn’t even… make you smile. For a _whole fucking week_ I tried everything and nothing helped. I-I-I said I would protect you and I… failed.” He buried his face against a palm. “And then I destroyed the house because I thought… I thought someone else could. How could you possibly appreciate any of that? I’m not…I don’t want to be this kind of crazy.”

“Your softness grieved me for having been accepted completely and without condition…” Hands stroked down his throat in gentle waves to steady the pace of his breathing. “You gathered my pieces and offered protection. Was there ever a time in my life when I felt more at home then resting in the shelter of your arms?”

Teeth snapped together in a loud clack. “Then why couldn’t _I_ help you!”

“I did not smile because of whom I was talking to, Will. My heart did not quicken in my chest simply because of the sound of a familiar voice replying.” Fingertips swirled over a clamoring heart. “My physical responses were merely a display of imagining your smile when I finally was able to present you with a simple orchestration to reunite you with someone you loved.”

Shielding a face in forearms, hands guided Will back by wrists. He felt cold metal of a refrigerator meld with his back, radiating heat pressing in from the front. It slowly dawned on him the older man was preparing to pin him against the nearest surface if he blacked out.

_God, I am fucking mess. How can you love me? I don’t even love me…_

“How is it you think you do not deserve appreciation? I admire the cracking veneer of your soul coming to rest in perfect alignments with the fractures of my bones. We create mirror images of our stars aligning as one.” A soft hum rustled curls against the curve of his ear. “It is not madness that grips you, dear one, it is grief. You are grappling with a stranglehold of emotions as best you are able. Your mind is at war with your heart for what it remembers and what it seeks.”

Will struggled to take in breath, trying to focus on the sound of the soft voice.

“Even in uncertainty of coping, you are beautiful in each slow and purposeful step you make to come back to me. I would never ask you to be anything except as you are. As you have done for me.”

Air inhaled through parting lips, pausing in deep consideration.

“It is natural to fear loss, William, to live under the duress of possible rejection, knowing it would be the end of all you have come to know. An embrace of accepting nothing short of a merciful kind of death.”

He thought he heard traces of echoing fear answering his own.

“I haven’t done anything for you…” Blue eyes peered between slotted skin, broken whisper answering. “I can barely make you a half decent cup of coffee in the morning.”

“Then you gravely underestimate the sway you have over me…”

Hannibal steadily disarmed a bony shield from the younger man’s face, gazing down with a face creased in textured lines of fragile pain and vulnerability, to ensure he was seen. _You are not alone._

“You stayed by my side without question, William, and without judgment, simply remaining near when I was incapable of offering anything in return. You did not ask about my breakdown on the boat. Nor did you make mention of it in the days that followed.”

Will reached out and touched a mouth softly, breathing out when it pressed to fingertips.

“You could have forced a response for the questions you seek to answer knowing I would break beneath the weight in your eyes. Instead you offered patience, a willingness to wait. Breathing life back into my lungs with a mere caress of your hand on mine…”

Hands carefully released his shoulders. The older man reached around and pulled the satin white box from the counter. A satin ribbon unfurled slowly from it.

“Every moment of your quiet ministrations and soft understanding is a gift I cherish. You merely think how you care for me in your own way is of less value then how I offer care to you. You are not inferior, William, you are my equal in all things.”

Will opened his mouth to speak but quieted when a shaking head told him to remain silent. Fingertips swirled around his left wrist gently, placing the hand above a steadily beating heart. Hannibal tucked a chin against a chest, maroon eyes gazing intently as he stroked a padded fingertip across a ring finger. The younger man stood incredibly still, afraid to even breathe.

_No, Hannibal… it hurts._

Red silk looped carefully around his finger in an agonizing caress, tied off in a neat little bow of a ring.

Running a tongue across dry lips, Hannibal looked up, voice the color of faint light trickling through a clouded sky. “Would you severe the red string of Fate which entwines our hearts together in the spaces of rooms we share?”

A noise of distress sounded, blue eyes staring at blood red clinging to trembling fingers. _No. No. Never…_

“You are the last, William…” Embers hissed out in a mist of glistening light. “…and when you leave this world I will follow.”

Mouth trembling, Will placed larger hands on hips, gazing up in a hopeless tangle of words choking in the back of his throat. Hannibal placed him back on the counter without asking, knowing instinctively what was needed. A tender arm curved around his waist. Will pressed light kisses across a shadowed jaw, thumb stroking over the ribbon affectionately. He felt eyes carefully watching each motion.

“Just you…” The younger man murmured against a cheek. “Just you. Be the last person to kiss me, Hannibal…”

The older man drew back, arching fingers stroking across lips to stroke off words and press them to his own. Maroon eyes lowered, fair lashes quivering.

_You’re afraid of me touching you?_

The satin white box pushed his direction again. Will took it and tugged off the top. Resting in simple wrapping paper were a dozen flowers; carnations, daises, lavender, and a single red rose. Each had been pressed between the pages of books and dried, bits flaking off to scatter inside the box. The younger man’s grip tightened on the counter, looking up.

“You…you kept them?” He asked weakly.

_All the flowers I bought you this last week…I thought…I thought you didn’t like them._

The older man nodded towards the box again, swallowing hard, gaze slipping away.

_Hannibal…I would have bought you a dozen more. I would do anything for you._

“And what’s this?” Will pulled out a set of silver keys.

“I believe…” Hannibal rubbed the back of his neck, balancing thoughts on the tip of upturned lips. “…it is considered a romantic gesture for a partner to offer keys to the man he would like to spend more time with?”

The younger man’s brows curled up in a bewildered smile. “Y-you built me a house, Hann, I don’t think you can ask me to move in with you after that?”

“I built us a home…” Hannibal answered in hushed tones, touching the red ribbon lightly. “…to share as one.”

Fingers clenching in fine hair, Will dragged Hannibal closer, knees locking around a waist and gently blanketed lips with a press of his palm, a thin barrier between the heat of their mouths. His heart twisted as lashes drifted down over maroon eyes. He leaned in, soft sighs warming his palm. The younger man rested lips against the back of his palm, eyes closing. A mouth pressed back on the other side. He felt feeble tears entwining on their cheeks.

“I love you,” Will whispered fiercely, framing the older man’s face, desperate to hold shadows drifting through eyes.

“I know.”

“I’ll get better. I swear to God. I’ll make it right.”

“Will you promise to break every bit of furniture in our house if I ask you to remain?” Hannibal asked, trembling lips lifting. “I seem to find the unpredictability of your jealous streak…rather endearing.”

“ _Probably_.” An undignified snort answered.

“Do not rush the process of your healing because you think I will not understand the virtue of patience or acceptance of a few broken pieces, Will.” Arms drew in closer, hands entwining between the space of their hearts. “You cannot be replaced.”

“Would you…listen if I said…” Will sighed. It wasn’t enough. “I needed you? Maybe…forever.”

Rigid lips quivered against his cheek, accent dipping rough. “Do you need me, Will?

“Yeah…”

Hannibal tilted a face up, jaw clenching tight. “ _Ask_.”

“Do you… do you love me, Hannibal?” Will balled up fists against shoulders, focusing on the sensation of silk against skin. “Because I _really_ _fucking_ love you!”

“Dear William…” The older man leaned close, holding a chin between forefinger and thumb, red eyes sparking bright, growling, “With all my fucking heart.”

Will leaned forward, lips aching for ones hovering above. A hand settled over his eyes, darkness flooding in, as it lightly pushed back.

“Eyes closed.”

The younger man whimpered quietly, settling against the counter as hands and legs faded. A refrigerator door opened and clacked shut. Something hissed to life.

“You may look now.”

A tiny vanilla frosted cake covered in fresh strawberries and dollops of whip cream, sides encrusted with a layer of almond shavings, was presented in upturned palms on a ceramic plate. A flame flickered on a single white candle, smiling lips warmed by its light.

_I look forward to kissing your lips and whispering against them, Hannibal, to remind you how beautiful they are on my own. And how I would like to kiss them every day. Would you be okay with that?_

“God you didn’t…” Will groaned, blushing, a widening grin pulling at corners of his mouth. “Where the hell were you even hiding that?”

An index finger swept across a dollop and pushed into his mouth to silence him. The younger man sighed quietly, lapping off the sugary confection with a swirl of his tongue. His eyes fell closed. He wasn’t sure what tasted sweeter, lips reluctantly releasing.

“Now…” Hannibal eyed him beneath half lids, glancing at frosting once more and then at his mouth. “Would you be so kind as to quit talking and eat this strawberry sponge cake I spent all night baking as you slept?” His heart fluttered, touching the ribbon ring gently. “And for pity sake, make a wish before wax melts on the cream and ruins it!

_Just one wish. When I ask…Spend the rest of your life with me._

Another grin spread across a face glowing in candlelight. “On one condition…you feed it to me.”


	103. Chapter 103

The thin minute hand of a watched ticked away beneath a glint of glass. Hannibal crossed back to an arching bay window and looked out across fallen shadows cast by the night. Rain pattered quietly against the glass. He glanced at the watch again, letting out a strained sigh between teeth. _7:45 p.m._ Fingernails tapped anxiously across a phone trapped in a trouser pocket. He pulled it out, swiping across the black screen, and stared down at it. No new calls. No texts. He flicked to his contacts, index finger hovering over the younger man’s name. He punched off the screen with a click of a button and buried the phone. He was not going to leave another voicemail. He trusted Will. He was always prompt coming home from work. It wasn’t like him not to call. It was even more unusual for him to be three hours late. Something gnawed at the pit of his stomach.

_Where are you, Will? Are you stuck in traffic with a phone drained of life? Perhaps all the dogs escaped their kennels and have trapped you beneath a pile of fur, far out of reach of your phone._

Unease chewed on the inside of his cheek with another nip of teeth. Drumming fingers across knuckles, Hannibal made his way back to the kitchen and picked up an eighth of a cup of Mont Blanc wine by a fine stem. He tipped the flute glass to his lips and drained its contents. He had tried to track the younger man’s location an hour before without any luck. If the phone was off it was useless. He considered chipping them both for the sake of his sanity. Tendrils of cold brushed across his skin and seeped to corners of a mouth drawn down in a tense frown.

_What if—No!_

Hannibal plunged hands in soapy water and began scouring furiously at a square glass pan to keep panic jumping in his throat. He tried to suppress a high pitched buzz echoing in his skull. His grip tightened on glass. Will was perfectly fine. He was safe. He had not been taken. He was merely running late. Just late.

“Fuck!”

Looking down, blood swirled in water below, fractured glass jamming in his left palm. He drew out shaking hands, setting broken pieces on a marble counter. The older man snapped a towel off the stove with another curse and blotted it against a long gash of red on his left hand. He pulled open a small top drawer in the island counter and pulled out a small leathery case. He tugged on a brassy metal zipper, drawing out a roll of white gauze. Will had insisted he keep an emergency kit of his own making in the kitchen. He bound off gauze with a sharp tug, rising anxiety tightening his throat and chapping lips.

_Where are you, William._

Something scraped on the stoop outside.

Eyes snapping up, Hannibal felt his shoulders jerk back in a twist of muscle and stance widen instinctively, heart slowing to a muted beat. A door handle turned slowly at first then rattled louder beneath an unseen hand.

_Will has keys..._

A blade whispered free from a stainless block. The older man stalked noiselessly across the kitchen and passed the dining room table. He measured weight of chef blade in his right hand, flattening between the window and front door. Fingers on his left hand twisted the lock free, settling over a handle. He took a deep breath and yanked the door open, leaving it to shudder on an interior wall, advancing blade first.

Bright blue eyes widened. The younger man stumbled back on the stoop with a surprised curse, dropping keys and grabbing hold of a railing for support.

“H-hey.” A mouth gaped open. “S-sorry I’m late…”

“Fucking hell,” Hannibal growled, red filtering from vision, biting down on his tongue and adding, “You are wreaking havoc on my refined cadence and use of polite language, dear one.”

“Yeah…” An unapologetic dark brow arched. “Well?”

Coming back to his senses, the older man waited for his vision to steady and focus. Dark curls plastered to lines creasing a high arching forehead. Rain poured down an upturned collar of a black trench coat, pooling over buttons and slipping into a cone of plastic clenched in a left hand. Bright eyes stared intently over a voluminous bouquet filled with burgundy Cymbidium orchids, white Sahara roses, red Dahlia, and brown scabiosa pods. Various sleek bags of all sizes were swinging in a right hand steadied by a railing.

“You know, Hannibal, I don’t mind you staring, admiring my form… but it is pouring down rain. Are you going to let me in?”

Flicking a tongue across dry lips and letting out a breath he had been holding, Hannibal jostled the younger man in by an elbow muttering, “You will catch your death of cold.”

He listened to bags rustle against the floor. The older man stepped out quickly, retrieving fallen keys and shut the door behind him with a muffled sigh of relief. His heart raced in his chest. Keys jangled still against a bureau.

“You wanna put that down?” Will’s glance slid away, mouth ticking in a frown. The older man followed his gaze to a knife gripped in a shaking hand. “Because I feel like that will catch my death a lot sooner then the cold,” A tone lightly teased, hands slicking back dark curls and sending raindrops scattering down softening eyes. The younger man stepped closer, running a hand down his arm and loosely cupped a rigid one, locking their gazes. “You’re shaking, Hannibal…” Fingertips pried the knife away and set it on a small mahogany bureau to next to the keys. ”Exactly who were you expecting just now?”

_Someone to take you from my arms._

“I…” Heat flushed the older man’s face, eyes casting down sheepishly. “…don’t want to lose you, William.”

“You’re not…” Will replied quietly, cold damp palms cupping his cheeks and drawing close. “I just took a wrong turn coming home from Bordeaux and my phone died _. Sorry_.” Plastic crinkled against his chest, pressing in, a soft ache breathing out. “Take these alright.”

Hannibal stared bleary eyed at a gorgeous array of flowers dampening the front of a thin crimson sweater in rain water. Their fingers touched briefly as he took it in hand, heart slowing to a pattering tempo. He touched drops glistening on orchid petals softly and glanced up, catching a glimpse of pink touching edges of cheeks. He had a feeling the younger man had carefully selected each bloom by hand to match the color of his eyes.

“Why are you trembling?” The older man demanded roughly, need to protect flaring and tightening his grip around plastic. “Has something happened? Has someone—”

_Hurt you? Upset you? Offended you? I’ll tear out their beating heart from their chest._

“Shh…” Nails brushed the side of his cheek.

Soft lips turned up a weary smile. Will peeled out of the trench coat and hung its dripping form on a wooden coat rack by the door, swiveling on a gleaming leather dress shoe. A heated gaze traveled down a narrow notch dark velvet lapel resting on a charcoal grey suit jacket tailored and stretching across a handsome frame. A single button was popped open at a throat of a black dress shirt. The older man drew unconsciously near, inhaling a light scent of Centifolia roses blurred in warm edges of amber cedar. He wanted to draw down the edge of a collar and press his lips to scented skin. A hand reached out and curled underneath his jaw. He stopped in his tracks.

“I’m going to kiss you, Hannibal,” Will noted softly, blue eyes lifting from his mouth, quivering knuckles stroking down the column of an arching neck. “Not to say goodbye as you once asked. Merely to feel your warmth and drink words from your lips.”

The older man backed away slowly, trembling as gleaming leather and wool advanced in an outline of dark tones rimming glimmering circles of rainwater looking out.

Heels tapped across hardwood. “Just once if you like.”

“Please…” Words shook off Hannibal’s quivering lips in a small plea, crumbling against a banister, placing knuckles protectively against his mouth. “William...Nužudyk mane švelniai, jei turite."

He shook harder as the younger man stepped in. He couldn’t remember the last time they had kissed. When he had been allowed the intimacy of tangled breath and light heat to share trapped sentiment in a thrum of gentle motion. He tried to recall the soft press of inviting lips lulling his own open or the salty sweetness slipping along his tongue. His heart clenched inside his chest, knees threatening to give way beneath the weight of an intense gaze filling with hunger.

"Jūs sunaikinti mane..." Fear washed his skin ice cold as a hand reached out, pulling away. "Jei jūs atleiskite..."

“God, I’m not even touching you…” Will whispered, aching guilt touching dark pupils in a flutter of lashes. “Am I what haunts you in your dreams?”

Hannibal uttered a muted tone of protest as a damp hand curled around the back of his neck, drawing him slowly against the younger man’s chest and away from the wall holding him up. He went rigid as an arm encircled his waist in a firm grasp, staring helplessly down, bouquet rustling pitifully against his thigh.

"Aš tave myliu daugiau nei pats gyvenimas..." The older man intoned quietly, voice cracking, falling apart beneath a sweep of tender eyes and hands.  


“Is this how you looked when you had your first kiss, Hannibal?” A gaze floated across fair fluttering lashes, over paling cheeks, and rested on parting lips. “Or did you frighten her away?”

“I…” A velvety thumb stroked across his bottom lip. “…do not recall any other brush of prayer except yours upon my lips, Will.”

“Hann…” The younger man leaned in, warm breath fluttering out, shattered gaze meeting flickering crimson. “It was never my intention to tear you apart from your faith.”

Crushing a velvet lapel, Hannibal tilted his face away as a mouth brushed down the side of his cheek, letting out a low threading breath. Knuckles tilted his face the other direction, lips pressing in at a corner of his eye and drawing back, stained in a glimmer of tears. "Prašom. Neleisk eiti, gražus vieną..."

Thumbs hooked beneath an angle of his jaw line as the younger man lifted his face close, lips hovering above with light airy breath, gaze searching his eyes deep and laying his soul bare. “I am not going to hurt you, Hannibal…just kiss you.”

Dark lashes drifted down. His mouth parted in a hollow noise. Cool lips melded over his, softly pressing in to muffle small sounds reverberating against them. His fingers released, bouquet crumpling at their feet. Will kissed him achingly slow, feather light touch trailing from corner to corner before twisting his head and pushing in for a deeper connection. His soft skin was damp, cool in contrast with heat rising inside the older man’s skin.

_Will… please._

A hand pulled closer, fingers swirling at the nape of his neck. Rainwater glided down a peaked collar and pooled against the scooping neckline of cable knit. He stared down, tears streaking from wide eyes, arms pinned to his side in a rustle of bones and skin. Fingertips glided beneath the hem of his sweater, stroking down ribs and tilting their hips together. Breath stole from his lungs with a dart of a warm tongue running along the seam of his lips. A feeble breath exhaled as lips lifted from his, ache splitting his heart, bereft from the lost connection. He shook from head to toe as arms pushed space between their bodies, falling back in to the wall and bruising his shoulder. The older man tried to strangle a cry rising in chest, clawing feebly at his throat, airway constricting in panged breaths. He gasped for air, bones rattling against the stairs like fragile leaf, vision hazing from white to dusty grey. 

"Hannibal..." Panic crested on a soft tone. "Hannibal, listen to me." A mouth pressed to his temple. "Are you listening?" Fingertips stroked down his cheeks, pulling his nails away from his neck. "You are not drowning. Not without my arms around you. Breathe..."

Nails lashed out, raking through curls as Hannibal let out a low growl, rising to a predatory crouch and shoved Will against the wall in a roll of shoulders, tangling their legs together. Desperate fear crackled inside his lungs as he bent his head and crushed up turned lips in a flash of teeth. He couldn't push him away if he was trapped. The younger man groaned against him, points nipping back on his bottom lip, slick heat and pinpricks of blood trickling down chins.

_Be merciful. Suffocate me with your mouth and nothing else, William._

He growled louder as a mouth opened, tunneling fingers in silken strands and devouring with a thrust of a tongue inside wet warmth. He wound their lips tighter until neither was able to breathe. He dragged a tip of a tongue along a jagged scar inside a cheek, feeling breath rush in to his mouth in a moan. A tongue flicked tentatively back, drawn out by a tug of teeth and in between the older man’s lips. Starvation clung to his skin in a red trail of nails latching at his waist as blood rushed thick through his veins, drowning out all other sounds and sensations. He growled against velvety lips slick with blood, angling a face with a tug of hair as a mouth opened wider, swirling a tongue deeper.

“G-god…” Breathless moans murmured against his mouth, wet twist of muscle pushing at his own. “H-hann, I missed you.”

A palm slid up the arch of his throat, a single thumb pushing lightly at his chin for release. Hannibal licked off droplets of red with a flat edge of his tongue reluctantly, leaning back to admire the bloodied trail clinging to parted lips gasping for air. Stormy blue eyes lifted to meet a burning gaze. The older man reached forward to tear open a dress shirt and follow a path of skin with his lips. He needed nothing more then their skin between them. Will ducked out from a cage of arms, sweeping the bouquet off the floor, and pushing it towards outstretched fingers.

“Sorry, Hannibal…” He whispered hoarsely, pressing a quick kiss at the corner of a mouth and moved quickly towards the dining room table. “You should… put those in water or something.”

 _Gentle._ He hissed out a frustrated breath. _Be gentle with him._

He stared after, fingers curling to the safety of his palms to keep from reclaiming in another embrace. He had waited so long. He would give anything to kiss upturned lips bloodied and lick away each ache until Will was all he could taste, to sustain a gaping maw of hunger opening its jaws. Trying to quiet a series of curses racing around in his brain, Hannibal stalked quietly off to the kitchen and delicately stripped the bouquet of its plastic shell. He sprinkled a hint of sugar in an etched glass vase, watching grains float to the bottom of still water before carefully placing flowers inside. He traced petals and blooms with trembling fingertips, mouth aching from more then the throbbing split in his lip. He wanted to run them down smooth skin, mouth flooded in salt and incoherent murmurs, lost in sensations of entangled limbs.

“Thanks for not driving out to look for me this time. It makes Aubrey and the others…” Will called over his shoulder, placing a collection of bags on the table, rustling through limp tissue paper. “Well, I don’t like being teased about being a kept man.”

His jaw clenched in a grit of teeth. “…I was unaware my presence had such an effect.”

“You are perfectly aware of all things, Hannibal,” Will answered flatly, shooting an amused look back at his attempt to lie. “You just like coming around to let everyone know who I belong to.”

Slicking a tongue across teeth, Hannibal made his way back towards the younger man, heated breath easing in and out of his lungs, fingertips twitching anxiously at his thighs.

“And the last time you dropped in on me…” The younger man swiveled around, surprised to find him looming close, eyes sparking bright then smoldering in hints of grey. “You shoved me up against the driver side door and sucked a hickey in my neck that lasted weeks in front of my coworkers.”

“I did not appreciate…” Hannibal tried to edge out a hint of jealousy sharpening peaks on the end of each word, eyes narrowing slightly. “…the way the blonde boy touched your arm and gazed after you like a lost puppy.”

A corner of soft lip turned up in a smirk, tooth slipping out to gnaw on top of a stinging split. The older man gripped the back of a chair to keep from rushing forward and soothing it with his tongue or splitting it open further.

“Given you handed my boss a blank check and informed him quite forcefully I was taking the rest of the day off, then threw me in the car…” The younger man turned to face him, leaning lazily back against the table, fine fabric tented between lean thighs “And then pulled over to a side of the road and got between my legs to remind me with your mouth I was yours…I imagine that is an understatement, Hannibal.”

Maroon eyes darkened, falling on a silver belt buckle. “Do they consider me controlling?”

“I don’t care what they consider you,” Will replied with a shadowed smile, trailing fingertips over the older man’s rigid cock. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

Hannibal caged Will inside of thighs pressing in on legs and hands resting on either side of hips, hot breath fluttering against his cheek in chuckles as he reached out and touched twine tying the handles of rumpled bags together. His gaze swept over each one, calculating quickly to see if there was enough to string together and bind wrists to a dining room chair to keep the younger man in one place. His mouth watered in anticipation of slipping a throbbing cock gently between his teeth. He let out a regretful huff. There was not. A hand pushed lightly at his hip.

“May I?” Hannibal asked roughly, tugging over a bag to search through it.

“Not yet.” Hands snatched the bag away as the younger man slinked out from his arms with a mischievous half smile. He pulled out a long necked bottle of wine and tucked it carefully in the crook of an arm. “Would you like a set of glasses for this? Will it offend your delicate manners if we drink straight from the bottle?” Hannibal blatantly stared at a flick of a tongue trailing across lips turning to a smile wider in silence. “Just the corkscrew then.”

Will gathered bags protectively against his chest, side stepping away from a sweep of a hand attempting to cage him and let out a low laugh when Hannibal growled.

“Where’s Winston?”

“Fast asleep by the fire in the study.”

Dark brows rose, chiding, “You fed him too many sausages again, didn’t you?”

“I was…concerned.”

“Your nervous habits are spoiling him.” A curl fell over a head shaking in exasperation. “Are you really going to make me the stern father he resents because you allow him to have his way and I don’t?”

Letting out a low breath, Hannibal watched the younger man trail off in sweeping lines of a suit with bags swinging in one hand and clutching a bottle of wine in the other. He was torn between the idea of shattering the glass bottle, ripping bags from hands, and having his way with Will on the stairs and following after to whisper soft phrases of adoration low and foreign against the curve of a sloping ear. He stood a moment longer, blinking, before he flipped a corkscrewr in his hand, swept up two dainty flute glasses, and followed up the stairs.

Pausing by a large gilded mirror, he spent a moment appraising his reflection. He reached up and tugged a rumpled scoop neckline to his collarbone, smoothing away wrinkles with a curt tug on each sleeve at his wrist. He rubbed away blood clinging to his chin with a smirk. Hannibal tucked disheveled wisps of silver behind his ears, fussing with it for a moment longer, before glowering at his lack of presentation.

An amused voice called from the bedroom. “I am going to dig out this cork with my hunting knife and drink the entire bottle by myself if you don’t hurry up, Hannibal.”

Turning sharply on his heel, Hannibal paused a moment in the doorway and allowed his eyes to sweep over the scene unfolding, heart warming. Will was kneeling on an edge of the Persian rug, fastidiously arranging tiny Styrofoam containers in neat rows, nudging them this way and that to create a pleasing aesthetic. Two of the larger bags remained unopened, tucked between the wingback chair and the bed. Firelight warmed the side of a sloping face, hugging shadows and light underneath bright eyes drawing up to meet his. They were startling soft and wide, rippling a hint of nervous anxiety to please. The older man crossed the threshold, setting glasses down, and pressed a corkscrew to an outstretched palm, answering a crooked grin with a small smile. He turned to go change in to something more suitable.

“Don’t… you look…” A hand tugged on his wrist. Hannibal glanced down, blue eyes sweeping up as the younger man gnawed on his lip. “You are…” Soft eyes lowered, a thumb stroking anxiously across his hand, a whisper easing out. “… _Tu es beau_ _._ _Tu es l'amour de ma vie, Hannibal_ …”  
(You look handsome. You are the love of my life, Hannibal.)

His heart contracted halfway through a beat, slamming to a sudden stop. Hannibal’s knees gave way, dropping to the floor as he reached out and dragged the younger man forward by hands curling in lapels of the suit jacket.

“D-d-did I…” Will stammered out weakly, swallowing hard, face flushing red. “Did I say it incorrectly? Because to be honest I have only been practicing out loud in the car to and from work and I prob—”

The older man silenced his mouth with a press of fingertips, hands cupping a crumbling face. “ _Est-ce que tu m'aimes_?”  
(Do you love me?)

“Yeah…” Will shifted nervously on his knees, staring at a peaked cheekbone, lightly touching a hand on his cheek. He fished a tangle of silk red ribbon out of a breast pocket and tied it quickly around the older man’s ring finger, choking out, “ _Je t’aime_.”  
(I love you.)

_William. Would you…_

Rigid lips parted. “ _Est-ce que je te rends heureux_?”  
(Do I make you happy?)

“ _Tu…Tu…_ ” Words tangled on a tongue darting out as eyes flicked back and forth, narrowing in fragmented concentration. Will covered hands with his own, pulling them away, and pressed a kiss to each one, whispering softly. “You know you do.”

“ _Vous êtes_ _mon plus grand trésor_ _…_ ” Hannibal murmured gently against a forehead, fingertips stroking over brows.  
(You are my greatest treasure…)

“Yeah, I know.” Splintering emotion threaded through words, white teeth biting down on a bloodied lip, a large black glossy bag shoved his direction. “Here.”

Hannibal swept off a thin line of blood with a pinky and brought it to his lips. The younger man tasted even more heady with a foreign drawl lingering on his mouth. He reached out for the gift to keep from pinning Will to the floor and drinking it off with his mouth. Drawing the bag to his lap and the older man curled legs around it, head tipping to the side with a rush of muddled pain. A long thin box tied in a flourishing gold organza ribbon slid out of the package. He carefully undid the bow, setting it aside, trying to steady a sudden tremor in his hands. He peeled off the lid and rustled through delicate folds of tissue paper.

“Guy in Bordeaux said he can…” A wine cork popped as Will memorized swirling shapes on the rug beneath them. “…fix it if it doesn’t fit… properly.”

White cashmere linen cascaded in sweeping curves of a shawl collar of a suit jacket covered in fine pin prick stitches, folded neatly over a pair of matching trousers tucked inside. He popped open two pearl inlaid buttons, slipping them loose from bound buttonholes, to reveal a white silk tie decorated in crimson paisley and sunburst designs. He ran fingertips over blood red silk lining fastidiously whip stitched to the inside. He turned a cuff dotted by five buttons, the fifth slipped loose to make a loud announcement of the entirely bespoke variety. His fingers brushed over slanted pockets, two small bumps pressing back. He dragged out a pair silver cuff links studded in a matching burst design of red and white glints.

“T-t-they’re not real. I mean the silver is real and the diamonds, but not the rubies,” Will huffed out, running a hand back through his hair, face flushing bright. “Just Zirconia crystals or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Hannibal’s mouth went dry, gaze dragging up to pink cheeks. _This must have cost a fortune…Why…_

“Don’t look at me like that, Hannibal. It’s just a…suit.” Will’s eyes snapped immediately to the floor, busying himself by rearranging cartons and fiddling with the wine bottle. “It’s not going to fix everything. I just thought you might… _like_ it. If I can tear apart a stern drive engine and put it back together, I think I can manage to take down basic measurements with a plastic tape. I am not entirely useless.”

Pained breath rushed through lips. “What is all this, Will?”

“I…am…” Hands roughed through curls sending them scattering. “…trying to become a better man. And you are a really good goddamn man, Hannibal, and I want you to have that too. Consider it… two monumental milestones missed and an insurance policy for any future events I might fuck up by—“

“Thank you,” Hannibal cut him off abruptly before his throat closed up entirely and he could no longer utter the inadequate phrase.

The younger man tipped his head to the side, eyes rising with dark brows with a curious expression. “…You aren’t used to being on the receiving end of gifts and romantic gestures, are you? If you can call it that. Can you call it that? I...I'm really not good at this.”

"It is...perfect..."

Blue eyes were accented by tinging cheeks, hidden by a sweep of lashes. Pausing for a moment, Hannibal considered a long line of muted faces and blurred years of uninspiring fulfillment and waxing boredom he had once sought before turning to his real passions: the culinary arts and the perfected presentation of the rude. No one had ever tried to know him, presenting him with pedestrian gifts of muddled vintages of wine, tawdry displays of luxurious bits of jewelry, and countless wilted red roses. In the absence of the company offering them, he had thrown out each one.

“I will confess…” The older man’s tone edged roughly, unsteady hand setting the beautiful gesture aside with a sweep of aching eyes. “…it is disconcerting.”

“Discon—“ A barking laugh rang out as Will threw his head back in the air, lines creasing beautifully in his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes. “Hannibal, you aren’t telling me in all your long line of—and don’t try to tell me it isn’t a mile long list, because _look at you_ —suitors not one of them has tried to shower you with some kind of gift?” Rushing breath wavered in a hinting tone of bitter inadequacy fading out. “Surely, far better than anything I could ever offer you. Or ever dream to afford for that matter.”

For the first time in his life, Hannibal felt a gathering heat turning his cheeks bright red. “Obligatory doting deemed acceptable on particular holidays or a manipulation of favor either sexual or otherwise, nothing more.” He tried to flex out pain rising in his voice, blindly seeking out the younger man’s hand and clasping it to his lips, murmuring against it. “Nothing as…” He shoved down a rising tangle of emotion, looking straight up into blue eyes. “Nothing so precious as what is before me now.”

Will was the first to look away, brows drawing low and eliciting a small laugh. “If you are going to insist on looking at me like I’m the last person on this planet then I might have to reconsider…”

When fingers tightened around his hand, the younger man glanced up catching a reflection of sheer agony lacing with pure devotion flickering across the face looking back. The older man tried to speak, to interrupt him, and let a growing pang in his heart overflow and spill out his mouth in flowering poetry to describe how deeply he felt. Eloquence and beauty lay dormant in his lungs, refusing to come out and instead released a strangled noise building on his tongue.

“But I suppose…” Will continued softly, pressing their clasping hands to shadowed angles and then drawing in to press his lips against a silk ribbon. “…if enough years were to pass I could get used to the idea of you looking at me like that.”

_My life, William. I’ll spend my life looking only at you._

“That is if you don’t mind me supplementing my feeble income with wet dogs, fishing lures, and hand carved gifts from time to time?”

The older man lowered his gaze as blue looked up, a rough whisper coming out, “It would be my greatest honor for you to do so…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It took me all day battling my brain to write this chapter. Which is ridiculous, because I have so much ridiculous romantic shit outlined your poor little eyes will be overcome with cloyingly pretty sadness. (And I know I have a bunch of fantastic questions x comments to answer! Thank you!!!)
> 
> THE KISS. It happened, good Christ, either that or it is a shared hallucination. (It's not.) How many chapters has it been? Did someone just say 56?! Goddamn, we are all lucky Hannibal isn't curled up in a corner somewhere. Bless you, Hannibal, what a patient and devoted man you are. 
> 
> Let us reemphasize the importance of this red ribbon again in this chapter~significance of the exchange yet anyone?
> 
> And I sure as hell wish I had more talent illustrating because the flowers I picked for this bouquet are gorgeous and I imagine Will would look like a handsomely drenched vision coming in from the rain. Also I really just wanted to have Hanni where this pretty suit (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/b3/78/b6/b378b621c5996df966ec26de7efb0f9e.jpg)
> 
> Also, recommend more Hannigram music x playlists to me. I need more muse music. 
> 
> And FINALLY I get to put this language thing to good use. Oh treats I have in store for you. 
> 
> Rough Lithuanian Translations: 
> 
> “William...Nužudyk mane švelniai, jei turite."  
> (William... kill me gently if you must.)
> 
> "Jūs sunaikinti mane..." Fear washed his skin ice cold as a hand reached out, pulling away. "Jei jūs atleiskite..."  
> (You will destroy me if you let go.)
> 
> "Aš tave myliu daugiau nei pats gyvenimas..." The older man intoned quietly...  
> (I love you more than life itself...)
> 
>  
> 
> (A BIG THANKS to SlyKing for giving us better French translations because my French is so exceptionally rusty. So rusty. My god. Also, seriously guys, if you see corrections for that sort of thing... You all know I am big softie for accuracy and research, so let me know! I would like everything to be as tip top as possible.)


	104. Chapter 104

A dozen tiny boxes flicked open one by one, each containing a different savory appetizer or delicate dessert tucked away inside, presented in a half semi circle resting between bent knees. Hannibal surveyed each treasure with piqued interest, taking in color, texture, and rich scent as each was revealed.

Maroon eyes flicked over a trio of fleshy crepe colored prosciutto sliced thin forming fragile roses dripping in glistening burgundy pomegranate seeds, resting on half crescents of cantaloupe. Pieces of fresh raw salmon rested on a pillow of cream cheese with a squeeze of lemon, lying on top of golden brown slices of baguette accented with sprigs of dill. Four halves of bright peaches grilled in deep lines were smothered in dollops of ricotta as amber colored honey drizzled down their sides.

Will surveyed the arrangement once more with a satisfied nod before selecting one of the tiny crumbling waif baguettes, balancing it precariously between two fingers and a thumb. He leaned across the protective ring of white boxes with a faint smile, balancing on his left hand and offered the treat. The older man’s gaze strayed from an outstretched hand, following folds of a jacket sleeve, more interested in lingering on a chest laid bare by gaping plackets and straining buttons. Rough texture brushed his lips.

“Open,” A softening mouth commanded.

“William…” Hannibal dragged his eyes up reluctantly. “I am not accustomed to—“

With not even so much as a by your leave, the younger man pried open his lips lightly with a thumb and pushed the treat in. Hints of citrus trickled away in a smooth lush cream mingling on his tongue with a hint of sweet salmon. The older man blinked slowly as he crunched on toasted baguette, studying a playful smile tugging across lips. He swallowed, scold fully pursed on his lips when Will cupped a hand around his neck and a tip of a pink tongue flicked out to sweep off crumbs clinging to a corner of his mouth. Every rational thought fled his mind to focus solely on the damp swirl, a kind of fog settling in his mind as it pulled away.

“Are you reconsidering?” The younger man asked, wavering mouth trying to suppress a grin.

“Fervently,” Hannibal managed finally, struggling to regain sense and thought, fingertips nearly catching the figure retreating back to safety on the other side.

His hesitating response earned him a full smile of curving lips and pearly white. He stifled a growl, tempted to sweep the delicate gifts aside and claim a lovely mouth between his teeth. Nothing else could possibly taste as divine.

A palm swept up a delicate prosciutto rose, a flourish of fingers offering it up to be sampled next. Casting a tongue over lips, Hannibal stared down at it before sweeping eyes up to study flickering blue and opened his mouth once more. Will smiled again, brows rising with amusement. The younger man nibbled off a petal, pomegranate staining his lips a shade of burgundy before slipping it between sharp teeth. Making an appreciative sound as the delicate treat slipped down his throat, Hannibal pulled a head forward by curls and tasted the salty cured ham mingling with sweet tang of fruit from parting lips. Lashes lazily drifted open, cerulean blue flickering bright.

“You first,” Will said softly, placing the open wine bottle in his hands.

The older man gazed at abandoned flute glasses tucked in the far corner out of reach and sighed with soft smile. “To what are we celebrating?”

A nose wrinkled up in consideration. “Well, we have managed to keep our threats of violence and murder against each other to a minimum?” The older man gave him a sharp look. “Always a scold, Hannibal. You know perfectly why, you, so just…drink the damn wine, please.”

“And if I offered to amend the toast to a turn of phrase including us?”

“Hannibal. I will drink all of it. By myself. With Winston for company. And it was very, very pricey… so make your choice.”

Turning the long necked bottle in his hand, the older man glanced up with an inquisitive look. The label had been torn hastily from the surface. Will was pretending to study raspberries on a small powdered sugar tart. Though he was not doing a very good job at pretending to be preoccupied by sneaking glances. When caught, he chose to ignore both with equal intensity and a glare. He found the look utterly bewitching.

Hannibal closed eyes suspiciously, raising the bottle beneath his nose and inhaled a wafting scent of crisp citrus. It was strangely familiar. He stared at the bottle a moment longer in consideration before tipping it to his lips. Vibrant acidity stung an open split, cool liquid slipping on to his tongue in a blossom of orchard fruits and acacia.

“Batard-Montrachet!” The older man nearly spit out his wine and swallowed it in a choking gulp, gaze snapping up. “William, however did you—“

“No, no, no!” Will burst out laughing, cheeks glowing red with delight. “You are not allowed to ask where I got it or how. And especially not from where.” His hands were held palm up as if directing traffic, continuing on between fits of laughter. “I have absolutely zero intention of either of us getting caught again because of your refined palette, Hannibal. You can interrogate me all you want.” His chin rose ever so deftly, shoulders rolling back. “I was a cop, remember, you won’t get anywhere with me.”

A low rumble in a chest answered, dark gaze sweeping around the room and trying to recall where he had packed away a set of cuffs. The younger man noticed the intensity of his stare, gaze sweeping over parted lips and an unsteady hand crushing the wine bottle. He had an overwhelming sensation to demand an explanation, bones trembling in waves of a heart ripped open by soft gesture and bleeding across the inside of his ribcage.

Will pulled the bottle from his grasp and placed a soft kiss on a cheek, whispering, “I see no reason why I cannot treat you to something you deserve and enjoy.”

Long fingers plucked a grilled peach half moon from its container. Honey drizzled over hollows of fingers, coating knuckles in a glaze of amber. The older man swept delicate golden pink flesh over Will’s lips until he opened, nipping off pieces and dragging it between teeth. He leaned forward, shifting to ease a stirring cock, breath stealing out of his lungs in a hot rush. A pink tongue darted out, drawing fingers into a wet mouth as it swirled off last drops of honey. He studied pinpricks of ocean tides gazing out from lids drifting closed as if searching for some form of dishonesty to answer his disbelief and confusion. Soft adoration looked back. Air cooled fingertips as he buried them quickly in a square of ivory linen to wipe clean. Lips shown in the firelight in a sweet glaze.

“William…” Hannibal breathed out his name reverently, lungs and heart shuddering in unison with a sharp ache. “This is all quite exquisite.” His hands slipped from pink cheeks accenting lowered lashes, slipping down a racing pulse, and began to unfasten a line of buttons. His voice dipped rough and low, “Though if there is some ulterior motive for something you seek, all you need is to ask.”

“I’m glad you like it, Hannibal, mildly insulted by the suggestion…”

Will swatted hands away, leaving the dress shirt gaping open to his navel and leaned out of reach. He shot a feigned scowl over the neck of the bottle, before pushing it to his lips, drinking deep and mumbling in to its glassy surface.

“Le maître says I lack simple presentation, though I did try not to burn anything. Which he tends to overlook and I find rather irritating.”

“Will…”

Hannibal broke through the pure line of white arrangements with a push of his hand, crawling over and positioned his knees over languidly stretched out legs. The younger man tipped his head up, startled by their sudden proximity, bottle snatched away and set near a stone edge of the fireplace.

“Would you mind attempting to voice your thoughts to me and not inanimate objects for a change?” The older man suggested mildly, pushing a chin up with an index finger, leaning in close to listen, to detect any hint of untruth. “I cannot imagine they offer stimulating conversation in return.”

Fingers tugged nervously at a crisp collar, revealing bone sweeping beneath dark black folds draping over a shoulder. “I, uh…” Will cleared his throat loudly, eyes darting around to find a safe place to focus. “I… have been taking some…” Wavering blue settled on the hem of a crimson sweater, words coming out in a rush without a single breath. “I’vebeentakingsomeculinarylessonseveryotherweekafterwork,sorry.”

“You…” Clasping hands around blushing skin, Hannibal dipped his head lower, lips hovering over parted ones in rush of weak sound. “…made all this?”

“I… don’t sound _so_ shocked, Hannibal.” Will rolled his eyes, heat creeping down a jaw and painting his chest an exquisite shade of dusky rose. “I never said I was incapable of cooking. I just… had no reason to…before…why, why… _why_ are you looking at me like that? _I_ am _not_ on the menu. My skull is entirely off limits, understand?”

“I would like to kiss you, William…” The older man forced his growl to sweep to a velvet purr.

“I, uh… god…alright. Yeah, I mean, how could I—”

As soon as he felt heat radiating from lips inching forward, Hannibal cupped both hands protectively around silky curls and pinned Will to the rug beneath him, mouth following in quick succession. His restrained growl quickly turned to a predatory snarl as the younger man unhinged his jaw in a throaty moan. Nails sank into his scalp, clutching at scattering silver fringe to pull closer. He devoured lips with rough sweeps of a burning tongue and light pinpricks of teeth, drinking in rising notes of exquisite expense, intoxicating affection, and flawless creation drizzled in lines of honey.

_Perfection lies stretched out before me draped in shades of shadow and light eyes._

His fingers made quick work of feeble buttons, jerking tails of the dress shirt out from a belted waistband.

_You ought to wear less clothing, Will. I would like nothing but your flawless skin in my arms from sunrise to sunset to explore._

He considered noting aloud it was the younger man overdressed this time, but realized this would require him to stop indelicately partaking of an upturned mouth in near heated violence. Hannibal quickly chose against it, inhaling soft pants of rich wine filtering on his tongue as Will writhed beneath hands running up and down an arching chest and ribcage. A wool covered knee drifted at his hip, seeking skin beneath his sweater in an encouraging caress. The older man drew back to surface for air, gazing down with a rapacious smile, marveling at meticulously tailored construction of charcoal trousers draping across a rigid cock.

Swollen lips parted in a groan. “Jesus Christ, Hannibal…”

Pleased by flushing skin and an adequately breathless response, it was the older man’s turn to retreat back to his side. He was very aware of a heated gaze trailing after him.

“Would you cook for me at another time in my presence?” Hannibal drawled quietly, resting against cabriole legs of the wingback chair, smiling, slinging an arm across his knee. “In our kitchen?”

“I…I would hate to disappoint…” The younger man flopped back on the rug, staring up at the ceiling. “Though I thought this might help my efforts in not setting the kitchen on fire or burning your future get well soups.”

“You are exquisite, Will,” Hannibal responded immediately, heart throbbing with pride as his eyes swept once more over containers. “I would enjoy the opportunity to see your skills progress beneath my careful observation and underneath proper instruction of my hands.” Blue eyes peered around a shoulder, half amused at the suggestive innuendo, darkening a moment later. “I am able to think of more ways then one how I could repay you for preparing a meal, mylimasis.”

“Take this and stop picturing me as the main course,” Will growled out hoarsely, gaze heating, throwing a small white paper bag his direction. “I can hear the cogs in your mind clicking in overtly imaginative machinations.”

_Each one more picturesque than the last, I assure you._

With a hum of satisfaction, the older man caught the bag and shook out its contents on the rug beside the fire. Several glossy magazines slid out in muted tones and bold font. A moment later, Will rolled up to a sitting position with the grace of an acrobat and flopped down in his lap with the inelegance of a crumpling origami swan. He watched the younger man shimmy on to his side, burrowing the side of his face against his right thigh, and wrapped arms lightly around a knee.

He forced himself to remain still, to keep from bending down and capturing another kiss. Instead, he studied glowing skin mapping out a sleeping face, candlelight burning brighter inside his heart. He wondered for a moment if the relaxed figure had done just that and how he might quietly maneuver them both to the bed to rest.

_Is it possible to survive upon your gentle smiles alone, William? To grow to love you more with each passing hour until nothing except my bloodied, beating heart remains to give way in quiet exhaustion?_

“I just thought we could…” A quiet voice startled him out of reverie. “…pick out some things for the house together. You know… to replace the ones I mangled. My…my treat.” Eyes remained closed. Lips swept up in a smile. “Well, at least one of them. I can afford one of them.”

“Surely we could choose a better selection than _Campagne Decoration, Maison Francaise_ , and…” Will lifted eyes at the last word let out with a wrinkle of his nose to stifle mild distaste, blue lighting up as if to find the effort charming. “ _Elle Décor_?”

“Don’t worry…” The younger man rolled on to his back, curls spilling across hips, wearing a grin wide enough to create lovely dimples in his cheeks. “I’ll make sure everything I choose has a price tag large enough to send you into cardiac arrest. And absolutely none of it is sensible. That is your aesthetic right?”

With a resigned affectionate shake of his head, both he and Will grabbed a magazine and began flipping through glossy photos and lengthy fine print descriptions. He was far more focused on barely inaudible humming resonating beneath a crinkle of pages then a search for anything except that simple sound of content. Hannibal stroked curls languidly, drawing out notes he realized the younger man was making unconsciously, lulled by heat of the fire and steadying touch. His vision misted, heart ticking in an aria of a different kind. He was certain for the longest time he would never hear this sound again.

_How long have I waited for you to return to state of peace, William? How precious you are when surrounded by laughter and crinkling smile lines. Safe to touch, caress, and press my lips to yours. Forever, dear one, I would wait._

“How about this one?” An index finger tapped a shadowed photograph.

Fingers settling over ones below, Hannibal tipped it to the light and glanced over a muted frosty beige lounge chair that belonged on a fisherman’s wharf. “Absolutely garish.”

Had he heard a faint pleased sigh when their fingers touched or was it his imagination?

“What if it’s the one I want?” An upside down grin flashed. “Would you still say no?”

“You know I would deny nothing should you ask, Will…” Hannibal confessed, tracing a smile with fingertips, and gazing down, rush of flooding devotion turning maroon to crimson autumn. “Our lives echo in rooms I never knew existed, let alone I would be allowed to enter or remain.”

A throat swallowed hard, tears threatening edges of blue. “It’s furniture, Hannibal, not a lengthy commitment.”

“How would you feel about this one?” The older man asked quickly, thrusting a magazine in front of a face, tapping at anything on the page, glancing down to see he had chosen a steel and white leather nesting table set, cringing.

“What…” Will shook his head with another laugh, jesting argument rushing out, brows arching up in a crease of amusement. “I don’t even know what the hell that’s supposed to be. Look, if I can’t tell first glance what its actual function is, we are not getting it.”

Relief flooded his heart for a moment before a pang throbbed back to life.

“And if it is the only thing I ever truly desired in this life? Or perhaps the next?” An airy whisper left his lips. “If it is all I long to gaze at upon for my remaining days?”

“I…” Will’s mouth trembled, gaze straying to the red ribbon, voice barely audible. “…guess it would be okay then.” Lashes blinked rapidly in a crinkle of pages brought between them to shield. “This? It’s your favorite color.”

Every square inch of an oversized wooden frame bed was covered in muted twilight blues and mossy greens of plaid: a lumpy duvet, throw pillows, and a set of matching sheets. Hannibal stifled a laugh. It was hideous. He could feel warmth of Will’s smile resting beyond pages though he could not see it.

“Glen check plaid is not a color, William, it is a distinct pattern first making its appearance in the 19th century in the Glenurquhart valley and gained its dubbed name by the often rakish Prince of Wales Sir Edward VIII who—“

Shoulders shook against his thighs. Hands ripped away the magazine and tossed it indelicately into the fire.

_Elle Décor, honestly, it is truly more worthy of being kindle for the fire._

“Are you teasing, dear one?”

“Not at all.” Will wore an infectious grin, trying to nip down laughter with clattering teeth in an attempt to wear a serious expression of genuine interest. “I was really hoping to hear you espouse your devotion of textile development and divine its origins all night. Truly.”

Hannibal leaned down, framing the head in his lap with a soft stroke of hands, and pressed a light kiss to lips. When he drew away, he found a somber expression remaining on the face below, eyes wide and searching his own.

“May I ask you something?” Fingertips reached up and traced his cheek.

The older man leaned in to the touch, eyes drifting closed, knowing he longed for nothing else. “Yes.”

Warmth disappeared from his arms. He let out a pained sigh. Will shuffled to an edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the floor, and patted an empty space next to him.

“Come sit by me, Hannibal.”

Something crumbled along edges of the younger man’s tone. It moved him agonizingly forward on his feet and Hannibal settled a few feet away, dragging in a breath to steel himself from the moment breaking apart between them.

“A little closer please…” A near plea sliced open a bleeding heart. “I can’t… you know… touch has been difficult for me.” Hands trembled along velvet lapels, pushing it away and off shoulders. “And you have been a damn saint if we are both honest. And we haven’t been able to… I haven’t been able to sleep with you.”

Maroon eyes fixed intently on flickering flames, trying to push out a crash of hurt and longing. “William…”

“Hannibal…look at me, _please_. This is… difficult for me.” Will’s voice cracked, drawing his immediate gaze. “I’m not saying it… to hurt you.”

Hannibal reached out and pressed shaking hands between the safety of his palms, tempo of his heart slowing and faltering, apology ready upon his lips.

“If I… if I let you undress me, will you just lie here with me? Or would that… hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you.” Tears flecked dark lashes in light, whisper fading out in broken tones of fallen snow. “But… I’d like to kiss you. For you to kiss me…”

“William…” He struggled in a choked breath, framing a face in trembling hands, leaning their foreheads together, a mirror of closed eyes and parted lips. “The agony I will experience is simply not how you imagine. To bestow upon me the purest gift of your trust…”

“I don’t want to talk anymore.” A fluttering palm settled over lips. “Can you do that for me, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I should reallyyy be sleeping. And no I am not misty around the eyes or crying :insert Flight of the Conchords reference here: Also, does anyone else find it so ridiculous that 9-10 pages of writing, that takes what...5-6 hours, looks so tiny on the A03 format...?)
> 
> Crash and Burn x Angus and Julia Stone
> 
> Won't you take me  
> Be my love next door  
> When you run out  
> I can bring some more  
> Won't you throw down  
> This heart of mine  
> And I'll roll out  
> My stretch of time  
> Oh my stretch of time
> 
> Will you come back  
> If I turn and run?  
> Will you come find me  
> If I crash and burn?


	105. Chapter 105

Skin shivered across bent knees on an edge of the bed in a rustle of sheets. Burning fingers loosened three more buttons then rested on a half turned face staring intently at bones crushed in trembling hands clasped tight against thighs. Will took a steadying breath, meeting bleeding crimson with a feeble nod and a wavering smile of what he hoped looked like reassurance. Index fingers traced angled lines of his collarbone delicately, sketching each inch of skin with a flick of eyes. Fingers slipped beneath stitched seams and traced patterns feather light. Black cotton sighed off his shoulders and pooled around biceps in a murky embrace, exposed skin cooling in the night air and warmed by soft lips unhurried in exploration.

Drawing close, Hannibal pressed a kiss beneath his right ear and trailed lips down the curve of his shoulder and nipped lightly down a bicep. A palm slid beneath fabric, caressing up the left side of his ribcage, snaked beneath an arm to pull the younger man closer. Will shuffled forward hesitantly, brushing his cheek against a bent neck as a reverent mouth wound its way up his bicep to create a perfect trail to mirror one on the other side. A hand followed after until arms sheltered him on both sides, patiently waiting, soft gentle strokes tracing tensed shoulder blades. He murmured a soft sigh to continue against a broad shoulder, rewarded with light pinpricks of nails scoring gently down his back. His dress shirt fluttered to the floor.

Will resisted the urge to wrap arms around his torso to hide and keep his gaze steadily focused on the older man, watching purposeful movements with unblinking eyes, searching for signs of trust. Hannibal lowered slowly to the floor, resting on his knees between thighs, backlit by warmth of firelight outlining his body in a faint glow. Breath warmed the inside of his lungs as a crimson sweater joined the floor followed by leather shoes and rolled up dress socks, carefully ensuring they were equally exposed to the other’s gaze. He traced silvery strands clinging to the column of a neck, wandering over angled muscles of a chest, before tracking back to meet a glowing gaze. He looked as vulnerable as Will felt, lashes sweeping low, trying to hide beneath a veneer of rigid lips pressed in concentration, forcibly remaining still to see and be seen.

Reaching forward, Will pressed his mouth to a forehead, soul faintly crumbling inside skin as Hannibal pushed in with a deep rumble of adoration emanating from a chest as words breathed across his lips, “You are so fucking beautiful it hurts, Hannibal.”

Maroon eyes dragged up, shadows flickering to light as muscles in a jaw clenched to remain quiet. Thumbs swirled at his bare ankles, light pressure slipping up calves and fading away from trembling thighs. The older man placed dry palms over hands clutching sheets to keep in place, mouth seeking out sensitive sides and tongue following the curve of a waistband. He groaned as arms pulled him forward as Hannibal lifted up and made a path across his chest and down his navel, quiet hum leaving a trail of sensitive skin in the wake of open mouth kisses.

Beginning to shake, Will threaded his fingers in silvery strands, breath hitching each time hair and lips brushed across his skin. He let out a low noise as fingers hooked in belt loops and peeled trousers over thighs, lifting hips as they pulled away from knees and created a puddle on the rug. He bit down on his bottom lip when the older man retreated, aching for the return of touch and gentle warmth to steady and chase away a fluttering fear texturing his skin. Lips parted in a rush of breath as Hannibal straddled his lap in ivory silk boxers and pulled lightly at curls, tipping his chin up as a dark gaze fell to lips.

“There is no need for us to do anything more then touch lips and caress, William,” The older man spoke softly, lulling him safely into the sensation of nails swirling through curls, a warm tingle spreading across his scalp. “I would drink from your mouth in prayer and worship shadows nestling across your skin for hours.”

“So fucking good to me…” Will murmured against an arching throat reverberating with a groan, sucking faint bruises into a rigid chest until hands clenched his hair, unfurling silk ribbon tickling his shoulder. He reached blindly back, tugging the ribbon free and looked up with a pitiful expression. “Are you going to lose my gift with such stoic disregard, Hannibal?”

Maroon eyes widened slightly in protest, staring out from a fringed fog clinging to lashes and cheeks. Will drew the face forward, wearing a stern expression as if to scold, before sweeping back the older man’s hair and tying it loosely at the back of a straining neck. He watched cracks forming in deep fault lines of Hannibal’s face, undone by the simplicity of the gentle gesture. Shadows deepened beneath eyes, clinging to a thin lipped mouth, crumbling as hands trailed lightly down his spine lovingly.

“There…” The younger man whispered softly, tucking a stray strand behind an ear, gaze drifting up to meet a wavering one, flooding with a spark of insecurity, veil lifted and looked upon openly with utter acceptance.

_Jesus Christ, Hannibal, how can you look even more beautiful every time I lay eyes on you? You make me want to be the best version of myself… For you. For us._

“Now I can see you…”

_And look upon the face of the man I love with every piece of my feeble heart._

Autumn leaves covered in a fine mist of morning dew gazed back, shimmering with a hint of a pained smile and trembling skin.

“Come here, Hannibal, stay with me. I’ve got you.”

Drawing the older man into arms, Will sank back against the mattress and leaned across to press his mouth against sensitive undersides of sturdy biceps shaking to keep space between their bodies, to keep from collapsing and remain strong. He lifted his head and kissed eyelids drifting closed, following a peaked brow, and stilling beside the shell of an ear.

“You are a good man,” Will murmured gently, searching an agonized gaze. He shifted until their legs entangled in a hush of dragging skin, running an arching foot up a trembling calf. “You are immensely strong…” He kissed a corner of a mouth tenderly, stroking knuckles over arched cheekbones to flick away gathering shadow. “Kind hearted…” He placed his mouth above a heart hammering hard and fast, tongue flicking out to taste skin. “Patient and compassionate…”

His hands glided up arms and over shoulders, following every ticking muscle to caress in softer form of worship, arms threatening to collapse around him in crumbling pillars and broken stained glass.

“You make me feel safe. Wanted. Protected.” Will drew out a wounded sound as lips trailed after hands to emphasize each word until he was certain the older man was on the verge of falling and drew back with a faint loving smile. “And even though I am fairly certain eighty percent of our meals are human, you are, in fact, an excellent fucking cook.”

“G-g-god, Will.” Hannibal choked back a laugh, eyes snapping open, rimmed in tears.

Will quieted a broken sound, brushing quickly at wet tear tracks to heal them. _I just want to make you happy…_

“I fear I must agree with your earlier statement.” The younger man leaned in to a palm caressing the side of his face, fading inside soft eyes. “You are astonishingly terrible at romantic sentiment.”

His lips quirked up in a teasing smile. “Why do you think I allow you to be the besotted romantic in the relationship?”

“Besotted?” Hannibal unconsciously smiled, brows rising in handsome crease of lines, each one asking for a brush of fingers and lips to memorize and cherish. “What century are we living in, dear one, remind me?”

“Nineteenth century Victorian London obviously,” Will answered mildly, trying to keep a solemn face as the older man stifled laughter, each sound pattering lightly through his heart. “And you are wounding my delicate pride by not falling madly in love with my attempts to court you.”

“We would have been quite the scandal if found out…” The older man ducked his head and kissed a path across his jaw. “Sodomy was a capital offense punishable by hangman’s noose in some cases or a lengthy term in prison until nineteen twenty eight.”

“Then I would have had to kill any man who dared try to take you or die trying.”

Fingers stilled against his shoulders, pressing in with a shaking grip at the admission. Nuzzling against a neck, Will kissed above an echoing pulse and tugged lightly at silk boxers.

“Now, take these off…” His voice trailed off with a breath hitching against his ear. “…and kiss me for God sake. I don’t want to wait another five damn years for you to make up your mind.”

They knelt on the mattress, leaning over to steal light kisses as hands entangled, pushing and dragging fabric down each other’s thighs. After a few minutes, they both slid beneath a flutter of white sheets and reached out to seek entangling limbs joining in a brush of patient motion. Will guided fingertips up the sides of arching cheeks, palms framing his face in return, steady gaze locked between their eyes. He shivered beneath the depths of devotion crashing in an unwavering gaze, letting out a quiet sigh. He curved an ankle around tensing thighs until their chests touched, brushing a thumb across lips. Images of every single time in the last few months Hannibal had looked at him, starved and helpless to anything except the magnetic pull of their lips, to seek his touch and affection only to be turned away, looped endlessly in his mind. Thorns wrapped around his heart, squeezing in bloodied suffocation.

_I never meant to hurt you._

Pulling roughly on hair, Will joined their mouths with a primal growl to strip away lines of pain etched in the face lying across from him. He closed eyes to focus on the press of dry lips moving with tender attention in time with his own, stroking hands down to hold to a sturdy waist for a deeper connection. He jerked as a tongue lapped at corners of his lips, slicing across the opening before pushing in. Hands clasped the back of his neck to steady the sound of breath panting between their mouths, accompanied by bones creaking tentatively in unison. He caved beneath the mere sensation of touch, caress drawing out an irregular beat of his heart, drawn without hesitation to safety and shelter of arms.

Tongues entangled between their lips in a rush of shared breath pushing out from Hannibal’s lungs and filling Will’s in a reverberating heat. Could they live on each other’s breath alone without parting? They kissed open mouthed, twisting and turning to find a perfect fit of interlocking lips, taking turns to explore damp caverns of mouths and pointed teeth. His lips chapped, lost in muddled time, tongue darting out to soothe. A sharp growl and fingertips twisting in his curls responded. The younger man’s jaw began to ache, whimpering as answering groans deepened, returning to a soft rhythm of gentle touch and searching hands roaming across skin. Sliding a hand down a clenching stomach, Will hooked a leg around a bent knee and wrapped fingers around the base of burning cock in an firm upward stroke.

“William,” A low growl sounded as teeth sank in to his shoulder to claim, groaning at the sudden split of throbbing pain.

“You’re so hard, Hannibal…” The younger man let out breathlessly, lost in the sight and sensation of stroking, thumbing across a rush of white liquid, and tilting his mouth up to an ear. “Tell me what you want. What you need.”

Fingers gripped at his waist as hips bucked unsteadily on another down stroke. “ _Will._ ”

Stripping off a tangle of sheets between legs, Hannibal rolled Will on to his side and pressed a chest against arching shoulder blades and sucked delicate skin of a throat between teeth. Their fingers threaded, hands clenched over his chest and threading heartbeat. He felt his cock swell, lifting, throbbing in time to each scrape of teeth, locked in a near crushing embrace. The younger man swore a little louder as a tongue lapped and swirled over each ache before drifting to create another one, pink blossoms brightening a red bouquet from the edge of his jaw down to his shoulder. His gaze drifted up to corners of eyes to find glowing crimson focused intently on gnawing at the curve of his neck. He let out a throaty moan. His chin tucked in, hot breath panting across their joined hand to watch a strong thigh sling across his and drag his hips over sheets.

“H-hann!” Will yelped, clawing at wrists, as a thick cock rocked against the small of his back. “…p-please…y-you know I can’t.”

Hands disappeared immediately. Cold flooding in as he listened to the older man roll away with a vehement foreign curse flooding with guilt and blurring with need, thumping a fist against the bed and slinging another over his eyes. Will struggled to a sitting position curving an arm across bent knees, cheeks flushed, and lightly touched a shaking hand with his own to quiet ragged breathing.

A hiss answered between clenched teeth. “My deepest apologies, William. I adamantly stand by my intentions towards you. I did not intend to—”

“It’s not your fucking fault, Hannibal…” The younger man whispered fiercely, kneeling across a torso and wrapping arms around ones tensing beneath, blanketing his body over the one below. “Let me touch you.” He felt Hannibal beneath shudder as he ran palms over shoulders, pushing arms away, and stroking down sides and swirling over pointed hips. “I promise…alright. Is it going to be all right? I just need a little more time.”

“Of course…” Lips trembled across the top of his head, hands submissively pinned to the bed by an invisible force of defeat. “As long as you need.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have what you need,” Will growled up, rolling back sheets and draping them over calves. “And it doesn’t mean I said you could stop touching or kissing me. I still want you! So don’t think you are allowed to cave in and give up.” Lips pressed in to a thin line. “I want to watch you.”

Lashes slipped open over hazed maroon. “Will?”

“Sit up.”

Arms hooking under broad shoulders, Will pulled the older man to a sitting position and climbed into his lap, knees trapping a trembling waist in a bruising snap. He was not going to let the moment slip away until the older man was growling, moaning, and completely sated, even if it took all night. He set his jaw with a grind of teeth to focus and set about finding out just how many ways he could make them come before they passed out from exhaustion. Hannibal deserved that much. 

He wound their lips together to stifle a protest, burying a forceful tongue deep in a hot mouth to carve out a groan. Palms coursed roughly up his thighs as Hannibal rose to meet the assault, fingertips curling over soft clefts of an ass and yanked forward. The younger man moaned as their bare throbbing cocks collided, twisting his hips to grind down. He was rewarded with a nip of teeth dragging his tongue further in before lips sank over to soothe the ache. Pants rose to sharp ragged breaths, head thrown back as a strong hand wrapped around their shafts, gliding up and down in rush of slick wet heat.

“Oh fuck!” His hips bucked up, gasping out a curse at the sight of the older man straining forward to lap at their heads, spit trailing down a shaking fist. Another tentative swirl had him shoving away the hand away. “Fucking Christ. Is this what you want? God, let me.”

Rolling aching shoulders forward, Will hunched over and gripped the base of their cocks together, stroking harder, slowing only to push lips over swollen heads and tongue across a rush of liquid. Hannibal moaned. Nails raked down his back in splitting sting, over his hips, and an open palm lightly smacked his ass. The motion sent lips rocking forward, grip tightening, struggling to choke down the sudden invasion of warm salty skin filling his mouth and pushing across the flat of his tongue.

Dragged up by roots of his hair, Hannibal licked pre-come and spit from the corners of his mouth appreciatively and reached between their thighs to continue stroking. The younger man thrust his hips forward, nails digging in to the small of his back, seeking out frenzied rhythm picking up pace and faded between gasping for air as tongue delved in to his mouth.

Teeth nipped at his jaw, hoarse sound breathing out, “In the glow of firelight, your eyes are frescos of prayers coming to life upon the Sistine Chapel…” Will’s eyes slipped open, cheeks flushing, to find dark ones locked on his, ravaged by hunger and pleasure mounting between them. “Would you allow me forever to seek my redemption inside your gaze?”

Rolling quickly to his back, the younger man tapped lazily at his chest, gaze lingering on a thick cock bobbing and a swing of velvety balls between bunching thighs crawling up the length of his body, growling, “Come here if you want your penance, Hannibal.” Hands lashing out, the younger man dragged knees forward by hips forcefully. “No. _Here_.”

Hannibal flung forward, gripping at the frame of the bed and looked down at lips hovering below a cock with bated breath. Will tentatively ran a tip of his tongue from base to tip, following a thick vein with increased pressure, eliciting a hungry moan. He glanced up, continuing to lick, reaching between thighs and massaged balls, rolling them in his palm, admiring the impossible arch of the older man’s back and chest. A violent trembling shook through the older man’s body as he began to lave over a sticky coated slit, sucking lightly on the head with lips and dragged down in a light graze of teeth.

“Si sta tentando di uccidermi!” Lips parted in a throaty groan turning to a frustrated growl as the younger man continued to tease.

(You’re trying to kill me!)

“Un avant-gout?” Will asked with a curve of lips, dragging blunt nails down thighs and rolled the flat edge of his tongue around a burning shaft.

(A taste?)

Flashing teeth snarled down. “William!”

Strong hands threaded through soft curls and rolled Will beneath inside a whirl of muted color, pinning him to the bed in a jab of knees and fingers crushed around his wrists. He grinned up, running a tongue across swollen lips, pleased with the reaction. Hannibal devoured his mouth in a clash of teeth and hot swirling tongues, viciously clawing out a succession of moans as they rutted against each other in a tangle of legs and rough drag of hips.

“If you…” Hannibal lifted his head, red mouth bloodied from teeth, voice dipping to violent shades of bruises, hoarse with warning. “If you speak to me this way…. I will not be responsible for my actions.” He guided a hand to his cock, enveloping it, both their fingers curling around the base and stroking up. “I will fuck you unconscious into this mattress every waking moment until dawn.”

“But you just got done saying—“ Will dragged his gaze reluctantly away from stroking the older man to release, breath shuddering burnt umber then glowing red as he met dark glittering eyes. “Oh… you’re serious.”

Pushing Hannibal to his side, the younger man kissed his way down a throat, running a tongue across dusky nipples, smirking up at the sound of another groan. He shimmied his way down to a navel, feet dangling over the side of the bed. He looked up the golden length of a torso and licked experimentally at a slick head.

“ _J'ai envie de toi._ _Tu m'excites_ …” Will breathed cool air across burning skin, lips curving up. “ _Il ne vous excitent?”_

(I want you. You turn me on. Does it turn you on?)

“William, _c-cazzo_ …” Nails clawed at sheets, silvery strands framing dark eyes as a tongue prodded at the slit. “I will do nnnn ungodly things to ah…”

(Fuck.)

He reached around hips, stroking fingertips between cheeks and lightly teased a ring of muscle, rocking his dripping cock against a tensing leg. “ _Est-il meilleur que mes mains?”_

(Is it better than my hands?)

Hannibal reached down and clenched fingers in hair, tugging a sharp warning.

“ _Mieux que ma langue_?” He tongued a slick line up the inside of a right thigh, swirling over a perineum.

(Better than my tongue?)

Will gazed up at madness stealing across an upturned face struggling for air, running a tongue deliberately slow across lips. “Ou est juste ma bouche qui vous fascine?”

(Or is it just my mouth that fascinates you?)

“ _William_.”

“Bientôt. Je promets.”

(Soon. I promise.)

Without waiting for an invitation, Will dug fingertips into an ass and buried his mouth between inner thighs, nosing at a ball sack and leaving trails of spit with a nimble tongue coursing in pursuit. He tilted his head, wrapping lips around a head and sinking slowly on a cock thrusting in, burying his nose in a thicket of curls with a hum.

“Non posso! Perpiace!” A threading groan dragged off lips, writhing beneath a burning wet mouth drawing up and down slowly. “Will, I won’t… I won’t…”

(I cannot! Please!)

“Mmmm,” Will mumbled around a mouthful of a liquid rushing along his tongue, pressing an index finger in between cheeks and pushed inside a tight hot ring of muscle. “Doctor Lecter.”

“ _Si sta_ …” The older man let out a desperate moan as another finger joined, mouth working a slippery mess over his cock as fingers spread him wide. “… _andando a farmi_ …ah…Will…nnn…ah si.”

(You’re going to make me…)

“Hannibal…” Stormy blue eyes dragged up, cock slip out of a mouth in an obscene pop. “I want you to.”

A dark snarl was all the warning Will had before he found himself flipped on his side and dragged up a mattress by ankles. He let out a hoarse scream, arching against a mattress, as Hannibal sucked down to the base of his cock in one swift movement, spit and come foaming around his head in a rush of heat.

“Oh god! H-hannibal, C-c-christ! I-I-I…god, fuck!” Will clawed at peaked hips, mouth watering, desperately trying to wrap around a thick cock slung inches from his face and bring them both to release. His tongue laved a wet stripe, ringing around a head, breathlessly moaning, “ _C-c-comme ca_?”

(Like that?)

Black eyes strayed up to his flushing face, curving lips glittering sharp points of teeth. His eyes snapped shut. Will let out another series of _fuck me, fuck, fuck me_ followed in quick succession by the older man’s name, vision hazing dark and then red as his cock was driven in a violent pace in the back of a throat. Throaty growls vibrated around his shaft from base to tip, pressure building at the base of his spine. His toes curled against the headboard as a wet tongue swirled around his head, groaning loud as lips released.

“ _E'questo_ _quello che volevi, Will_?” Hannibal snarled, switching to jerk his hand up and down a rigid cock thrusting in and out of his palm.

(Is this what you wanted?)

“Nnn, H-hannibal.”

Dark eyes flashed. “Say it!”

“Fuck me!” Will pushed his feet against the headboard, arching, shaking as come dripped steadily from his cock and down violent fingers working him faster. “Fuck!” A rough palm smacked against his ass, sending sparks flashing bright behind eyelids. “ _Oh fuck_!”

“ _Ditelo_ _in Francese_!” Teeth nipped hard at his waist and sucked a bruise above his hip.

(Say it in French.)

A desperate moan left his lips. “Hann— _baise-moi_!”

(Fuck me.)

Fingers slipped to the base of his cock, hot mouth plunging on and swallowing as Will let out a half strangled moan, coming hard down the back of a throat with a snap of hips. Lips drank him in, hand stroking him through release until he was seeing white heat and flashes of red flickering to dark.

“That wasn’t…” He mumbled, half conscious and fading. “ _I_ was supposed to touch.”

“And _you_ were warned to speak English,” A terse growl reminded, hands dragging his body into the safety of burning arms and damp skin.

“I was?” Will buried his face in the crook of an arm, lazily caressing fingertips across a shivering chest. “What would you do to me if I only spoke French to you from this day forward? Or perhaps Italian? Or—”

“What I _am_ going to do with you, Will, _present tense_.” A predatory smirk shadowed upturned lips. “You are far from finished.”

“God is it that…” Blue eyes strayed to a cock straining towards a navel, brushing a knee up knotted muscles in a thigh. “Do you like it that much? I never knew I could make you lose control with just the sound of my voice.” A deep growl answered as he wrapped fingers around a cock and began stroking lightly, glancing up with a pleased upturned corner of lips and a satisfied breath. “Would you like me to treat that, Doctor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :places hands on keyboard: I am SO sorry I disappeared for a few days. I have been feeling all sorts of under the weather. I missed you, guys. Thank you for being patient, and holy hell for all the beautiful comments since I have been away! Mirroring images of their first kiss from Chapter 2 I believe, role reversal. 
> 
> (SlyKing, let me know if you see improvements for French translations! xo)
> 
> Mood Music: Draw Your Swords x Angus and Julia Stone   
> I aint got nothing left to give  
> Nothing to lose  
> So come on Love, draw your swords  
> Shoot me to the ground  
> You are mine, I am yours  
> Lets not fuck around  
> Cause you are, the only one


	106. Chapter 106

Charcoal whisked across linen colored parchment paper draped across a smooth jacket bound book poised on a knee. Hannibal glanced up from grey hatch crossing forming elegant lines of a relaxed mouth and felt a soft smile pulling at his heart strings. Dark peonies of fallen curls coiled over a smooth forehead buried in the crook of an arm and brushed over thick lashes resting on cheeks. A smaller hand was tucked against a smooth chest to keep warm. Delicate textured lines of parted lips pillowed over knuckles breathing out soft sighs of peaceful slumber. Will looked utterly calm, veiled in a dreamless sleep and steady breathing.

The older man reached over from where he was seated in the wingback chair and pulled a tussle of sheets up from a waist. White cotton draped with a wispy flutter over shoulders pressed to the mattress. Hints of a pale peach sky set skin and hair alike glowing beneath clouds of fabric rustling softly as Will curled precariously towards an edge of the bed, a sleepy murmur pressed to his hand.

Hannibal set the sketch he had been working on for an hour aside on the stone mantle place and leaned forward, balancing his head between palms. Every valve and twist of sinew of his heart ached and all he had been doing was watching the younger man sleep.

_William, the very heavens in the sky pale in comparison to the light of your eyes. May I gaze upward and worship nothing else for all my remaining days._

Ashen embers curled in trails of smoke from the fireplace, residual heat drifting across the rug, over bare feet, and through the room. He stroked curls away from eyes lightly with two fingers and quietly watched the younger man nuzzle back unconsciously, clutched fast by the lulling embrace of sleep. Twice he had resisted the urge to pull the pliant body from the bed and gather limbs inside his arms to hold, returning his focus to mapping out effervescent beauty on parchment. A third time seemed like too much to resist.

Rising and toeing forward across the rug with aching legs, the older man scooped Will, tangle of sheets and all, in to his arms and settled back into the caress of velvet of the chair with a sigh.

“Mmm…” A faint stirring sound left lips.

His palm curved up the back of a head nestling closer to his chest as knees gathered up in a tight ball to press against cushions. He unhooked his left arm from beneath knees and slung it around thighs and a waist to draw closer. Pushing sore shoulders back into pillows, Hannibal rested his temple against a forehead and lightly caressed bare skin with swirling fingertips. Encircling the younger man’s warm body in his arms, he hushed quiet sounds with a press of lips and allowed his eyes to drift closed.

He had only managed to sleep for an hour before rising in deft motions, leaving the younger man undisturbed and sleeping soundly. Hannibal had paced the room noiselessly at first, walking a path in front of glass windows from edge to edge, looping back time and again. He couldn’t figure out what it was gnawing the pit of his stomach from a haze of muddled dreams until he pulled the red ribbon from his hair. It had been the closest unspoken declaration of marriage he had managed, heart flickering fast in a flutter of emotion every time he found Will looping it around fingers or absently playing with it. His throat closed up every time four little words skittered across his tongue and his heart beat in an irregular palpitation for the answer he might receive, for a question he was unable to ask, wrapped tight in blotted confession remaining unspoken.

 

Whispering velvet snaked through the back of his mind _. You have to tell him._

_I cannot._ The older man twisted in the chair, trying to shake away the low sound. _I cannot break his trust. He has clawed his way from nightmares to return to me. If I were to lose him now…_

_How would it work exactly?_ Thorns ticked quietly. _Do you imagine he would be more forgiving if he gave you his life, took your name, and loved you unconditionally without knowing your deception and discovered it in your old age? It wouldn’t break his trust. It would break him. Don’t you realize by now you are his world?_

_I… love him. He is my very life._

_You cannot truly love someone you do not fully know, unaware of deception and monsters lurking in the night. You love only parts revealed in light, blind to the darkest poison trapped in shadow. It would be a lie. Are you going to lie to him for the rest of your lives? Or just until one of you is on your deathbed in confession?_

 

A cool palm fluttered at his neck, drawing him out of darkened rooms and back to the sloping body of the boy curled content and sleeping in the protection of his arms, inside the embrace of a nightmare. Hannibal released a cracking sigh from his mouth, echoing in the sounds of a fracturing heart. Running fingers from collarbone to chin to tip up a soft glowing face, the older man lowered his head and covered lips in lull of snowy dandelion blooms drifting across a placid lake.

“Buondì, bello,” He murmured across a mouth, stroking fingers through curls and down a shadowed jaw.

“Good…” Tangled lashes creaked open over clouded meteor shower of falling stars. "…morning, Hannibal…?” Will let his eyes drift open and closed, bleary eyed and hoarse with mild confusion and tender whisper. “When you said you wanted to render me unconscious, I thought you meant after I had gotten more than three hours of sleep...mmm.”

The older man drank the last words off his lips in a light hum, tongue darting out to sweep across sweet salty texture.

Fingers latched in his hair and pulled him away. “What are you doing?”

“Reacquainting myself with your mouth, dear one,” Hannibal answered plainly, head quirking to the side before leaning in for another kiss. “I had thought it would have been obvious.”

“Could we become reacquainted after I’ve gotten more sleep?” Will hid a smile beneath an upturned palm, murmuring incoherently when the older man began to trail lips across it, tongue dipping between spaces of finger to seek lips. “What time is it?”

“Nearly sunrise.” He plucked the hand away and began a trail on the backside of knuckles and fingers to ensure it received equal attention. “And as it is I need you awake.”

“Need?” The younger man groaned, slouching down in his lap and burying his face above a point of a hip, hot breath fluttering out across a bare navel. “I am still sore and muscles I didn’t even know existed hurt, how, in the seven names of _hell,_ are you even still functioning?”

A pleased hum radiated around fingers dipping in to a warm mouth.

“Don’t sound so damn pleased with yourself.”

“I require very little sleep, William…” Hannibal afforded a feigned scowl with another quick kiss across both cheeks and a forehead, reaching out to stroke a knee resting lonely and barren across an armrest. “Less so when I have something entirely exquisite to afford my attention and fascination.”

“You are looking at me like I’m a human soufflé again, Hannibal…” The younger man snapped the sheet over his knee, sleepy eyes drifting closed with a huffed out breath. “Go amuse yourself by taking Winston for a walk and wake me up in another five hours when it is not an ungodly time and I—Jesus!”

During the short outburst, Hannibal had managed to snake a hand through an entangled maze of cotton to find seams of burning thighs and palmed a slender cock hardening inside his palm, nails lightly tracing a perineum. He glanced down longingly at an arcing throat, tongue darting between open glistening lips, stroking slowly.

“With my hands?” The older man licked a path up the neck, whispering against a lobe of an ear low enough to make the face tilt in and listen. “Or with my mouth?”

“Alright, alright! I’m awake!” Will flushed bright red, wriggling in a helpless trap of cloth and nearly falling to the rug. Strong arms lifted him back up. Narrowed blue eyes flashed up, wavering between sleep deprivation and lust. “ _Why_ am I awake?”

Stifling a bubble of laughter caressing lungs, Hannibal reached around the chair and lifted a delicate flute glass filled with a mix of orange juice laced with champagne with a sweep of fingers. He lifted a ragged wilderness of curls in his palm and pressed babbling lips to a glass, tipping, and silencing the sound with a rush of cool liquid.

“Mmm…” Will opened his eyes, expression softening as he watched the older man drain the contents and place it back on an oval wooden table with a clink. “Thank you, Hann…”

For a moment the older man was prepared to purr over the eloquent display of manners until he was cut off.

“But this isn’t coff—oh.”

Touching a hand to his forehead to hide a predictable smile pulling at the corners of his lips, Hannibal shook his head and pushed a piping cup of rich dark coffee swirling in a hurricane of heavy cream into hands below.

Will blinked. Once. Twice. He glanced back at the coffee and then up at fair eyebrows rising on the older man’s forehead. “Perfect.”

“Are you still incapable of believing I am able to predict and provide for your every need and whim without even having to be asked? Dear Will, are you searching for further education then what I was able to supply last evening?” Hannibal admired blinking eyes peering up over the glass rim, painted in hues of red carnations, mouth concentrating hard on not choking down coffee in a sputter. “ _Fazenda Santa Ines_ is one of my more preferred choices of coffee to wake up to with its rich aroma and distinct flavor. Perfection seems a stretch. And this time, you do not have to consume mine or break it in pursuit of… other things.”

“I meant _you_ ,” Will grumbled, sipping louder with displeasure. “I am deeply reconsidering or regretting. I am far too tired to determine which.”

“Careful, William…” The older man whisked away a chocolaty glisten dripping down a chin and licked it off an index fingertip, voice tumbling out in an aching whisper, “I might begin to think you have fallen for me and will seek out such flowering compliments from your lips with fervent ardor of a man starved.”

“You’re an ass.” A dark brow quirked up, handing the drained cup back. “And I love you. Better?”

Setting the cup aside, Hannibal carried flailing limbs to the bed and plopped down on an edge facing towards the balcony overlooking the stretch of forest leading out to a glistening bay shimmering golden and peach. He placed the younger man in between his thighs and draped his chest over a back, wrapping arms around a waist and resting his chin in the dip of a slender shoulder. He would enjoy one last moment of serenity and warmth before he confessed. Surely they deserved as much.

“Would you like to stay awake to watch the sunrise with me, Will?” He murmured against skin, nuzzling gently.

“Oh, I see. Are you giving me a choice now?” Smaller hands curved down his elbows, lingering at wrists, before palms settled over his hands. “Well, I’m awake now, aren’t I. It’s not like I need to pencil you in to my vast social calendar for a date. Though I really would prefer more notice and a helluvalot more sleep.”

“Will, dear one…”

_I love you. I promise to care for you every moment if you stay.  
_

An agonizing burst of emotion unfurled inside of Hannibal’s chest, breathing out an unsteady sigh of incoherent apologies and promises. He mouthed silent words with kisses trailing from neck to shoulder. What was it about the easy upturn of the younger man’s soft mouth and starkly gentle displays of rude tendencies he found so terribly endearing? Was it happiness? Content? Or unconditional love tracing fondly across his fingertips and breathing out his name? Or the idea of loss?

“Missing the sun rise.”

“I assure you I am paying it due attention…” Hannibal murmured, slipping out from behind the younger man and drawing him to feet, fingers curled in sheets and guiding towards glass. “My intent was to watch the light cast a glow over your skin and fill your eyes, William.”

“And here I thought that was why you were sketching me…”

Will watched a hand delicately curve around his waist, rest on his hip, and give him a slight push forward. White cotton tumbled to the floor and pooled around their bare feet. Sliding hands up narrow hips, Hannibal guided palms over shoulders and up arms, joining hands and placing them above a head of curls, fingertips warming glass. The younger man tipped his head to the side, cheek pressing in, a blue eye sliding to a lovely corner as skin melded with glass windows. Halo of gold dipped in the sky, setting curls flowing around a head in a lovely angelic glow as crimson painted skin ablaze in flame.

_I will never truly…_ A pang ached in his chest. _…be able to capture the beauty of your flesh or the pure expanse of your soul._

Breath fogged glass white before fading in a deep fluttering ache. “And is it everything you hoped for?”

The older man lightly traced soft clefts with thumbs and pressed fingertips into shadowy divots. Carding nails around a shivering ribcage, Hannibal stepped in and ran hands up a smooth chest, pressing head to toe in skin and faint warmth of embrace.

“More,” Hannibal whispered in a tremor of pain against a throat, breathing in snow melting off pine trees and scattering across wild lilies.

“God, you aren’t… you’re not wearing anything, are you?”

“Your lack of observational skills during the twilight hours is most alarming, Will.”

Flipping the younger man quickly on his back, hands latched on to thighs, hoisting up. Glass panes shuddered as hips and shoulders hit back against them. Hannibal pinned Will to the window, curving an arm around an ass and placing a splay of fingers around the base of a neck, a thumb keeping a chin firmly tilted up to rest his gaze upon. The younger man wrapped arms quickly around his neck, blue eyes bright pools shimmering with surprise. Shivering legs wound expertly around his waist, knees quivering against ribs. A gasp left inviting lips as hips rocked forward in a slow grind.

“You’ve never uh…” Words trailed off absently from the younger man’s tongue, focus stripped away to nothing except friction and pressure of a thick cock pressing in, trail of white trickling and pooling between seams of thighs. “Oh Christ, we’ve never done this.”

“There are a great many things I still long to experience with you, William,” Hannibal growled, kneading supple flesh in a roll of fingers along a cleft as he watched with equal fascination as fingertips traced their cocks, hips twisting in a rougher rocking motion. “Opportunity has never allowed me the expanse of glass mirrors or windows to thoroughly ravish your body against.”

“Ravish?” A pink tongue flicked out. “Really?”

“Thoroughly _fuck_ , if you would prefer a more vivid vulgarity.”

“G-given this much t-thought?” The younger man groaned, shoving back in to a brutal roll of hips.

“I would have liked to take you many times in the office windows facing the street after our sessions…” Hannibal flashed teeth, a heated crimson gaze burning brighter at each moan elicited, pressing his wet mouth to a curve of an ear, tone dipping lower with each word. “Lights off, your naked body pressed between my suit jacket and glass, a writhing indecipherable shadow to any looking on. My very own personal carnal sin to make scream.”

“And what if I wanted to _ravish_ you against our bedroom walls or glass windows, Hannibal, what then?” An incisor nipped playfully at his bottom lip.

Ungracefully disentangling with a prod of a knee and a jab of an elbow, Will dropped lightly to feet and grinned up, gaze flashing mischievously. The younger man tackled him with a light laugh, arms latching tight around his waist, and swinging Hannibal in the direction of glass in a dizzying spell of gold and blue. He managed a blustering protest before thumbs dug in above his hips and fingernails sank into his thighs.

With a rough grunt and shaking arms, Will muscled Hannibal up straining thighs and shoved him inelegantly back against windows. He panted between clenched teeth, corners of lips twitching in a smile as the older man stared down, struck between absurdity and being impressed. Given how limbs were shaking all around him, Hannibal was leaning towards the latter and made a mental note in his mind to kiss smiling lips breathless.

“Dammit, you are a lot—fuck me—“ The younger man jostled him further up, grin widening, drawing out a bitten back moan as he gripped an ass. “–sturdier than you look when lifted. H-h-how does it feel? Ever been swept off —Christ! Your feet before?”

Will rocked hips forward once in a blistering heat before knees buckled and strength gave way, shakily lowering the older man back to the floor. He swore again, tumbling forward and dropping a damp forehead into a chest and panted for breath.

“I-I’m going to have to start working out…” A wounded pant pressed to skin, shoulders shaking hard in a trembling shiver. “…or fucking you like this is never going to happen, is it?”

Carding fingers affectionately through curls, Hannibal dragged a face flushed bright pink up and stole away any remaining breath in a lengthy, deep kiss.

“Perhaps…” He brushed knuckles over beautiful smile lines, kissing each one, voice quivering out in laughter, warmed by a swelling heart. “…in my old feeble age when my bones are brittle and easier for you to manage, dear one.”

Will’s gaze snapped up, blue eyes wide, pulling close and pressing his mouth against a cheek and whispered, “Do you imagine us growing old together often?”

_Every waking moment, my darling boy._

“Aside from that, you aren’t old, Hannibal,” The younger man announced suddenly, nipping lightly at his mouth with another blinding smile and shaking his head in a tumble of curls, shrugging. “I don’t know anyone else who manages to get better looking as they age.”

Will spun around on his heel, leaning languidly back against the glass window and tugged Hannibal close, gaze heating as it drifted and lingered between thighs.

“Every inch of you…” The older man let out a hiss of breath as a single fingertip followed the curve of his cock and flicked across his head. “…belongs in a fucking art museum…”

Nails left pinpricks of red against his waist, grazing over hips and settling against his lower back.

“Then I would have to share and I never grasped the concept,” Will growled out, stormy blue swinging up, sinking purposefully to knees. “Watch your goddamn sun rise while I admire your form for a change.”

Hannibal tried to vehemently argue he had hardly been able to focus on the sunrise with Will merely in his arms and with him on his knees thoughts became a jumbled mess of white noise and static. How was he supposed to focus on natural wonders of the world with the mouth of a beautiful boy sliding up and down his cock?

With a rough increase of pace and strokes, clearly annoyed he was managing to speak at all, Will buried the throbbing length in the back of his mouth and began a foray of hot saliva, effortlessly deep throating with a tilt of a chin and an arced neck. Half formulated arguments in varying languages scattered to pure abandoned moans and growls in a matter of minutes. The older man came hard a moment later, legs shaking and nearly sliding to the floor to join him, grasping at shoulders to keep upright.

Swollen lips lifted off, vibrating a pleased noise, opening in a swirl of a tongue, before curving up in a satisfied smirk. “You look absolutely wrecked, Hannibal.”

“This seems to…” The older man fell back in to the mattress with a rough shove, grateful for something to collapse against in sheer exhaustion without asking, closing eyes immediately. “…please you… a great deal.”

“It’s not often I have been able to reduce you to such a…” Will’s voice trailed off as he disappeared into the bathroom, rising as he returned with a dripping washcloth, eyes following beaded dabs of white clinging to inner thighs appreciatively. “…vivid state of debauchery.”

A sleepy noise replied, shivering beneath gentle strokes of warm water. “Gloating over your victory?”

The younger man climbed his body, blanketing his chest, and curled hands under shoulders to hold tight, brushing lips across closed eyelids. “ _Always_.”

He sounded smug. Hannibal struggled to make another mental note to punish him later, sinking deep into still quieting darkness, without any thought except pleasure thrumming through his body and soft touches of hands.

“Now go the fuck back to sleep, you beautiful idiot, and don’t wake me up unless the house is burning down or Winston has run away.”

“Mmm…” Fingers skimmed over soft skin, fading quietly into warmth and faint breathing.

 

* * *

This absolutely stunning bit of elegance was gifted to us by the lovely [catnapcannibal](http://catnapcannibal.tumblr.com/post/160632106432/catnapcannibal-hannibal-glanced-up-from-grey)! I think it is gorgeous in every way. Thank you so very much!

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oh, am I short circuiting your hearts in *too* much romantic fluff now? ;> xoxox)


	107. Chapter 107

White light fluttered along the back of closed eyelids painting a hushed voice in tessellating patterns of blossoming honeycomb. “ _Tsst_ , Winston, no.”

A pitiful whine answered, wet nose nudging a curl of upturned fingers.

“Come here…” Something clacked across hardwood before letting out another sad noise. “Of course he isn’t dead! I may have just worn him out a little.”

A contrary yip answered.

“Alright, _a lot_. You’re right.” Soft laughter flickered pink. “Come on, boy, let’s go for a walk and let Hann rest, okay?” A loving voice faded away, boots tapping downstairs. “What do you think we should make for breakfast, hm?”

Threading consciousness waned as Hannibal rolled over and nestled deeper into pillows, drawing one to his chest and murmured the younger man’s name. He drifted through currents of sleep, images of their lives together both real and imagined flashing in his mind. Smudges of grey outlined bright blue eyes. Warmth of their hands clasped tight. Easy laughter filtered through curving lips. A gentle press of mouths releasing a flooding ache inside his heart.

Still quiet of the house ebbed away. His heart ticked over the feeling of a presence returning, filling each room in sunlight. He floated over faint sounds of dishes clattering in the distance. Hints of fresh basil wafted through the room and filled his mind until Hannibal was meandering along the shores of the port city of _Livorno_ , face upturned to a cloudless jewel tone sky. His eyes trailed over houses brightly painted in warm hues scattered across a rocky cliff side. A breeze tousled his hair, glancing up to find the younger man waving at him in the distance, covered in sand and seawater. The scenery dulled in comparison. Only Will remained.

“Hannibal,” Breath whispered across his cheek in sparks of a golden smile, a cool nose nudging at his jaw. “You at least need to eat something if you are going to insist on sleeping through lunch and dinner.”

“Mmm…” The older man made a beleaguered noise of protest, reaching blindly to drag the body the voice belonged to into his arms and go back to sleep.

“Ah, ah! Hey!” Curls flipped out of his reach, porcelain clattering unsteadily. “If this ends up on the floor, I am going to let Winston eat all of it and you can go hungry!”

A happy bark agreed, paws bounding across the bed.

A grumbling stomach answered as Hannibal eased open eyes, mouth drawing into a frown at the very suggestion. He pulled back from a damp wet nose inches from his, head shaking fiercely with a groan. Winston yipped again, bouncing to the left and to the right, nuzzling forward for attention. Roughing hands over floppy ears, the older man dragged to a sitting position in a corner of the bed and glared up at Will laughing, shoulders shaking while balancing a bamboo tray dangerously in one hand. 

“Alright, Winston!” Will grinned over an edge of the tray, jerking his head towards the door. “I think we’ve tortured our dear cannibal enough for one day. Go eat your treats!”

Licking across a cheek, the dog jumped off the bed and raced down the stairs, tail wagging furiously at the mere mention of a treat.

“Spoiling him?” Hannibal had intended it to be an accusation but it managed to come out in a groggy croak of a question, blinking hard to keep eyes open, a wiping off a wet kiss.

“I am not spoiling him. _Per se_.” Blue eyes met a scrutinizing gaze with light twinkles. “I gave him the hambone from the other night and told Winston you thought he had been extra well behaved to deserve it.”

“I may have been reserving that particular bone for a split pea soup, Will,” The older man noted, arcing a brow.

“Well…” Will shrugged, grin widening. “Too late now. Plus, I can’t spoil one of my favorite guys without spoiling the other one, now can I?”

Shuffling forward across the bed on knees, Will kept eyes narrowed in fierce concentration to balance the tray. Dark brows furrowed, mouth pulling into an adorable frown. When the tray had been safely balanced on top of thighs, Hannibal hooked a hand around a neck and pulled the younger man into a light kiss. A hum and a smile greeted him when he released. He glanced down at a precise arrangement of three poached eggs resting on a bed of deep hunter green basil and spinach, languidly placed on toasted on English muffins, and drizzled in a pale orange hollandaise sauce. A single large container of black coffee rested next to a ragged clipping of wild daisies. The older man suspected its intended use was a whisking bowl and tried to hide a smile. His heart fluttered in soft notes.

Laughing brightly, Will tore off a light blue sweater and shimmied out of jeans. Hannibal tried not to stare as denim grazed bare hipbones and peeled away from slender thighs. The younger man crawled back under the blankets and wiggled into the crook of an arm with a content sigh. Dark lashes drifted over light eyes. He melted into the sensation of them pressed skin to skin, drawing unconsciously near and holding a fraction tighter. Nothing between them. Just the comfort of warmth.

The older man set the tray back down on his lap, keeping a careful eye on sloshing coffee, before scooping up the daisies. His fingers worked quickly in a muscle memory of long ago, twisting and tying stems to form a fragile crown. Corner of a lip lifting up, he draped it across wild waves of curls.

“There, dear one, now you are a proper prince,” Hannibal announced, fingertips drifting down a sloping face fondly.

Bright pink camellia flourished cheeks. “Thanks,” The younger man answered flatly, rolling his eyes. He reached for an English muffin and shoved it between curving lips. “Eat this and stop laughing at me, you jerk. I am sure I look as ridiculous as I currently feel.”

Choking down a bit of drizzling yoke, Hannibal regained his composure and leaned in to press a faint kiss over a scowl, whispering, “I rather think it enhances your beauty, William.”

For the next few minutes, he banished the smile from his lips and allowed the younger man to feed him with slightly less force. He kept an arm slung around narrow shoulders to keep them close, fingertips drifting up and down skin absently. Sipping idly on the oversized cup of black coffee, Hannibal peered over its edge and watched Will tear fiercely into his egg Florentine, snapping at in with a hungry growl and a grin. He sank an incisor into the underside of his bottom lip to keep from smiling, faintly shaking his head, maroon gaze brimming in light.

Will snatched up the tray and set it aside on the nightstand, flopping happily back against his chest. “Do you remember the last night you let me take care of you?” Blue eyes swept up to his face, plucking the crown off and settling it across the older man’s hair. “Like this?”

“Yes, Will…” His heart skipped in a fluttering beat.

“I like when you let me…” The younger man answered, resting a cheek against his collarbone, tracing circles across a shadowy chest. “I know you prefer being in control, taking care of me, and I like…feeling protected. But… I like when you let me see you and allow me in.”

“What I prefer is your happiness, William.” He covered the smaller hand with his own, squeezing lightly. “It is not unreasonable I should be allowed to have a guiding hand in it.”

“And what about yours?” A quieter voice asked.

“The course of our invariable lives have always intersected and entwined, dear one. Your desires. Your fulfillment. And your fears. They have always been intimately aligned with my own,” Hannibal drawled carefully, forming each word in a thick accent roughed by emotion. “And it gives me great satisfaction to know you are cared for.” Cupping a face gently with a palm, the older man tipped it up and gazed down into bright eyes lifting. “May I continue to care for you, Will, if it does not grate on your soul?”

Lashes fluttered against cheeks, breath hitching. “For how long?”

Hannibal took a deep breath, letting it out a bit at a time, trying to ignore how his voice cracked weakly and his heart fluttered wildly inside his chest, softly murmuring, “Would till our presumably natural deaths and foreseeable future of our lives, be an acceptable frame of time, William?”

“God…” Lips parted in a quiver, face turning away and shifting out of his palm in a sullen whisper of skin, slender palms placing the flower crown out of reach.

_A foolish whim. Should I have waited, dear one, until the beat of your heart no longer thrummed painfully with each crack running through it?_

The older man retracted a shaking hand reaching out for a glimmer of skin retreating to swing legs over an edge of the bed. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to gather the question back to his mouth and swallow it down, to place it back in some shadowed corner of his soul. Aching eyes followed the length of a curving spine bending inward, elbows pressing divots into thighs. A shield of threaded fingers pressed over a nose and lips. Hannibal winced, curving an arm across his chest and dragged his gaze away and forced himself to look out glass windows, light in his eyes and soul dimming as dusk settled around them.

Fragile falling snow breathed out. “Please come here.”

“How ought I interpret your stoic silence, William, as a resounding denial or a flickering hope of acceptance?” The older man asked tersely, right fist curling tight beneath a veil of sheets, nails biting into his palm. “Or am I to remain in a state of purgatory, unknowing of the answer?”

“ _Please_.”

Wrenching away from safety of the bed frame, every bone in the older man’s body creaked in a shudder of fracturing faults and feeble breaking joints, hushing to a quiet rustle as he came to rest beside the hunched figure. He stared at their feet planted firmly on gleaming hardwood, catching dim outlines of their eyes looking out from the reflection. Gathering silence of charcoal grey sinking to darkness of the barren ocean floor became a deafening roar. Hannibal raked nails down his wrist and clamped them across a shaking hand, desperate to blot out crashing waves of a still beating heart ringing in his ears. He longed for an outright rejection, anything to break apart the tightness trapping breath in his lungs and drowning him agonizingly slow from within.

“Will—“ He squeezed eyes shut, trying to steady a faint voice. “Forgive me, I did not—“

Forceful thumbs bruised beneath the right angles of his jaw, curl of splaying fingers interlocking in a caging embrace. Will whipped his face forward with a violent pull and smothered his mouth in a suffocating thrum, teeth and lips devouring any remaining reservation, scattering thoughts to nothing except the rhythm of their lips entwined.

“It’s a fucking—“ The younger man lifted clusters of galaxies in eyes, drawing away, trembling lips hovering above ones below in a hoarse whisper. “— _yes,_ you damn fool.” Fingertips stroked away silvery strands tangling in a rush of tears, heart stuttering to a threading stop. “Now, for the love of God, be quiet.”

Will traced tectonic planes of the older man’s face with a wisp of light fingernails, staring deep into rings of crimson eclipsed by twin moons and dazed by fields of poppies drifting to sleep in the twilight of a dying day. Lips pushed in a thin white line. A gaze drifted over hands and skin quivering beneath a steady trail of prayer brushing and trailing tenderly, seeking out rising mountains and hollowed ravines. Clenching teeth, Hannibal forced his eyes to remain open and gaze back into placid lakes of pure clear water shimmering in stars streaking across the sky. His trembling rustled sheets, frozen in place by tender caress and let out a weak plea for mercy.

“You once told me touch is a memory. We feel the very world before we see it through and by mere sensory perception alone…” The younger man spoke gently, mouthing the words across his jaw and lingered across lips. “I never meant to keep our memories from you.”

“Will.” The older man snapped eyes to hands gathering around his waist, shakily turning away. “Please.”

Fingertips grazed down his spine, leaving textured skin in their wake. “Do you trust me?”

“W-with m-my life…” He muffled a breaking flutter with the press of a palm, gaze tipping up to balance a blurry haze of tears and trap them beneath lashes.

The mattress wobbled as a body lifted off, protecting warmth fading, connection broken. A drawer shuddered open. Contents shuddered and rattled against searching hands. Feet pattered across the floor, pulling open another drawer and rustling through it. A hip shoved it closed with loud tap.

Hannibal jumped when a knee brushed over his thigh and settled against his hip, hands carding through his hair and stroking down shoulders. He opened his eyes wide, breath held deep inside his lungs. Briars of wild curls cascaded around the younger man’s soft face, bending down and brushing a light kiss across his mouth, palm settling across the curve of his neck gently.

“I love you,” Will murmured against his lips, blue misting silvery white. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“W-will…” The older man stammered out the name as palms pushed him lightly to the bed. “I n-need to t-tell you…”

“Later. Just later, okay?” Hands glided up thighs, coursing across hips, and settling over shoulders as the younger man pressed in, kissing each word into his skin. “I’ll listen then. I promise.”

“But Will—“

A mouth covered his, pressing out a fading confession with a soft, tender rhythm. Will rolled onto his side and slipped an arm around a sturdy torso, dotting kisses across trembling shoulder blades and sensitive skin of a bicep, curling in back to chest.

“If you feel like you’re falling, Hannibal…” Breath caressed the arch of his neck, eyes drifting closed, sinking beneath waves of touch gliding across skin. “Remember we fall together, my arms always around you.”

An agonized cry fell from the older man’s lips as a slicked finger dragged between cheeks and pushed in. A forearm locked around his chest, leg slinging protectively across his to draw them close. Nestling in, Will rested his forehead against a shaking shoulder and lightly kissed skin to comfort. The older man crushed the wrist holding on, other hand clenching tight in a twist of sheets, hips shifting back in a quiver of knees.

“W-will…”

“Shh…”

Hannibal arched as a second finger slipped in, swirling and pushing through tight warm folds. Heat flushed his skin in a fine sheen of sweat, running a hand through clinging strands and biting down on his tongue to remain quiet. Lips swept against his throat as Will murmured quiet comfort against his ear, dragging in and out in slow thrusts. A starved moan left his lips as they scissored wide and began thrumming steadily against his prostrate, pleasure unfurling in burning rush and dripping from his head, leaking across a navel. He groaned as fingers slipped out, shuddering from a loss of connection.

The younger man turned him on his back, straddling hips and caged him in with hands on either side. A crimson gaze lingered on an arcing cock outlined in a dark thicket, moaning into an open mouth as it slid against his own. His palms glided down a smooth back, curving around hips and guiding them in a faster rhythm, thrusting up with each descent. He groaned as a tongue slipped in, slicking across teeth and dragging up from base to tip.

Will kissed harder, sucking in breath through flaring nostrils, clenching fingers in hair tighter and tighter with each roll of hips, sliding together in a damp heat. A throaty groan dragged the older man’s blurry eyes open. He watched as the younger man lifted, small of his back arching effortlessly into fingers slicking up down the length of a shaft, pink head disappearing in a fist. He reached forward to stroke them both to release, growling when thighs and hips shifted away. His growl turned to a fading whisper a moment later.

Climbing off, Will settled onto his side and dragged Hannibal with him, pressing them chest to chest, face to face. Tips of white teeth bit down on a bottom lip as the younger man reached for the older man’s thigh and draped it across a slim hip, caressing in a swirl of fingertips. He stilled as blue eyes lifted in a quiver of lashes, breath stilling on their nearly touching lips. A trembling hand reached between their bodies. He bit down on a small broken sound as a Will pressed a burning head against the older man’s entrance.

“William, you don’t…” His hands fluttered painfully around an upturned face.

“Quiet...please.”

The younger man placed his cheek in the seam of a shoulder and arm, letting out a quiet breath. He felt tracks of tears pooling against quivering lips and slipping down his collarbone. Their quivering skin rustled against each other in soft fragile whispers. Unsteady fingers threaded in curls, mouth pressing lightly against them with reassurance Hannibal was not feeling. His heart slammed wildly in his chest, crumbling with each second drifting by, praying the very seams of his skin would remain woven and held tight in arms, praying he would not break if they released. His eyes slipped closed, afraid to ask, terrified to find space between them once more.      

With a gentle roll of hips, Will pushed in the tip with a shuddering sigh and stilled as hands and arms tensed around him. Hannibal let out a desperate ragged breath, cupping a head and pressing lightly at the small of back, a silent plea to unite them completely. He held closer as the younger man drew out, heat dragging across insides, thoughts scattering when a shaking a moan filled the air and hips thrust forward, sinking in inch by inch.

A hand latched around his torso, nails digging in below shoulder blades. The older man tilted hips up, hands guiding until Will was rocking with a quickening pace. Heat blistered, unable to stifle groans each time the tip of a head nudged his prostrate. Hannibal clamped hands around a smaller waist and rolled the younger man on top, urging him forward with a pull of hands and heels, gazing up into a flushing face painted in tears matching his own.

“H-hannibal, I n-need you so much…” A wounded ache reverberated across his mouth, kissing deep enough to steal breath.

“I…” The older man drew the face near, nuzzling against a neck with a tear soaked cheek, a threading whisper replying, “I…need you, William, more than you know. Fall with me, dear one, drag me under in your arms.”

Ragged breath filled his ears as Will rested a head against his cheek and clamped on his hips, buried deep in a torturously slow grind, practiced strokes pushing open and sparking electricity. His nails raked lightly down a spine, drowning beneath the sound of their breathing filling each other’s lungs and hearts echoing violently against the glide of cracked open chests. A mouth smothered his in answering moans as they rocked harder. Hands clasped tight as a blinding white veiled their skin in heat, crushing their bones to a fine dust as they piqued in perfect unison and came together in rush of the other’s name upon their lips.

Crumbling limbs folded as Will collapsed against his chest in a soft sob, clinging as lips trailed blessings across his forehead and over his mouth. The older man’s chest shuddered, lungs contracting in echoing silent cries, tears tangling in curls spilling across his throat and pressing in. Hannibal wrapped arms around a shivering body, knees holding a trembling waist, and murmured incoherent tenderness in the soft shadows, falling deeper into the sound of their hearts beating as one.

“Stay here with me, William, awhile longer,” He whispered softly, kissing off salty tears. “Let me hold you, dear one, in my arms as we are now. As one soul.”

_Stay, mylimasis, and be the only one to ferry my soul to the other side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Delays. :sigh: Sometimes I can work through the throbbing in my skull and other times not so much. 3 )


	108. Chapter 108

Will panted into the curve of a shoulder blade, curls spilling dark crescent moons across golden skin pressed against a marble counter. He had woken up alone for the third night in a row, bed cold beside him where it had been filled with the comfort of molten heat hours before. They exchanged few words outside of ragged breath and braille code of shivering skin. He had wandered downstairs to find Hannibal wrapped in a midnight blue silk robe with a small knife, viciously slicing open vanilla bean with unsteady hands, eyes glazed and far away in distant rooms. He had only meant to touch, to draw the older man into his arms and murmur softly against his neck to ask him to return to bed.

 

_Fingernails grazed silk clinging to the back of calves, lifting a hemline as Will dipped a hand inside heat and coursed a palm around a jerking knee. His fingertips glided up sturdy thighs, traveling higher to drift across the taut cleft of a cheek. A rocking knife slowed to a stop. He let out shaking breath and realized his mistake. The older man was wearing nothing underneath. His cock jerked beneath jersey, a little growl working its way out of his throat._

_“Fuck Hann…”_

_Will dropped to his knees, dragging silk around a waist in a single fist. He cupped a cleft in the other palm, admiring the way the older man shivered, brushing a thumb absently across a light bruise mark of his teeth imprint. He wanted to leave his mark across every inch of skin, to claim and remind Hannibal he belonged to him, all of him, inside and out. His and his alone._

_“…I want you.”_

_Licking a delicate wet stripe across swelling skin, Will looked up to see white knuckled hands crushing a knife in one hand and an edge of the counter in another. He knew the older man would be able to feel the curve of his lips twitching in a smile. His gaze drifted down, sucking skin between teeth and tugging until it elicited a low rumbling groan. He nudged at the sensitive undersides of a thigh with knuckles._

_“Spread your legs. Remind me…” The younger man delicately pulled a cheek away, running the tip of his tongue down lines of shadows, ringing around a tight hole until legs shook. “…how divine you taste, mon lapin.”_

 

Silk had cascaded in a deep waterfall spilling around their feet, charcoal grey jersey pants discarded shortly after in their flourishing wake. Vanilla bean crushed beneath palms flattened against marbles, arms straining to keep in place as Will gripped peaked hips, slamming back into burning tight heat, rising symphony of growls trailing out between clenched teeth. He had been pounding hard, nearing the brink of release for the last ten minutes, eyes narrowed in concentration to hit a precise spot with each thrust to bring Hannibal to the edge first. No hips shoving back in to his, no flourishes of Italian, or nails biting into his waist. Nothing. Sheen of sweat covered his chest, trickling down a quivering torso and lingering in a pool above his cock buried deep. He rested his forehead against an arching spine to catch his breath, nibbling on skin to create tiny pink blossoms affectionately.

_How out of practice am I, Hannibal, that you haven’t made a single sound?_

With a deep sigh, Will eased out and kissed lightly on a shoulder, peering through damp silver strands clinging to closed eyes and asked quietly, “Hannibal, are you alright?” He trailed fingers lightly down a ribcage, trying to force a smile. “If you’re feeling too tired or sore from my incessant rekindled need to fuck you every waking minute, you can just tell me, to well, fuck off.”

Lines crinkled around eyes squeezing tighter shut, lips pressed in a pinch of white. Will frowned and turned the older man around to face him, latching on to wrists and bringing hands around his waist. They held on limply, barely touching. Eyes remained closed.

“Do you…” Will cast a tongue over his lip, heartbeat slowly picking up to hammer inside his chest, as he guided hands lower. “…want to…” He curled slick fingertips around his ass, breath hitching as he forced them to clamp on, brushing a heavy wet cock against a bare thigh. “…fuck me, Hannibal?”

The younger man jerked back slightly. Flames licked around pupils blown wide and black, snapping open. Twitching muscles stretched across an arching cheek spasmed into a violent flinch. Hannibal shoved against shoulders, sending the younger man spiraling back into the kitchen sink, swearing as his elbow collided with faucet. He stared after, wide eyed, as the older man broke into a near run and swiveled around the corner and out of sight. Heels of feet slammed across hardwood above his head and disappeared with a shudder of glass closing.

Brows scrunching down, Will shoved hair out of his eyes and leaned back against the counter with a muddled sense of confusion blocking out the singe of heat cloaking his skin. He jumped upright, letting out a sputtering curse. It was then he noticed blotches of red staining the floor and trickles flowing through rivers of silk.

“Oh fucking Christ!” He cried, teeth snapping together in a horrified breath.

Will snapped up jersey pants, tripping and stumbling in to them, and yanked them up his hips with shaking hands. Crushing the silk robe in his hand, he cast a quick glance over at Winston raising a golden head beneath the table, a worried whine lolling off a tongue. He bound up wooden steps, palm burning along a wood banister to yank himself up three stairs at a time. Hot breath swirled inside his lungs, barreling through the bedroom and stopping dead in his tracks.

Silvery moonlight draped across bare skin doubled over a stone balcony, head buried in claws clenching hair. A remorseful cry stuck in his throat as Will quietly pushed open a glass door and slipped out into a cool night. He stared at puddles of dark blue threaded in his fingers and back at the older man who remained statue still. He wasn’t sure if the older man had heard him come out, or if he was willfully ignoring in hopes he would leave.

The younger man choked down another cry, arms shaking as he tentatively folded silk over broad shoulders and quickly stepped back, eyes screwing shut, waiting for a physical retribution or a howling scream. He waited. Nothing. Silence. His skin crawled, sucking in shallow breaths through his nose and clenching fists against his thighs. Only the sound of his breaking heart and trembling knees filled his ears.

“H-h-hannibal, did I fucking hurt you?” Will sputtered out between gritting teeth, self loathing roiling through his soul in blackened waves of cold. “Because if I hurt you—If I fucking hurt you—“ He released a wounded moan, burying a face in clammy palms. “My god, I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to! Oh god, I’m so…Christ, why didn’t you tell me it hurt? Why didn’t…”

_What have I done? What have I done. What have I—_

“You caused me no physical injury, Will,” A hoarse voice sounded beneath a flutter of silk hushing across skin.

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean t-t-to hurt you!””

The younger man opened wild eyes, rushing forward to cling to the older man safely protected in a robe and fall to his knees. He crumbled against a ledge when the figure side stepped, flinching away just out of reach. Blue eyes dragged up to find a gauze bandaged hand offered to help him up, stained in red. He let out a softer cry, taking the hand and rising to feet, clashing emotions warring in his chest in violent swirls of amethyst bleeding to velvet black.

“If I…” Will tried to examine the hand before it pulled away, tucked precisely between an arm, aching eyes following the retreat with a panged heart. “If I didn’t hurt you then why in god’s name were you holding tight to the blade of a knife?”

Maroon eyes shifted, trekking across ash black limbs of trees bent in prayer. “I required a reminder to keep from fading beneath sensation of your entrancing hands on my flesh and inside my body…”

“I…I should have asked,” The younger man let out weakly, shame flushing cheeks bright as he gripped a stone banister and bit the inside of his cheek as punishment, until copper filled his mouth and pain filled his head. “I didn’t ask.”

Harsh laughter startled Will out of his mind and back to the present, gaze sliding over to find Hannibal raking nails through silver strands and crushing heels of palms against his skull. He reached over to touch a shoulder and withdrew a hand as it flinched away.

“I’m going to lose you…” A rigid mouth rippled, twisting in agonized dips and rises, voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Hannibal…” The younger man shook his head weakly, rushing over and locking arms around a torso until ragged breath rushed across the top of his bent head. “I meant what I said. I’m… I’m sorry I should have worded it differently. You have waited so long to…”

He thumped a forehead against a solid chest, struggling to find more eloquent words. _Why can’t I just say it? Why can’t I just say it? Why is it everything I do pales in comparison to the beauty and words you give me, Hannibal? When all I want is you?_

“If you want to… with me. I want you to.”

_Jesus fucking Christ. Why is this so difficult?_

“I think…I think I’ll be okay if we just take it slow.” Quavering words slipped out, roughed in sharp edges of a strangled voice. “You’ve been so good to me…” Will tipped his chin up, blue eyes flashing bright in a shimmer of panic and longing. “I want this with you. Is that okay?”

 _Or have I waited too long to ask?_            

“Please, William…” Nails drifted lightly down his cheeks, coursing down his neck and curving over shoulders. “Do not touch me gently…” The older man pushed, dislodging the figure clinging to his robe, light snuffing out in dark eyes. “I cannot speak when you steal the very breath from my body with a single touch.”

“Why?” A pitiful moan followed a figure escaping to a corner of the balcony, rimmed in an aura of incandescent celestial light. “Why can’t I touch you this time? When I’m ready. When I want to….”

Will curled arms around his torso protectively, suddenly aware of phantom bruises and etched scars burning back to life, hating how weak he sounded. Weight of scars lanced beneath skin and buried deep, markings of another. He had the absurd idea he could hear fragile cracks breaking open across a fleshy shell and falling in shards, glass pinging and scattering at their feet.

“I know you’re scared…” He inched a little closer to a turned back, hugging himself tighter, cold seeping across skin and freezing bone to the marrow. “I… so am I. I know you’ll protect me, Hannibal. Don’t you—“

_Don’t you want me anymore?_

Clenched fists slammed against a banister and sent the younger man stumbling backwards.

“Because I do not deserve you!” A hoarse scream ripped from Hannibal’s lungs, blackened shadow swinging around and stalking forward, claws hooked at sides and reaching out. “You have no idea what I have done to you! You are blissfully ignorant of the monster sharing your bed!”

“H-h-hann—“ A sputter eked out in a strangled gasp as palms shoved him against glass.

“I betrayed you, William…” An upper lip curled in a fluttering snarl, jagged teeth snapping, a breath away, framed by obsidian glittering stones, soulless and lost gazing down. “I violated you. You offered me your trust and I crushed it heartlessly inside the wielding palm of my fist.”

“I…I don’t understand, please, Hannibal,” Will begged softly, tugging desperately at silvery strands to clutch on to the man beneath the velvety black skin outlined in stag horns towering above. “ _Help me_ understand. I’m listening. I’m listening. Please.”

_You’re scaring me… Come back to me. Just come back._

“You are…” Cracking ravines flooded a dark gaze with maroon desert sand drifting across a barren landscape. “…the very constellations of the heavens guiding my soul home, William.”

Parting lips dipped and trembled across his in an aching wound, fingertips gliding down his arms and lingering at his hands. Will looked up and saw black shadow clinging underneath eyes, heart slowing, as he realized the man looking back was dazed and half gone, looking through a veiled ghost, seeing right through him as though he did not exist.

“Will our stars remain the same to lead you back to my arms?”

His gaze slipped to a palm smoothing away silk from a shoulder, exposing traces of hair clinging to a chest and baring faint scars covering a bicep. He looked up, shaking his head weakly, unsure of what to do or say. Will tried to recall exactly when he had begun trembling, heart thudding loud and insistent to the pitch of a squeal piercing the darkest corners of his mind.

“I don’t—“

Nails lashed out, yanking on hair. Will yelped as he was dragged forward by roots, stinging sensation flooding across his scalp. Sprigs of hot tears rushed to the corner of his eyes. His cries muffled. A rough palm shoved his mouth against the bicep. He struggled, letting out a confused protest, clawing at the front of silk. Thumbs hooked like lures in the corners of his lips, sharp and ruthless, prying his jaw open bit by bit. Sharp breaths flared nostrils. Hot and ragged, suffocating in saliva and salt. Lips began swelling with bruises as teeth were forced to sink into muscle and scrape crimson trails across flesh, pin pricks of blood following.

Slamming a palm helplessly against a wall of a chest, Will gazed up, scent of blood filling his lungs and taste of copper choking down his throat. He let out a horrified muffled scream, body writhing against the confines of a glass terrarium to escape as the older man transformed once more. Antlers pinned his body in place. A mouth turned to a gaping maw dripping red. His vision dimmed black, high pitched squeal reverberating in an ear splitting screech.

 *

_Eat._

_His nails clawed, shoving, buried against its muzzle as it closed in, flesh dripping in clenched teeth._

_Live._

_Blood trickled against his mouth, as he turned his face, screaming and choking as it dripped down his tongue, choking as burning hot flesh slipped down his throat. Before he leaned forward into velvety skin, teeth sinking in, and drinking deep._

 *

Eyes drifting open, Will tried to focus on a substance dripping steadily down his chest, pooling in the crook of his waist, knees drawn to his chest. He brought a curl of outstretched fingers to his face, turning them this way and that to study a coated substance. The liquid was warm. His chin and lips felt warm too.

_…What…_

He swirled a tongue in his mouth trying to distinguish a metallic taste, fingertips brushing across a shadowed face. He tipped his head to focus on maroon glowing in the distance, trying to focus on words shaking out.

“Mischa once provided for my life, William… I knew of no other way than to exchange mine in return for your own…”

 _Blood. Blood. God, it’s blood._ Will jerked back, head rattling in a split of pain as his head rammed into glass, nails desperate to scratch away the fluid scalding skin. _Hannibal’s blood!_

“…I carved out my flesh and offered its sacrifice to your lips and asked you to drink deeply of its deception and sustenance.”

Feeble snapping of a sparrow’s bones rang hollow. “No…”

Blue eyes stared passed fingers drenched in blood, through narrow spaces, up into a shadowed face.

“No. No.”

Bones splintered and cracked beneath dirty nails scraping off delicate feathers and crushing between merciless palms.

“No no no no no no….” Hoarse echoes rose to wailing screams. “Nonononononono!”

Scrambling away from blurry hands reaching out, Will crawled across the balcony and threw his body through a glass door. He clenched at a roiling stomach, weaving across a wooden floor. He fell into a stone mantle. Sweat beaded across his forehead, dripping down his face. He tripped across an upturned rug. He stumbled through an open door, throat clenching against rising bile. His hand scrambled for a switch, drowning beneath suffocating howls from someone or something nearby. His skin flushed in a scorch of heat. Blinding light flashed on. A colorless phantom of his reflection looked back, mouth contorting open, teeth and lips dripping in crimson.

_I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I looked right through me, past me, as if I was just a stranger._

Clamping a hand over his mouth, the younger man dropped to his knees and wretched violently into the toilet.

“O-oh god, help me…”

Pain throbbed in his knees. Bile burned the back of his throat. A sour taste flooded his mouth, mingling with copper and making him sick once more. Contents of his stomach emptied in a coughing helpless sputter. He let out a vacant sob, dragging a towel from somewhere unseen and crumpled between the safety of the stool and the shower door. He scraped the towel roughly down his face, scouring cheeks and lips, buffing teeth and coughing up bloodied bile.

“F-f-fuck, fucking fuck…” He wailed louder, pulling back the towel and staring at a crimson wet inkblot of Hannibal’s blood clinging to his teeth, staining his heart and filling his soul. “Please no. Please.”

Shoving off the floor, Will made it unsteadily to his feet and stripped filthy clothes from his body, balling them up and pitching them far away. He wobbled through the walk in closet, blindly dragging on anything within reach. Jeans roughed up his thighs. A t-shirt swiveled over his head. He shoved feet into shoes. He pushed knuckles against his mouth to suffocate sobs shuddering his lungs, staring blankly at the tackle box on the floor.

A timid hand settled on his shoulder. “Will—“

“D-don’t!” Heels swiveled, arm swinging forward on instinct. A violent slap rang out, palm burning. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me! Oh god, don’t.”

Will curled stinging fingers, eyes blinking hard to stifle tears rising from the ones clinging to corners of dark eyes sparking with shock. Hannibal cradled his cheek lightly, color seeping out of his face and draining in an ombre descent down his chest, disappearing beneath silken folds of deep blue. A mouth trembled to keep a sound silent. The older man hung his head, wisps of silver falling around his face in a curtain of scattered feathers of broken wings.

“William…” A throat worked noiselessly, voice cracking. “Please. What are you doing?”

“I can’t… I can’t stay here. I can’t see you. I can’t look at you. I can’t. I c-c-c-an’t.”

_Please don’t lie to me._

“P-p-please…” The older man’s words and ghostly pallor followed as he pushed passed, hurrying through the bathroom. “I won’t touch you. I won’t… I won’t speak to you…” He scrambled down stairs. “I cannot… I will not…”

 

Swiping car keys off the dining room table, Will gazed down at blood crusting beneath nails. His shoulders began to shake from repressed sobs, breaking free when a wet nose nudged his cold hand. He cast his gaze down and found mournful eyes searching his, accompanied by a tail tucked between legs and sagging ears. Sinking down, the younger man threw arms around the dog and cried into its golden fur, clutching at a collar as if it would bring him to safety.

“Y-you’re alright, Winston… everything is going to be alright. I’ll be back to get you, okay? B-be good… be good without me.”

“Promise you will not leave, William…”

Hannibal stepped into his line of sight, a haggard dress shirt untucked in mismatched buttons, hands shoved into wrinkled trouser pockets, and a forlorn grimace etching lines into caverns of his features. A blazing palm print stained his left cheek. Blood staining cotton draped over an arm.

“I am begging,” The older man pleaded in tones of ebony and ashen white smoke, raking a hand through wrecked hair. “I… I cannot imagine my life without you in it.”

“I…I fucking trusted you, Hannibal!” Will yelled, wincing as Winston scurried beneath the table, and he rose with squared shoulders, deflating with each broken sigh leaving lips. “It…It… took me so long to trust you again.”

“Please, Will…” Fingertips traced a red cheek, tears spilling over fine lashes, drawing out a ragged breath from the younger man. “Strike me with your fists. Carve out my heart with your blade. Cut my flesh deep. Bite bruises across my skin. Turn me into a disaster of your own making if you wish.” Hannibal reached out and touched the side of his face, lines creasing lips and a forehead in tortured patterns. “ _Hurt me_ , William, just… stay.”

“You can’t—“

_Say that to me. You’ll break me._

Will let out a hoarse scream, wild hands tearing at curls, hysterical sob workings its way out. “You took away my goddamn right to choose! It was my choice! Mine!” He shoved flattened fingertips across closed eyelids, pressure threatening to gouge from sockets. Cries turned to hysterical laughter. “You have taken away my freedom every single day since we met, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of me, of my world, except for you looking back and shuffling around my very soul and mind to your advantage.”

“I thought…” Hannibal whispered, hands trembling helplessly at his sides. “I had returned them to you in exchange for my own.” Maroon eyes lifted from the floor. “Was it not enough to give you my life?”

“You did not give me your life!” Will stalked across the floor, fisting a dress shirt and shaking hard. “You force fed me your raw fucking flesh, Hannibal! Y-y-you hated the men who forced you to eat Mischa, to turn you into what you are and yet… you justify it enough to do it to me?”

The older man paled further.

_Friendship can sometimes involve a breach of individual separateness._

“Did you ever _once_ consider…” The younger man’s voice shook the back of his throat raw, scraping at its edges in blisters and fresh cuts. “…I might have consented had you just asked?”

A broken prayer echoed, maroon gaze swinging up, wide and shattered. “ _William_.”

Falling to his knees, Hannibal buried his forehead against a knee and clutched at hips, body wracking with noiseless sobs.

“No…” Will shook his head, vision dimming dark. “Of course not. Better to seek forgiveness than permission, right?” He covered eyes to keep from looking at the body crumbling at the feet of his altar, a willing sacrifice. “You never once asked for my explicit permission to drug and violate my mind for the sake of your experiment.”

_What’s happening to me, Doctor Lecter?_

Fingers loosened, ragged breath answering.

“You did not ask if it was alright to forcibly ram Abigail’s ear down my throat to send me to prison for your crimes in your stead…”

_What you did to me is in my head…_

Tears streaked down the younger man’s face, feeble voice turning to a deafening roar. “And you never asked…if I wanted the blood of every single person you have killed, knowing I feel responsible for their deaths, for the murders you committed, crawling through my veins. You did not have the right to violate my consent…”

_Every crime of yours... feels like one I am guilty of._

“I-I saved your life.” Palms dropped hopelessly to the floor, struck down by a vengeful deity.

“You saved _your own_ life,” Will corrected tersely, swinging away and snapping up keys from the counter. “I never asked to be saved. You keep taking liberties with my life, Hannibal, that do not belong to you! Stop forcing decisions upon me because you believe they are in my best interest! I _begged_ you time and time again not to lie to me.”

“I…tried…many times to tell you, William. Please you must know.” The older man looked up, cheeks stained in tears, barely whispering loud enough to be heard. “You must… know how much this blackened my soul to ash with each passing day. I did not… want to lose you.”

“All I asked for…” His head dropped to blot out the pained thrum reaching his ears, shaking hand reaching for the door. “…was honesty, Hannibal.” Whispering frost crackled up the insides of lungs, freezing his blood, and rushing to stem the internal hemorrhage of a breaking heart. “And mutual consent. You deemed me worthy of neither.”

“Will, wait!”

 

Slamming the door, Will rushed out into the night and made his way to light gleaming across the sleek body of an Audi. He threw himself behind the wheel, keys jangling in trembling fingertips. He scraped around to find the ignition. He jammed a key in and twisted. The engine flooded, roaring and sputtering out.

“Come on!” He growled, jamming a foot against the clutch and brake.

The engine whirred, grinding loudly before fading.

“Jesus Christ!”

Ramming a fist against a steering wheel, Will pummeled it until he burst into tears and dropped his head in clammy palms. He sank into leather, dragging an elbow across his eyes. A door clicked softly open. Then another. Something rustled against the backseat.

“You are…” A shadow fell across him, quiet and flickering. “…in no condition to drive, Will.”

“Please don’t touch me,” The younger man snapped, wrenching away from a hand settling on his shoulder.

“I will drive you…” Hushed tones bled out. “Please move over if you are able.”

Clambering unsteadily over the middle console, Will jerked the belt across his chest and curled into a ball in the passenger seat. He closed eyes in hopes to fall asleep. He muffled cries in the crook of an arm, listening to sounds of hands dragging across a wheel and a body shifting against leather.

“It is not the same…” The older man rolled words like marbles in his mouth.

He curled tighter. “Don’t talk to me.”

“I was curious what would happen if I let your disease progress for the satisfaction of watching a mind as exquisite as yours unravel. I drugged you to ensure the results.”

“Shut up.”

“And then I imprisoned you out of sheer self preservation, to cage you, to know where I would always find you beneath my watchful gaze and you would always remain mine, and mine alone. And to give Abigail a new life, to give her a family by both our sides.”

“ _S-shut_. Up.” Fingers curled to fists.

“You lied to me and nearly lost your life in an attempt to protect mine.” An aggrieved breath hissed out of teeth. “Tell me, Will, how are these parallels so exceptionally different in your mind? When my actions resulted in giving you enough nourishment to live and nothing more.”

“Because my actions only hurt me! I suffered! I was beaten and tortured every single day for weeks!” Will shouted, bolting upright and hitting a window with a fist in flash of rage. “And do you know what made it alright for me? You made it out of Marseilles alive and I knew… you were safe somewhere, even if it wasn’t with me. Even if I didn’t make it.” White knuckles blanched red, fingers twisting apart and covering a damp face. “I didn’t take away your freedom or choice…I took away my own.”

“I have apologized gravely on a number of occasions for the injustice and violence I brought against you, Will…” Hannibal slowed the car, looking over with dark eyes, and eased out of his jacket before placing it around a trembling ball of nerves. “Do not ask me to apologize for the natural instinct to keep what I care about most alive by any means necessary. I will not.”

“Then we don’t have anything further to talk about…”

Drifting from a fitful sleep of nightmares, Will stirred when he felt arms gently set him against something soft, warmth disappearing in a soft foreign whisper and trail of gauze fingertips across his face. He woke at the sound of a closing door. He bolted upright with a sharp breath and squinted into darkness, jacket slipping from his shoulders.

_Where…_

A single leather bag rested near his feet on a couch. A screen lit up with a buzz. Will blinked away sleep, shaking his head and reached down for the haze of white. He swiped heavy thumb across the screen, text box flashing.

**_Sleep, William. Rest. If I do not hear from you by morning, I will depart._ **

“Where the hell…”

_Are you? Where am I?_

Shuffling forward, Will wandered over to a sliver of light and drew back curtains over a bay window overlooking a muted city skyline. He realized he was in Bordeaux.

_The flat?_

A moment later, he recognized a figure slinking across the street and crumpling behind a wheel of the car, hands going up to shield a face. His heart throbbed awake in a series of searing pain.

His thumbs fumbled across the screen in a rush. **_I love you. I need you_** _._ He deleted each word, sinking against cushions lining the window. **_I’m sorry. I’m not sorry! You lied to me… you made me…_** He deleted these lines as well and stared down at the shadow, finally settling on: **_You don’t have to stay here._ **

He watched the figure shift, screen flashing in hands and stilling.

**_I will leave the car behind for your use._ **

**_I am…_** Will’s thumbs paused, searching for the words, and as always came up short. **_…really fucking angry with you, Hannibal._** His hands began to shake. **_You hurt me…you… wounded me. How could you take away my right to choose?_**

He jumped as a phone flew across the car and collided with a passenger window. Hannibal gripped the steering wheel for a moment longer before fishing the phone back into his grasp and staring at it for a long time.

**_…I am deeply sorry._ **

**_I don’t know if I can forgive you…_** Tears slipped down his cheeks, covering the screen in wet smudges of fingerprints. **_I need time. To think. To figure out who I am without you… What any of this means…_**

**_Sleep, William. Please._ **

The older man slumped in the seat. Will cried harder when he realized Hannibal was sobbing, head pushed against the steering wheel for support. He curled against the window seat, holding the phone to his chest, and stared down at pieces of an equally broken man scattering across a leather interior. Utter loneliness stole across his skin and buried deep in his heart, raw and red eyes sinking closed.

 

The next day he woke to the car parked on the street below. Empty. A hand written note rested beside a set of silver keys to the apartment. Next to these was a stack of cash and credit card. Car keys rested on top of a white carton filled with freshly sliced baguette smothered in cool butter.

Paragraphs and whole words were of black ink were crossed and scrawled out, covered in wet stains, and smudged fingerprints:

 

_Will,_

_I am only sorry for the pain I have caused you with deception. I will not apologize for keeping you with me on this Earth._

_You are far too precious to lose._

_I will try to give you time and the space you require. A feeble promise. An adequate reminder._

_As I cannot seem to keep my word when it comes to you._

_Please… take care of yourself._

_~H_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :whispers: Be still beautiful broken hearts. You will only have to suffer their separation briefly. 
> 
> Thank you to my darling, BloodyGoodGal, for proofing this chapter, reassuring me my brain remains in tact and functioning, and making the astute observation of "the medlar chapter," which broke Hannibal in a good way with the slip of a knife, reversing in time in this one.
> 
> There's a lot happening here. First and foremost, Will reaching closure enough to be ready to trust Hannibal again with himself physically and intimately. His choice. (But a tipping point for Hannibal, who has been keeping this secret from him, for what 100+ chapters now and it's been slowly eating away at him. And he finally has Will back, but won't take what in his eyes, is not yet rightfully his without honesty and no more secrets between them. He has patiently waited for the last six months to have Will choose him, to be with him, and he snaps.)
> 
> The confession. I know we all wanted Will to be overcome with acceptance and gratitude. (Yet unrealistic.) But I think we realize, after all the years of Jack, Alana, and Hannibal putting him in a passive role and taking away his right to choose (and especially with the trauma of TS)~control over choice, of your life, is paramount. 
> 
> Forgiveness and understanding takes time, just like: "I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again."
> 
> Mood Music: Moondust x Jaymes Young, Wicked Game x Gemma Hayes 
> 
> (Note to TheyAre: I hope you enjoyed the last two Keats references in Chapter 106 x 107 xoxo)


	109. Chapter 109

Dress shoes clicked in hollowed rhythm of war drums, climbing flights of a winding staircase in a steady pace towards outstretched arms cloaked in black robes. A heart slowed, waiting for the final mortal blow of a scythe to drain a bloodied muscle through a gaping wound, a final act to a tragedy. Keys clicked in a lock, swinging open a door to the auburn scents of funeral pyres blazing in smoky hues of grey.

Sinking to knees, Hannibal lowered limp bones covered in a plaid mourning shroud and bent over the younger man’s starlight bleached face, a hopeless prayer breathing out across skin. He gazed down at soft lips twisted in cruel lines. He loved that mouth. It brought him the greatest ecstasy and agony he had ever known with a simple twitch of a corner. If he suffocated them both now with a violent press of mouths, would he still be able to find peace in his final moments inside the arms of all he worshiped? Would he be able to let go, watching vital organs crushed to dust in cupped palms of supplication, and continue on with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart once was?

_It belongs to you now, dear one… Do with it as you see fit. What use do I have for it without the mirrored glisten of your presence filling the hallways of my soul?_

A breathy noise caused him to bolt upright and head straight for the door. He would not kiss the younger man goodbye, not if it would end him swiftly. He deserved to suffer at his side, even at a distance keeping them oceans apart. The door shuddered closed, gleaming mahogany dropping shut over a casket of their former lives, brittle bones buried beneath soil falling over their heads.

Hannibal clutched at his chest, forcing feet to move back down a hall and descend stairs to depths of a hell he had only once imagined, to return to a life of isolation and loneliness he once cherished. His mind screeched to turn back. To what? There was nothing waiting for him now except for the slow cancer of hope to ravage away conscious hours and consume what remained of his physical body. A fitting demise to be devoured from the inside out.

_I'm your friend, Will. I don't care about the lives you save. I care about your life._

He swung open a car door and collapsed inside. The older man shifted against leather, dragging out a phone from a trouser pocket and let it fall in his lap. His only remaining lifeline. A fraying red thread of connection not yet broken. _Hope._ Hannibal let out a bitter aching sigh. He remembered its fatal embrace in the sounds of shoes echoing across a concrete floor pacing and in haunted eyes staring at gilded doors revolving in unseen figures. How he had hoped and waited, cursed and raged, and pined for the only face he longed to see every waking and hallucinated moment for a thousand and ninety five days and nights. Each scenario played out in his mind in tortured sepia tones of all he would say to express how his compassion and one morning he breathed in the scent of horrendous aftershave, and remembered nothing except the dull ache of a heart he had forgotten.

He gripped the phone, staring blankly up at a flickering street lamp surrounded by a noiseless flutter of moths drawn to light. He was helpless to the faint glimmers Will’s soul looking out from lulling waves of ocean blue. How he had broken quietly letting go and setting free the only beauty he had ever truly known to keep from crushing or caging it once more.

_Was it good to see me, Will?_

_Good? No._

**_Sleep, William. Rest._** The older man’s thumbs moved clumsily across a graphic keyboard, resenting the tick of imagined keys lacking intimacy and expression of sorrow fueled by loss. ** _If I do not hear from you by morning, I will depart._**

It buzzed to life in a flash of cold. **_You don’t have to stay here._ **

The leap of his bleeding heart faded. **_I will leave the car behind for your use._**

Resting a throbbing head against a cool window, Hannibal glanced up at a darkened window and wondered if the younger man was warm enough. If he had packed enough clothing and supplies _…Enough… enough for how long?_ Trapped breath seeped through lips and fogged glass. _For how long._

**_I am…really fucking angry with you, Hannibal._ **

The older man stared down at the screen, rigid shoulders setting defensively. The rational parts of his mind, addled by lack of sleep, hummed a sound of recognition and understanding. He knew deep down in some broken corner Will’s reaction was self righteous, just, reacting to scales falling from eyes to find a bed of thorns choking out life and snatching away freedom once more in a briar cage. He hadn’t expected forgiveness. Why would he beg, knowing it was something he would willingly do again and again, ruthlessly and without fault?

Two more consecutive angry buzzes sounded. ** _You hurt me…you… wounded me. How could you take away my right to choose?_**

Nails tried to scratch out black font glowing up.

“Because I fucking love you, William!”

The phone slammed into the passenger window with a crack. Hannibal gripped the steering wheel until feeling drained from his fingers, to keep his body rooted in place, and set a jaw in a clench of teeth to stifle a scream perching in the back of his mouth. Letting out a hiss, the older man fished the phone off the floor, dark gaze reflected against its fractured glass surface. He carded fingers through hair, fingers swiping anxiously across a screen in a flurry.

**I love you, Will. I have always loved you. I do not mean to wound that which I cherish above life itself. I could not bear your death or suffering. Would you truly ask me to change the vicious pieces of my soul, which have killed and snapped bones to protect you? Humans survive on primal animalistic instincts to fight and survive. You saw the monster shadowed in my bones and deemed it beautiful. Do not deny my life and heart by saying you no longer accept the atrocities I would commit to ensure you live, knowing you are my life.  
**

Letting out a low growl, an index finger punched at the delete button. They were both to raw to have this conversation. It would merely hurt. He responded simply: **_…I am deeply sorry._**

 ** _I don’t know if I can forgive you…_** **_I need time._**

Hannibal choked out a plea, “Do not abandon me once more, Will.”

**_To think. To figure out who I am without you… What any of this means…_ **

**_Sleep, William. Please._ **

Pitching the phone back into the passenger seat, Hannibal curved trembling arms around his waist and felt the blunt curve of a steering wheel bruising his forehead. Roiling ocean waves rushed out the back of his throat in a mournful wail. Salt water crashed across jagged rocky cheeks. He gasped for air before being pulled under murky depths.

The older man woke with a start and Will’s name on his lips. Popping open the glove box, he pulled out a bound roll of muted bills, a credit card, and a fountain pen. He covered a mirror with his palm as he slid over, unable to stand the sight of the man looking back, skin raw and cracking. He slipped across the street to a small pale mint bakery, barely able to voice a nod and a hurried thank you to a brunette girl speckled in lovely faint freckles behind the counter. He could barely breathe as he climbed stairs once more, knees weak and skin shivering with exhaustion. He wanted to collapse beside the younger man and never wake.

Setting down the items, he weakly let go of car keys and a two keys belonging to the flat, a physical representation of the life they were meant to share. He fished out the fountain pen and scrawled across a napkin hastily, desperate to keep focused and not drown beneath the sound of shallow breathing mere feet away. If he looked even once… he couldn’t look.

 

_William,_

_I love you. Come home when you are ready. I will wait. Even if you cannot bear the sight of me. If you cannot forgive me. I will love and cherish you till my last breath._

_~Yours always._

 

Scribbling out the inadequate words tearing open his heart, Hannibal blinked away tears. It was not enough.

 

 _“What have we given?_  
My friend, blood shaking my heart  
The awful daring of a moment's surrender  
Which an age of prudence can never retract  
By this, and this only, we have existed.”

_~T.S. Eliot_

_I have only ever existed in the mirrors of your eyes and echoing rooms of your perfect mind, Will. Where do our souls return to rest when the gaze of our beloved turns and leaves us to fade, forgotten?_

 

Muffling a weak noise trying to break free, the older man smudged wet ink with a wrist, blotting out the feeble question, and jerked the pen across white in a flurry before escaping. He had left a confession bleeding black and drying, an acceptance of all he could not change, of what he would not change even if time reversed. Will lived. He would not apologize for that. Even if he lost him forever. He lived. Even if an idea was all he had left to hold in final moments of life draining out in a death rattle.

Hannibal stumbled down three flights of stairs before collapsing in the stairwell. He came to with soft brown eyes of a little girl rimmed in a halo inky curls looking down and asking if he was well. He reassured her in gentle tones and a wavering smile, rushing away with the ghost of a child they would never have, in a life they would no longer share as one, burning in the back of his mind.

Darkness greeted him once more after he threw money at a faceless cabbie and crossed the threshold of empty rooms built for the only living family he come to love. Unwanted passengers of ghosts and the dead stretching forward and backwards through time to remain his only constant company. All he had left.

 

* * *

 

_Nails incessantly scratched at the front door. Wood peeled away from its surface in ivory stripes. Pitiful whines grew louder._

_Hannibal gripped a torn leather leash in his fist tighter, braced against the kitchen counter with a hiss on his lips, “Winston…”_

_His feet were sore. His bare arms were covered in lashes of snapping branches and underbrush._

_“Winston, come away from the door.”_

_A mournful bark rang out._

_It had taken him nearly two hours to track the dog through the woods after he had jerked out of his grasp and barreled out the front door. It was the fourth time Winston had run away in search of Will in the last seventy two hours. He had tried to be patient, to speak soft reassurances accompanied by treats. He had washed muddied paws and fur, allowing the golden shiver of fur to crawl on the bed with him and sleep. It was the only place the younger man’s scent still lingered._

_Winston barked louder, scraping at the door till it rattled._

_“Winston!” Hannibal snapped, throwing the leash on the counter and stalking out to the front door. His voice rose to a hoarse shout. “Enough! William is not coming home!”_

_A sharp breath left his lips, piercing words ringing in his ears. The dog sunk to the floor, big brown eyes flickering from side to side before burying a snout beneath paws and whined against a wooden floor._

_“Forgive me, caro cucciolo…” The older man slumped against the door and gathered the shivering dog against his lap, stroking hands through fur and let his eyes fall closed. “I know I am not the father you long for. I…I…miss him too.”_

_A wet nose prodded at his hand, gruff yip sounding as Winston nuzzled closer._

_“I do not know, little one. A question I cannot answer. We will have to wait.”_

_*_

_Will scrubbed fiercely at a set of metal dog food bowls until they gleamed. He dried off each one with a scour of ragged terry cloth and stacked them on a shelf. He sighed, leaning back and watched a tiny bull dog splash around in copper tub, keeping out of reach from hands. He hadn’t been sleeping more than a few hours. He missed Winston. His bones ached. Four days and it already felt like his insides were splitting. He needed touch._

_A damp hand brushed his shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that your boyfriend parked outside?”_

_Will blinked away a haze, turning to look at a slim pale face curtained by a fiery bob and outlined in wide violet eyes. She reminded him of a younger version of Beverly in another life, small bones housing a fierce soul._

_“Sorry, Aubrey. What?”_

_Hands busy with drying a set of beakers, Aubrey jutted a chin towards a window overlooking a winding road. “Your boyfriend, right? Crazy tall? Brooding? Scary as hell? Once forcibly dragged you out of work to go on a picnic?”_

_“My…”_

_A figure draped in a charcoal grey three piece suit leaned against the hood of an Aston Martin, staring between clasped hands at gravel crunching beneath dress shoes. The younger man wound the towel around to conceal trembling hands, letting out a pained sigh._

_“Trouble in paradise?” A fair haired lad rose from the tub and set a feisty dog free. He puffed out his chest, following two pairs of eyes gazing out the window. “Want me to tell him to fuck off, Will?”_

_Violet eyes swung over, mouth gaping. “Lucas!”_

_“It’s fine…” He tried to force the pace of his breathing to even. “I’ll be back in a minute.”_

 

_Shoving damp hands in pockets, Will shuffled outside and was greeted by a balmy spring breeze. It rustled silver strands over broken eyes lifting from the ground. A slim bouquet of white lilies rustled in a left hand._

_“You…” Will swallowed and forced his voice to a firm grate. “You can’t be here.”_  
  
_“I….” Hannibal eased away from the car and pressed the bouquet to his chest, fingertips lingering on ones curling around ivory tissue paper. “Winston misses you.”_

_He winced at the hollow echo of shadows clinging to barren caverns, skin burning from where fingertips had touched._

_“How…how is he?” Will asked, staring at thread barren jeans and refusing to look up._

_It was easier if he wasn’t able to remember handsome lines of the Reaper._

_“Heart broken,” The older man answered weakly, dress shoes trailing over gravel. “He continues to run away from home every chance he receives to look for you.”_

_“Is he…?”_

_Will looked up hopefully, peering around a plaid frame and searched tinted windows for a familiar golden face looking back. He wanted to take Winston for a walk around the park near by and lay in the sun for a few hours. Just him and his faithful companion to make him feel whole._

_“I did not bring him with me…”_

_Shoulders sagging, the younger man let out an audible sigh and glanced up, disappointment etched through his face._

_Wincing, Hannibal dragged out keys from a trouser pocket and pointed to the car, words rushing out. “If you would like I could—“_

_“No.”_

_Rounding the car, the older man opened the passenger door with flickering eyes and gestured for him to get in. “Perhaps you could…”_

_He shook his head, struggling to keep legs in place. “No.”_

_A feeble whisper answered. “No…”_

_The sound of crumbling hope was the quiet click of a door closing._

_“Please don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Will snapped eyes to the ground, sensing a rising clamor forming a dark aura around the unseen figure walking towards him. “I can’t see you right now.” Lilies trembled against his thigh. “I need time. You promised.”_

_A weak nod grated across words. “Time is all I have, Will, all I have ever possessed for company where you are concerned.”_

_“Don’t…” Will flinched, turning quickly on his heel and called over his shoulder. “I-I need to go back to work. Please… don’t look for me again.”_

_“Will...”_

_He listened for the sound of an engine to rumble to life and fade into the distance. He closed eyes and abruptly announced he was taking the rest of the day off to escape questioning eyes._

_The lilies bloomed in the sunlight of the bay window and wilted in the shadow of the night, appreciated beneath the haze of amber liquid._

 

_*_

_Hannibal struggled to breathe as he twisted thin metal picks in the lock of the door, letting out a sigh of relief when tumblers and pins clicked into place. Sweat beaded across his face, swinging open the apartment door and stepping noiselessly inside._

_“William?”_

_He inhaled deeply. Scents of cheap acrid alcohol burned his nostrils._

_“Will?”_

_Crossing through the apartment, his eyes fell on half emptied bottles littered across a coffee table. He lifted a partially filled scotch bottle, a wet ring outlining a blur of words:_

**_Staying with a friend_ ** _. This was sloppily scratched out, amended by: **Staying with Aubrey. The girl I work with. I… have too much time to think when I’m alone. Too much time...** **And it hurts to think about you.**_

_Hannibal sank against the couch and reached for his phone. Panic and a vicious threat of not knowing where the younger man was hammered inside his chest. He glanced at bottles and buried a face in his hand, imagining Will fevered, alone, and bent over a toilet with no one to ensure he woke breathing from a blacked out stupor. Perhaps the girl had found him and taken him home. He prayed to any deity that would listen to watch over him._

_Trembling fingers tapped a screen. **God, William.** He let out a ragged breath. **Please come home. Let me care for you. We are alone without each other.**_

_He waited for an hour with no reply. Hannibal curled up on the couch and dragged the jacket to his chest, wrapping arms around it and breathed in a faint scent of pine dusted in snow._

_Two more days passed without a single word of recognition, gnawing at a fraying sanity, caving beneath the weight of broken connection._

_*_

_Kneeling on the floor, Will released a sharp whistle and called out, “Come here, Winston.”_

_Clattering nails skid around the corner and raced down the hallway. Winston barreled the younger man over and stamped him to the ground with heavy paws, cutting off his air supply. A rough tongue lapped at his face. A wet nose buried in the crook of his neck._

_He let out struggled laughter. “Y-yeah, okay. Me too, alright, now let me up.”_

_When Will sat up, arms still around a silky neck, he found the older man sitting on the stairs dressed in a heather grey sweater and silk pajama bottoms, hands clasped, and gazing at him with aching eyes. Dark circles clung beneath._

_“Are you…”_

_Home?_

_“Are you merely visiting…?”_

_“Here for Winston,” Will answered quietly, rising to feet and clipping a leash on a collar. “Won’t be long.”_

_“Leaving you mean,” The older man corrected softly, head falling into a palm._

_“…Yeah.”_

_“Where will you go?”_

_Sighing, Will leaned against the door and tipped his head up to stare at the ceiling. “What if I told you I wanted to go home?”_

_A sharp breath hissed out. “You do not mean here.”_

_“No.”_

_“You will be caught…”_

_“Do you think anyone is going to take one look at the markings and scars on my body and not believe I wasn’t held against my will, Hannibal?” The younger man tried to keep the tone of his voice even and soft, shifting uncomfortably from side to side at the vision he was creating aloud."It would be half truths."  
_

_Feet padded across the wooden floor. “You would give them the guise of the monster they created in their heads. Fitting.” Fingers curled around the back of a chair. “Will you… return to them?”_

_Teeth clattered shut. Will crossed the floor in a blur and towered above a slumped figure, bleeding heart bursting out in a raw shout, “Why would you ask me that! Why in the hell would you ask?”_

_Maroon eyes lifted as a hand touched a shadowed jaw and tipped a face up._

_“Do you really think the last ten months have meant nothing to me?” The younger man asked in a broken breath, brows drawing low and lips quivering, curls shaking across a pale forehead."That you... mean nothing to me?"  
_

_“You are upsetting Winston…”_

_“I am upsetting you, Doctor Lecter…”_

_Fingertips brushed hair from his eyes and traced the contours of his cheeks. He let out a breath when Hannibal leaned close. He had seen this look once before trapped behind glass, shadowed against his own reflection, lost and retreating to safe rooms._

_Dark eyes searched his before softly replying, “It was good to see you, Will.”_

_“…Aren’t you going to ask me?”_

_Will followed a frail spectral aura drifting up the stairs and out of sight._

_“T-t-to think of you?”_

_A door pushed shut, a resignation._

_*_

_Hannibal woke in a swathe of drenched sheets, gasping for air, only to realize he had not been dreaming. It was real. He was alone. In a mausoleum. An architect of his own destruction. And he was unable to fade fast enough to find a blessed release of escape. He was numb. It hurt to breathe. He was ready to slip away, forget, and fade.  
_

 

_*_

_Will perched on an edge of a lumpy chair in a seedy motel room and gazed at the two objects he had placed on the rickety coffee table. The pearl handled hunting knife gleamed on the right. Silver car keys glittered on the left. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and trying to conjure the horror of something he was incapable of imagining. The price of falling for your nightmare._

_His skin burned. His skull throbbed in a splitting ache. He was numb, lost, and drifting through conscious moments as if he was unable to wake. Was he even awake now? Or had he drifted over the edge and fallen deeper still?_

_He wanted to go home. He wanted to understand. God, he needed to understand. Maybe this would bring him closure. He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure about anything anymore, least of all about his own mind. All he knew was for thirteen days he was no closer to an answer and it was slowly burning holes in his mind, blistering across his skin, and he had never felt more alone in his life._

_The man on the other side of stone walls had forgotten he loved him. Will was starved of oxygen and slowly dying. He wasn’t ready to let go. Not without saying it one last time. He was worth living for, fighting for.  
_

_Swiping up keys and knife alike, Will stumbled towards the door and hoarsely whispered, “Let's go, Winston. We have to hurry…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (:whispers: My heart hurts. ; ; Drive faster, Will.)
> 
> Numbers x Daughter:
> 
> Follow me home, pretend you  
> Found somebody to mend you  
> I feel numb  
> I feel numb in this kingdom
> 
> Can you clean lace faces?  
> Black out nights and tight spaces?  
> We'll feel distant embraces  
> Scratching hands 'round my waist, yeah  
> I wish my mouth would still taste you
> 
> You better, you better, you better  
> You better make me  
> Me better, me better  
> You better make me better


	110. Chapter 110

Jagged shadows of rustling branches cast across the ceiling and tapped against a small bay window, transforming to claws outstretched beyond jaws of monsters lurking in the dark. Washed out thunder rumbled in the distance. Hannibal rolled over on the tiny bed and curled tighter into a corner, knotted breath unfurling from his lungs. He had taken refuge in the younger man’s room days ago, no longer able to bear the utter desperation that stole over him when he woke to find Will was not sleeping next to him. Just an indentation where his body used to lie, a perpetual phantom carved into the mattress. He had learned to fall asleep to the sound of his shallow, peaceful breathing and fade in tones of skin melting in to his. He had neither. It was enough to ensure he nearly stopped sleeping altogether.

In the moments he wasn’t sleeping, Hannibal spent time studying the echoes of loneliness and learning to distinguish each one. How the wooden floors of the house creaked, each one nearly startling him awake to the fleeting hope of footsteps. How branches scratched against sides of stone and windows, almost certain a golden snout would peek around the corner at any moment. More than anything he listened to the steady and horrid thrum of his own heart beating, a mortal reminder he breathed and lived another day to catalogue hours and minutes of listless waking. What else was time for if not to intimately review all the ways a heart could break before it simply ceased to be?

The louder it pounded, the more resentful he became of the sound, unable to staunch bleeding arteries and simply close his eyes and forget to feel. He wanted to lose the sensation of human frailty and let go of something he never knew he needed or wanted. Forget the caress of silky curls beneath fingertips or warm skin burrowed close in his arms, haunted by eyes of still clear water fading until he had trouble seeing them. Would he miss the after images of outlines burnt in his mind once he had forgotten? Or would he struggle every single day to keep sounds and sights of all he once loved alive to disappear further underneath the waves of loss? He suspected Will would always be the last thing he saw before closing his eyes, even in final moments.

A scrape sounded somewhere below wooden floorboards. Sighing, Hannibal untangled from sheets before struggling to sit up. He rolled an aching head around a snapping neck, shrugging shoulders to try and ease stiff muscles. He cocked his head to try and identity another noise. He had become uncertain if the sounds he heard were real or if they were mere manifestations of the rooms in his mind.

Rising to his feet, he padded lightly down stairs, pausing to grab hold of the banister to keep steady as he waited for a wave of light headedness to pass. He would have considered eating if food did not turn to ash in his mouth. A cruel injustice for a palette as refined and educated as his own. He suspected it was simply another irony he would have to learn to live with, for as long as he chose to do so. He hadn’t yet determined a timetable for how long that might be. A month at most if his heart did not give out first. He rather hoped it would to bring an end to its dreadful symphony thrumming against crackling lungs. He stood on the last stair and heard a familiar ticking across hard wood.

Winston slinked around the corner, letting out a low whine before nudging at the older man’s hand. The dog pushed at him with a wet snout more insistently before crouching low to the floor and scurried back towards the kitchen. Jaw clenching tight, Hannibal followed slowly after a golden streak of light and tried to blot out the sensation of his blood humming to life beneath his skin. He gazed at familiar shapes blurring in darkness of the kitchen, framed in a window, eyes sweeping over arms curved around a torso and staring silently out into the woods.

_You are the only beauty I care to cast my eyes upon, Will, and cease to live._

A small breath eased out of lips before a pale profile of a face tipped over a shoulder. “Hey.”

Hannibal remained where he was, refusing to cloud his judgment by making the fatal mistake of crossing the threshold and drawing near. There was something unmistakably frail and human about the way a posture hunched further and turned away when nothing except silence answered, wounded prey resigning to a certain fate. He stepped into the kitchen, but not to touch, not to breathe, and most importantly, not to help. He positioned himself on the other side of the island counter, a proper vantage point should the younger man try to escape. He suspected it wouldn’t be a fair fight, not this time. He could smell vodka laced in a twang of damp earth and metal. The hunt would not thrill him this time. Perhaps it would bring peace. Or perhaps it would end them both. An outcome he was willing to accept.

_Can’t live with him. Can’t live without._

“I beg your pardon, Will…” Hannibal growled quietly, curling thumbs over curving marble and glared icily at a turned back. “Did you walk into our home after nearly two weeks of hellish silence and decide the best choice of words to spring from your lips is a mediocre, and quite frankly insulting, informal greeting?”

A feeble snort answered. It took everything in his power not to spring over the counter and choke a final indignity out of lips. 

“H-hannibal…” The sound of his name blurred warm in a Louisiana tide ebbing from a shoreline. Will shuffled to the side, still not fully facing him and held on to his body in an attempt to shield, from sight or touch. “I need your help.”

“Why is it you only seek my help when it is convenient for you to do so?” The older man’s sharp rigid laughter twisted to a low bitter snarl. “Or is the man you can no longer stand the sight of merely a last resort when there is no one else to turn to? No woman or child or Uncle Jack to guide you here. What can I possibly do for you this time, Will? How is it you can use my expertise to your advantage? It is becoming abundantly clear you never return simply because you missed my company.”

A curled hand touched a flinching wrinkle of smile lines, trembling before pushing back curls. “H-hann…” Rainwater muddied black with sorrow and pain, lingering beneath lashes sweeping up and piercing his heart. “I…know…you are angry with me,” Will spoke softly, wincing and letting out a ragged breath. “But…for Christ sake, do you think…nnn…”

Winston let out a shrill bark a moment after the younger man crumpled to the floor and skittered across the floor in a clatter of panic.

“Will!” Hannibal knelt next to the body and pressed his palm to a fevered forehead dripping in beads of sweat. “Will?” He lightly pushed the dog away and whispered fiercely, “Shh, quiet, Winston. Everything is alright.”

Slipping hands under shoulders he pulled the younger man to his chest and pressed against a threading pulse. Damp plaid squelched under his palm. He raised his hand, examining it in faint light. Blood. He sucked in a harsh breath and ripped open the left seam of a sleeve between nails and teeth, fabric shredding in fraying threads. He swirled a copper substance off his lips with a tongue, fingers curling into fists. The skin beneath it was nearly indistinguishable from the torn garment and lay in red, tattered ribbons loosely over a bicep.

“My god…” Hannibal shook the younger man by his shoulders, breathing out, “What have you done?”

 _Your life is mine to endanger alone…_ He tried to stifle a dark hiss in the back of his mind. _Survive this and I will kill you myself, foolish boy!_

With a feral snarl, Hannibal dragged the limp body in his arms and raced up the stairs, stifling a rush of terror crawling inside his skin. He refused to lose him to any hand except his own. He ducked into the shower and slammed a fist against a silver knob. Icy water rushed out in a deluge, drenching them both in its numbing embrace. A sputtering choke and a cough sounded as Will jerked awake in his arms, clawing at his neck and shivering.

“F-fucking cold…” A voice rasped.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Will,” He snarled down, water cascading down a sharp nose and dripping from lips twisted in a harsh line.

The younger man made a few more mewling sounds of protest before Hannibal stepped out of the shower and placed him propped against an edge of the stone tub. Will groaned, head dropping to his chest, thick lines of crimson trickling down his arm and pooling beneath an upturned palm. Winston crouched on the floor just outside of the bathroom, head on his paws, letting out a whine. The older man roughed a hand violently through silver strands and stalked into their bedroom, returning with his leather medical bag. He pitched it to the floor and crouched down. He rummaged through it with far more calm than he was feeling. Hannibal was stranded between the absurd desire to choke the life out of the body on the floor and shake by the shoulders to scream at him for risking his life.

“Fuu—nnn…” The younger man bit down a moan, paling as antiseptic splashed over ragged wounds and mingled with blood on the tile. A sharp needle jammed into a forearm, plunger dispersing a small amount of morphine. “Goddammit, Hannibal! That hurt! Was that necessary?”

“ _Not_ at all.”

A flame turned metal bright red. “H-h-hurts.”

Hannibal snapped fingernails around a jaw line, twisting it up, and shouted, “Quiet!”

Hunching shoulders, Will bent his head and stared obediently at the floor, mouth trembling as a curved needle slipped through raw flesh. He felt a thousand unspoken words and raw emotions bubbling up between them. The older man sucked in a breath and held it, eyes narrowing to focus and survey the damage of flayed open skin and muscle. The first wound was fairly shallow. The second cut was slightly deeper, jagged from an unsteady hand. The third had made it halfway before it abruptly stopped.

Timid fingertips touched his forehead, resigned voice barely a whisper. “Cut your hair…?”

He continued to stitch, jaw clenching. “I saw no reason to bear the reminder.”

“You look…” He saw lashes flutter over blue eyes out of his peripheral vision to blink away tears. “…thinner?”

“There is no need to prepare a nightly banquet for a dying man,” The older man answered tersely, snipping black thread before blotting a towel over the wound and applying pleasure to stem bleeding.

A shadowed corner of lips flinched. “The heart dies a slow death.”

He wound gauze roughly around a bicep and shook two white pills into his palm, forcing them through cold lips and ordered, “Swallow.”

Pitching the leather bag and bloodied needle carelessly on the counter, the older man buried crimson stained hands underneath scalding water before he swung around to leave, heated breath on his lips. He felt trembling tingle to life in the base of his fingertips and snake up his arms, spreading through the rest of his body, a heady combination of fury mingling with a numbing fear.

A small voice called out, “Please. I’m cold.”

Teeth gritting in his skull, Hannibal let out breath in a hiss to keep from screaming and reached down to lift a drenched figure to feet, arm curving around a smaller waist. He stared at a corner of the room, trying to ignore the sensation of exposed heat brushing against his fingertips as he stripped soaked clothing off. A tattered shirt. A pair of thread bare jeans. He hooked a thumb in an elastic waistband and let boxers fall down shivering legs. A pile of crumpled bodies strewn across a floor stained red. He was terrified if he held on much longer Will would be soon to join them.

“Wait here,” He growled, pushing an unseen body against the counter.

He made it a foot inside the walk in closet, tearing wet jersey down his knees when weak arms encircled his bare torso, wet curls pushing into his spine. He grabbed on to a corner for support, letting out a pained breath, skin scorching down the length of his back where a chest melded close.

“Is it too late to come home?” Will asked softly, mouth muffled against a shoulder blade.

Spinning around, Hannibal pushed him into a corner and braced arms against the wall, on either side of a swallowing throat, hissing, “You cannot choose to stand on the other side of the glass to observe our lives when seeking a reminder of what the crushing depths and tides of loss looks like.”

“I… don’t want to go.” Teeth nipped out over a bottom lip to keep it steady. “Do you want me to?”

“I would advise you to leave before you are unable to do so.” Shoulder jerking away from touch, the older man turned and dragged on a pair of heather grey silk pajama bottoms. “I have graciously allowed you to walk out of my life three times during the course of our entanglement. I will not do so again.”

“Four…” A palm covered jagged flesh on a stomach.

Nails latched in curls, twisting. “ _Repeat yourself_.”

“Four. Four times. The first time… you left me.”

A yelp echoed as he forcibly pulled an oversized navy sweater over a head and shoved arms into sleeves, tugging its soft hemline to knees. Wavering blue peeked out from snagged cable knit. With forced gentleness, he rolled the collar down an arching neck and held out a pair of cotton boxers, turning his face away. He tried to continue breathing as an arm slipped around his neck for support and he felt legs struggling to balance. Only the sound of his heart wailing in a frantic rhythm pounded in his ears. Teeth snapping impatiently, he dragged Will forward by a fistful of sweater and tugged boxers up hips.

“T-thank you…”

He guided weaving feet around a whimpering ball of fur, out to the bedroom, and pushed the younger man into the wing back chair. He snapped a folded cashmere blanket off the bed and threw it hastily around shoulders. A muted noise of appreciation sounded.

“You have stripped me of armor and laid my soul bare to the mortal blows of your voice and enticed with the murderous glint of your soft eyes…” Hannibal crouched by the fireplace and swiveled a knob until flames flickered to life. “If this is the divine reckoning you promised, Will, then I must congratulate you on how thoroughly you have broken me.” He stared down into a misshapen sunset glowing against stones, wondering if it was the last they would share in this life, voice dipping low, “If you intend on killing me at long last, I would be far more comfortable with the barrel of a gun between us.”

Pained sigh answered, skin shifting across a face. “You have every right to… ask me to leave, Hannibal. I just wanted to say…”

A cold palm touched his neck lightly before cashmere draped around his bare shoulders, a feeble attempt to comfort. He looked up. Will drew a knee up to his chest and slung his good arm around it, wincing, and managed to settle his gaze on an arched cheek, threading whisper fading.

“I don’t want to wake up one day and realize how much agony I am in simply because I can no longer recall the sound of your voice. I don’t want to find out how much it hurts to merely breathe life to your name when you’re gone from this life. From my life.”

Cashmere pooled to the floor.

“Are you bargaining to find what conditions are allowed in order to hold me under the sway of your embrace should you choose to stay?” Hannibal swung up from the floor, nails digging into armrests, and towered above a shrinking figure, accusation burning on his lips, damp skin radiating below. “You are asking me to change.”

“You give far too much credit for your own good. We both know I am not that clever…” The younger man tipped his head up and touched violent scowl lines deepening across caverns, smiling weakly. “Who would I have fallen in love with if you changed? You have always been honest with me about who you are and showing me who I am. I don’t need you to change. I love every single part of you, Hannibal. I…I’m sorry if I made you doubt that.”

The older man released a tortured breath, forcibly pushing space between them, and folded on an edge of the bed before his legs gave out. A mere brush of fingertips set his skin ablaze in a myriad of aching bones and flesh begging for contact.

“Who are you now, Will?” He tipped his head in the direction of shuffling feet dazed by morphine thrumming to life. “The man who seeks his home elsewhere to continue denying me both life and freedom?”

“Someone who had to give us matching scars…” Will wobbled across the rug and sank to the space between his bare feet, damp skin leaving palm prints on silk clinging to thighs. “…before I was able to understand it wasn’t an act of cruelty to force my consent, but one of desperation to keep me alive.”

“It had nothing to do with feeble emotion! I did what was required to keep you breathing.” He glowered down at a halo of curls sprawled between his knees, face pressed into the mattress. “I was a trained surgeon, Will, I knew how and where to cut.”

“ _Hannibal_.” A muffled plea pushed away from sheets as blue eyes lifted and gazed up. “I blacked out three times before I was able to even make it through the first cut. And downed half a bottle of vodka in the car outside before I started. All the training in the world wouldn’t have made it any less painful. And I needed to understand what I couldn’t imagine. I _needed_ to understand _you_.”

A low growl hissed out between teeth before it turned to a vacant whisper, “Utterly foolish and reckless.”

_And if I had lost you? How would you have understood me then?_

“Both those things, I agree…” The younger man curved palms down bare shoulders, tracing bent elbows, and placed palms over ragged scars in a light touch. “But you did it anyway, didn’t you? Knowing the risk, for both of us, physically and mentally. That we might not make it off that ship alive. That it could be hopeless and all for nothing. Knowing I might leave for good if you told me…and you took the risk anyway.” Roiling ocean blue crashed over rocky shores looking down in relentless waves. “What kind of a man carves out his own arm without a second thought if not one who cannot live without the other, knowing all he loves in this world is dying?”

Hannibal turned away as fingertips sought to frame his face, burying nails to keep from reaching out.

“It was not the act of forced cannibalism that wounded me, Hannibal. What you did was a selfless sacrifice, an act of love. I cannot begin to ascribe feeling for this. I cannot ever repay you for saving my life.” He shuddered beneath a caress of a sweater moving over planes of his face, slipping down his neck, and stilling above his heart. “What you did after was self preservation and selfishness. I cannot abide by any more lies between us. You didn’t trust me enough to accept you.”

Teeth snapped together, shoving away. “Will—“

“ _No_ , let me finish for once!” A dark gaze bored holes into a soft upturned face as the younger man clamped shaking hands around his waist to keep him firmly in place, refusing release and denying separation. “We have spent so many years… lying and blatantly manipulating each other, keeping secrets, and trying to move each other like pawns around this chessboard to gain advantage or disadvantage. This isn’t going to work between us if we aren’t honest.”

“Have you come home merely to tell me you are leaving, Will?” Hannibal’s voice shook in a cold reply, nails scraping down a cheek and hooking around the back of a neck, fingertips squeezing against fragile bones.

“No, I came home to tell you we both need to stop fucking up if we hope to have any kind of future together…” Will let out a small noise as pressure increased, bowing his head in a sign of acceptance. “I think we can both agree it is sometimes difficult to distinguish our acts of love disguised as acts of cruelty, Hannibal. We have been sufficiently cruel to each other.”

His fingers instinctively dug into bone. “It is who I am.”

“It is who you used to be,” Will corrected, swaying on knees and letting out a quiet whimper, palms flat against the wooden floor. “And who I used to be. Who we used to be together. You hurt me. I hurt you. I walk away. You gut me open. You walk away. I place you in a cage. We either choose to be each other’s shelter or we choose to be each other’s destruction. In spite of everything, you are my home. You really have lost your goddamn mind if you think I want anyone but you.”

“You are mistaken about the man you think I am...”

Flinching at the demure posture of submission, Hannibal lifted the younger man off the floor and placed him off to the side, releasing skin, scalded by touch and desperate to send them both up in flames by seeking it out. His only weakness inched closer. He stared at red splotches blossoming beneath knit, wanting to lean out and press his lips over each one to soothe their ache.

“About me. I am… neither wholesome or good, Will. I kill for the sheer pleasure it brings me without remorse. My victims are an after thought, a simple ingredient rattled off on a recipe, nothing more. ”

“ _You_ are wrong about who you think you are towards me. And _I_ was wrong about trying to figure out which version of you I was seeing.” Will’s words choked out in a stranglehold of a throat closing around a rise of tears. “You tried to kill me for the same reason I tried to kill you, in hopes our compassion would lessen with our deaths and bring closure. You saved me for the same reason.”

Hannibal shut eyes as hands slipped around his neck, bones straining to remain rigid and unmoved by his side. “I _will not_ apologize for my actions in regards to keeping you alive.”

“I _don’t_ want your apologies.” Lips pressed against the curve of his ear in a warm breath. “And you don’t need forgiveness.” A shoulder leaned against his chest. “All I am asking for is a chance. No more secrets. No more lies. If am truly your equal than treat me like one. If we make decisions, we make them together.” Trembling palms slipped down shoulder blades and settled over his lower back. “Let me protect and care for you as you deserve, _not_ how you think you deserve. Promise me that in everything we do… we are partners.”

Hannibal tilted his chin up as a head burrowed against his neck, lips parting and easing out a barely audible noise of pain as his heartbeat quickened, twisting sheets in fingers.

“And that includes hunting as I have a distinct feeling the recent disappearances of very particular members of the _la Brise de Mer_ accumulating over the last several months can be attributed to you.”

He pulled back with a frown, glancing down, waiting for another angry tirade.

“Yes, Hannibal, I taught myself how to read French too, don’t look so surprised. Though I appreciate you affirming my suspicions.” Will quirked his head to the side, teeth nipping on a bottom lip before looking down and away, forcing the older man to lean in to hear a hushed whisper, “Thank you… for that. For—never mind.”

“Why…” His throat closed up, shaking and powerless beneath gentle stroking fingertips. He would have preferred crushed bones and bruises. “…are you thanking me for lying to you once more?”

“Because I find something terribly endearing about you stacking up a body count to reclaim my honor, Hannibal,” Will replied fiercely, burrowing fingers in silver strands and placing a warm mouth over etched lines of pain creasing a forehead. “The ways you show you love me without ever saying it are horrifyingly beautiful. I’ve never had…someone fight for me. You are truly the only champion I have ever had in my corner.”

“Please, Will, don’t.”

“I don’t want to find out who I am without you. You accept all of me without reservation. Maybe… I don’t want to lose a rare gift this time…”

Hands reached out for his, releasing in a tick of fingers uncurling when he did not squeeze back, turning further and further away to keep from seeing tears slip down a pale face.

“Or maybe I’ve already lost it and I’ll… learn to live with this regret knotting in the pit of my stomach, instead of discovering how to keep you warm in the darkest hours. And how many different ways we can mend the wounds between us.”

Splotches of warm wet pooled in an upturned palm, spilling through fingers and spreading across silk.

“I’ve always known I never deserved you, Hannibal, you deserve more than broken shards of a man estranged from the concept of being loved. I’m afraid… it’s all I can give you.”

Warmth moved away in a shiver of skin.

“It was real. If you ever… think of me. Know it was real.”

_Wait._

Unsteady feet shuffled across the wooden floor, pausing in a door frame before disappearing.

_Wait._

“William!”

Hannibal rushed out of the bedroom, a blur of hands caging a figure retreating down the stairs, and trapped a trembling form against his chest and a gilded mirror. He bent his head into the curve of a neck, holding tighter until he was certain he heard bones cracking beneath touch and fracture lines of his heart crumbling to dust.

“Will you stay the night?” Glass shards filled his mouth, scraping up the back of his throat and filled his teeth with bloodied sinew of his heart. “You…you cannot be allowed to drive in your condition.”

_Always excuses. Tell him you need him to stay. For you._

“ _No_ …” Breath fogged the glass. “You either agree to have me as your partner for life or nothing at all.”

“The unconditional terms of my surrender?” The older man nosed at cable knit, placing a light confession against the back of a neck, aching whisper flooding out, “You cannot continue to walk in and out of my life at your leisure. You… wield a threat of power over me, Will… I cease to exist without you.”

“Unconditional love, Hannibal…” Words murmured against their entangled fingers, lips brushing softly across each knuckle. “And I’m not going anywhere ever again. If you let me fight for you… you won’t ever have to surrender again.” He winced as they clenched hard, bone grinding against bone. “So stop fucking giving yourself up for me and just give yourself to me! All of you. And trust me to accept you in all honesty, for who you are, for what you are. And I’ll spend my life letting you care for me with or without my consent, knowing your best intentions are at heart.”

Hannibal released suddenly, holding up palms to shield and backed away. “William… I am so—“

“Just promise!” Tear streaked eyes whipped around with a tortured noise, a smaller body colliding into his and knocking breath from his lungs, embrace holding until he could no longer breathe at all. “You always keep your promises. So fucking promise.”

“I… promise, William.” The older man curved an arm around shaking shoulders, threading fingers in damp curls, and pressed a trembling mouth to a temple. “Promise you will never harm yourself ever again. Please…”

_I can bear my own torture. I cannot bear yours._

“Promise you’ll let me care for you and start eating.” Scolding fingertips pinched taut skin stretched over a hipbone, lips pressing out pain in a flat tone. “Then I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Will!” He bit down a lashing tongue, forcing his voice to soften. “If you believe it is—“ A growl vibrated across his collarbone, tongue twisting to amend the sentence. “Do you believe it is in _our_ best interest to do so, Will?”

“Yeah…” Sweater covered hands drifted up his neck as Will leaned back to gaze up, eyes a fine misting rain. “I do. Now… tell me I’m yours.”

Sighing, he traced contours of trembling lips. “You belong to me. You are my family, William.”

“And…and Winston?”

“Yes, dear one. He is a part of our family as well.”

“Am I…” Dark lashes fell across falling stars, head pressing above his heart. “May I come home, Hannibal?”

“Our lifetime may hold a myriad of cliffs, Will.” Hannibal wrapped arms around a shivering frame and leaned his head on the one below, whispering, “I will have faith you will take both of us over and you may trust I will protect you inside my arms as we fall as one.”

“Please…” Tears beaded down his torso. “Just say it.”

“Stay with me, mylimasis…and you will always have a home to return to. No matter how many times you feel the need to leave, know I need you to remain.”

“Tired.” Weak hands tugged at his neck. “Take me to bed. And kiss me awake in the morning.”

Scooping the younger man into his arms, Hannibal carried him back into the bedroom and tugged a sweater over a head, before pulling back white sheets and tucked him in. Dark curls spilled across a pillow, a hand clutching on to his as he rounded the bed and slipped in beside him. Will left a trail of red as he rolled over and forcibly dragged arms around his frame, melting in and pressing a damp face to skin as they pulled close. His sinking eyelids trapped a sting of tears. Carding fingers through silky hair, the older man slipped away under waves of exhaustion, to the feel of shallow breath caressing his chest and a beating heart echoing in time, delicately sheltered and offered up inside his palm next to his own. In the moments before sleep stole him away, Hannibal realized it was the only true symphony he would ever hear and he would spend all the hours of his life cataloging the sounds of their hearts, never to fade or be forgotten. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for keeping us all in the blanket fort of purgatory. (Though I am impressed how large it has become and how well we are sharing our comfort of tea together.) I took a sharp left turn into some dark rooms I know better than to enter and have been trying to find my way out for a better part of the week. 
> 
> We are, believe it or not, one chapter away from Season 5. So well done to us all!


	111. Chapter 111

Fingertips caressed gauze bandages and traced a forearm slung over a slumbering body. Will hummed a muffled protest, burrowing his face against a soft neck and held tighter, blissfully lulled by warmth and soft touch trying to wake him. He tilted his cheek up as a single finger traced circles across his forehead, sweeping curls away. He nuzzled against it until a palm settled over his face, running down the side of his neck and stroked over a peaceful pulse.

“William…” Lilies of the valley rustled beneath a faint golden glow, whispering in an amused chuckle. “…have you grown out your hair and bleached it blonde overnight, or is there a dog sleeping here with us in our bed?”

“Shit…” Will mumbled, lashes fluttering over eyes, and found a gentle glow of maroon gazing back over floppy ears. “So…sorry.”

Groaning, Will hugged arms tighter around Winston, tail lashing happily at curled knees. He ruffled fur between ears and followed the length of a soft back. He lightly patted a flank and the dog hopped out of bed in a scurry of nails ticking down stairs to find breakfast.

“T-time is it?” He yawned, flopping back on the bed and pulling sheets over his head in denial.

Hands tugged the shield of cotton away and he found Hannibal leaning over with an amused shadow of a smile before gently placing a kiss on his forehead. Dim light set a thousand falling stars touching cheeks and surrounding a galaxy of dark eyes a glow. Will stroked away silvery strands, catching each one, and tucked them in a closed palm above his heart. He blinked slowly, vision hazing shapes, and considered how he would never have to be worried about what the day would bring so long as he could see the older man’s face when he woke. He always felt whole with those eyes looking back.

“Get up, please…” A palm settled on his jaw before Hannibal burrowed his other hand in curls and brushed lips softly over ones below. “It is nearly noon.”

He sighed, touching knuckles to lips as he watched sheets slip away from hard angles and bronze kissed skin. Will propped up on an elbow, muscles in strong arms bunched as they were lifted over a head and rippled down a broad back. He gazed at raised flesh of the circular brand for a while longer before rolling over and scooting to an edge of the bed.

“You’ll have to be more specific…” He stroked down an expanding ribcage and pressed a kiss to a hipbone, relishing the sound of a soft groan from above. “Out of bed?” The younger man turned the body and kissed across another scar, pushing a cold nose against a navel, looking up with a wry smile. “Or just _up_ …?”

“We have lounged in bed for nearly three days, dear one…” The older man swept down and pulled an upturned face close, kissing slowly. He sighed into an open mouth as a tongue dipped to swirl appreciatively across his own. “Today we have plans. Up. Or I will drag you into the shower myself.”

Grumbling when the older man managed to pull away, Will frowned and watched him stride towards the bathroom with steady steps and sense of purpose. He was certain his charm alone would buy them at least another two hours in bed. With a bit of luck and clever persuasion possibly until both of them conceded they were far too starved to consider physical contact without a proper meal.

His bones shuddered in pitiful snapping aches as more space gathered between them. He was worried it was all a fevered dream and he would wake alone to find they were still separated, or it had all been a trick of his twisted imagination, where they had never been together at all. Jumping up from the bed, the younger man tossed a billow sheets away and snared a waist in a single arm and then added another, forehead pressing against a waistline.

“It is…” Hannibal half twisted, right arm lifting to gaze down at the figure holding to his waist with a tipping corner of a smile. “…terribly difficult get ready in a timely fashion if you insistent on doing this.”

“Mm-hmm…” Will hummed against a waistline and hugged tighter, mumbling against skin. “Missed you.”

“And…” The older man carefully separated them with gentle hands, lifting, and placing him on an edge of the bathroom counter. “…I you.”

Will leaned his head against a shoulder as gauze fell away from his bicep, shivering as a hand came to rest on his waist and another lightly touched stitches. His bones quivered to silence as they reconnected with touch. Did he hear a shimmer of fear blurring against the words or did he imagine it? Hannibal was never afraid of anything. He lived without consequence, determined to make every second of the day count. He was fearless and decisive in all action. Will tried to imagine what it would be like to live with that amount of strength carrying one’s bones through life. He pressed a kiss lightly to a throat and decided maybe it was all right to ask to lean on that strength if he needed it. Surely he wouldn’t mind sharing once in awhile.

_Will you promise to take care of me always, Hannibal?_

The younger man whimpered as raw flesh tingled to life underneath a cotton swab soaked in acidic liquid, staring down at hands clasped tight against bare thighs. He busied his mind by trailing eyes over soft shadow sketching over a navel and disappearing into a thicket of curls framing a soft, thick cock. Cool water dabbed at sutures, fingers twisting and lightly stroking through his hair to soothe. He gasped as a rough flat edge of a tongue lapped at the wound. He pulled back to find faint red staining texture of rigid lips and lifted his head, kissing off a taste of copper until a rumbling groan answered.

“You are beginning to heal…” Breath warmed his cheek.

“I…I’m not so sure I agree…” Will answered, lips parting and glanced down between their thighs then back up. “Perhaps you should give me a more thorough examination?”

A firm hand at the small of his back pushed him towards an edge. “Is that so?”

“Yeah…” He let out a hot breath, knees pressing against hips. “I’m sure.”

Strands of hair brushed at his shoulder as a mouth sucked at his neck. “Shower first, Will.”

“Can’t it wait?” He asked, arcing his throat into teeth.

“I have waited far too long as it is. Do not ask me to wait another day.”

 

Arms caught under soft clefts and lifted the younger man effortlessly from the counter, ducking into the shower. Fingers dug into his waist as the other released, swiveling on heat of rain forest mist and clinging steam. Hannibal let the lighter body slip down his chest, carefully lowering dangling feet to the floor, before pulling close. Will sighed as palm pushed his head against a shoulder, eyes drifting closed as fingers massaged scents of patchouli accented in notes of citrus into his scalp. He leaned all his weight into the arm around his waist, completely relaxing. He wanted to tell the older man how much he missed his touch but only content noises came out. He groaned appreciatively as a loofah roughed down his back, swirled over his thighs, and moved in slow wide circles down his chest.

Lips drifted over wet curls, caress slowing to a stop. “I am beginning to become concerned if you will stay awake long enough to endure this shower, let alone our dinner reservations, Will.”

“A-awake…” He mumbled, pawing at the rough texture held in a sturdy hand to make it continue. “Def…inetely…a…wa…ke…”

Repressed laughter vibrated against the ear pressed to a chest. He practically purred when oiled palms replaced texture and began to move across his skin. They pushed up his ribcage and kneaded tension from his shoulders, thumbs pressing into knots gliding down either side of his spine. Will groaned as they massaged the back of his thighs, rotating hips back against a hardening length. With a louder groan, he twisted and flattened the older man against the nearest stone wall and reached down to stroke.

“William…” A tongue tripped over a thickening accent, lashes closing over a maroon glow. “…these particular plans come with a time constraint.”

“Yeah? Well, you started it,” The younger man growled back, tongue tracing over red and blue hickeys covering a throat and scattering down a torso.

Threading fingers in dripping silver strands, Will backed Hannibal into the ledge before, straddling thighs.

“Will, are you—“ Knuckles stilled against his hips.

Lips a breath a way, he whispered fiercely, “ _Shut up_.”

Slicking oil off his thigh, Will worked it up and down a shaft slowly, lost in the look of pure helpless terror stealing into dark eyes as he shifted, shivering as hands caressed tenderly down the length of his spine.

_Are our moments of remembered connection what you fear most?_

Pressing lips into a thin line, he pressed the head of a cock against his entrance and glanced down at his knees shaking around a waist, desperate to remain calm and present.

A thick throat worked down a strangled noise, lips parting and easing out a hoarse command, “ _Lentamente,_ William…”

(Slowly, William...)

Crossing wrists, Hannibal placed them above his head, eyes lowering and looking off to a corner of the shower. A display of submission. A gesture to reassure who was in control. Gnawing on his inner lip, Will pushed the tip in with a timid rock of hips and clenched knees around hipbones in hiss of breath. It burned as he eased on, shoulders jerking as he bit back a whimper. He looked up to find angry red streaks forming across soft hair clinging to a heaving chest where he had scratched. The older man had his head tipped up, eyes closed, silent words lingering inside an open mouth.

“H-hannibal, I can’t…” Brittle words crumbled off his tongue, shaking. “…do this without you touching me.”

“Come here, William…” The older man whispered, gathering him against his chest. “You are safe in my arms.”

Sinking against a shoulder and wrapping arms around a neck, he breathed out, “Don’t let go.”

Will felt tears spring to his eyes as the older man eased out, thrusting back in slowly. It hurt. He didn’t remember it hurting before. At least not this much. He didn’t want any more space between them. He was about to bite down on knuckles to keep a cry quiet when they were replaced with a sturdy wrist. It pushed lips apart and pressed until teeth grazed skin, biting and sucking with another stroke.

“The pain will fade, dear one…” Soft breath pressed into his neck, fingertips swirling through curls at the nape of his neck. “Breathe. I am with you.”

“Love you,” The younger man replied clenched teeth releasing the wrist, tensing thighs and rising to sink down. “Love you. Just…move. Please. I need you.”

_I need you to show me I can still do this with you._

Thumbs stroked down sensitive skin beneath his hipbones, guiding in a gentle rhythm until Will felt shivering legs give way beneath pain spreading up knees and stilling. Hannibal propped him up with an arm around his waist, lifting, and pressed his back against cool stone.

“Are you alright?” The older man whispered against his forehead, running a hand tenderly down his face. “We do not have to continue.”

“G-good.”

He hooked legs lightly around hips, urging forward with a bated breath. Drops of water tangled between their mouths as their lips met in a slick exploration of tongues, distracted by shared breathing. The younger man gave way to the mouth murmuring foreign phrases quietly against his ear, panting as pain slowly unfurled in a veil of pleasure blistering hot down his chest and flushing across thighs.

Toes curled as the older man angled his hips and sent a burst of sparks ablaze behind closed eyes. Will held tighter to broad shoulders, aware of their chests rising and falling in time, both panting and moaning into the others skin. His thighs stiffened, knees clamping against a ribcage, digging heels into a lower back as he rocked into an increasing pace. He arched, threading fingers in wet strands, and let out a hoarse groan of the older man’s name, followed by the sound of his own growled out, as they both came in a shudder of embracing limbs.

“I…I love you,” Will clung closer, blindly finding a mouth and drinking off ragged breath. “God, thank you for waiting for me…thank you.”

Damp eyes pressed into his throat, a sun crossing the sky in a golden trail across his skin. “ _As tave myliu_ …”

Shaking hands eased him off, lowering to the floor. Hannibal tipped his head into the spray of water to disguise tears before kissing the younger man’s mouth slowly, stroking hands reverently down a chest and holding hands to his lips.

“Please get dressed, dear one…” The tip of a tongue touched each knuckle.

Blue eyes lowered, masking an echo of a pain in a light quip. “Impatient?”

“Punctual.” The older man pushed him gently towards the glass door, fingertips reluctantly slipping off his waist one by one. “And, Will?” His unsteady legs made their way across the cold shower tile, glancing back. “Wear the midnight blue single breasted suit, please. It brings out the flecks of silver in your eyes.”

“Y-yeah.” Heat flushed down his face, brightening his neck. “Alright.” His fingers curled around a handle, staring down at bare toes. “Are you… okay, Hannibal?”

“Overwhelmed…” Feet shuffled after. Trembling lips pressed into his bent neck. “Please give me a moment. Is this an acceptable request or would you rather not be alone?”

“I have you…” Will squeezed a hand on his waist, blinking back tears, recognizing a choking sob before letting go. “And you have me. We are never alone with each other.”

Stepping out quickly, cold air enveloped the younger man’s body as he dragged a towel off the rack, running it across skin, and drifted into the walk in closet in a daze. He leaned against the wall, scattering droplets of water with a rough palm against his face. He hated knowing he was the reason the older man needed time and space, as if it was no longer safe to show signs he was vulnerable and human.

_Are you afraid I will see it as weakness? Or are you merely afraid I will exploit it?_

Will released a sigh, dragging off a suit from a swinging hanger then a dress shirt, and swiped a carefully curled tie from a drawer. It was the same suit he had worn the day he had planned to propose. There was an irony in the older man choosing to remember the color of his eyes instead of the events that followed. It hurt. He wondered if he was more pained at his own cowardice or how gently forgiving Hannibal had been. Or if it hurt even more knowing he had been forgiven once more and for some reason they both occupied separate rooms, equally in pained silence.

Knots twisted deep in his stomach. He hated the sensation crawling up his skin, knowing he needed to bear it, to learn to understand their moments of separation once more, until they had both healed. He paused, listening, shoulders slumping at the rustle of a muffled noise. He quietly closed the bathroom door to allow privacy and slipped out, pulling silk black boxers then trousers up his legs as he walked. He pushed arms through stark white cotton before slicking hands through wet hair and locking palms around the back of his neck, staring down at gleaming hard wood.

_I’m sorry, Hannibal. I swear to God I’ll earn your trust back…_

 

A door clicked open. “You are not dressed.”

Letting out a low breath, Will dragged eyes up from gleaming leather dress shoes and then sucked it back in, heart clenching tight in his chest. Hair combed back neatly over a high brow. A blackened velvet sky of cashmere draped over broad shoulders with sharp, narrow silk lapels accented by pin prick stitching and rested over a peaked waist coat. A simple black silver tie was knotted neatly over a high Cambridge collar. Black paisley folded neatly in a breast pocket. Glints of red starbursts rimmed in silver and diamonds flashed as fingers tugged at cuff links, the gift he had given, before adjusting starched sleeves.

 _Good Christ…_ His mouth went dry, hands searching for anything to hold onto as the older man moved closer, oxygen stealing from the room as he moved. _I want to kiss you._

“How very observant of you…” He replied flatly, nipping at his tongue in reprimand as hands found their way up thighs and settled on a leather belt despite his best efforts. “For a man that usually spends an hour and a half grooming to create an impeccable appearance, you sure do complain a lot…”

Nimble fingers whisked buttons closed on the white dress shirt, moving expertly down his chest. “Are you suggesting I am less than aesthetically appealing this afternoon?”

“Oh not at all…” Will inhaled faint scents of earthy patchouli and damp skin, shifting forward on the bed. “It’s just when you look this perfect…” His mouth opened, tongue flicking out and nipped a trouser zipper between teeth. It whirred down in a slow drag. “I can’t help but want to knock you down a few pegs…” His fingertips slipped in and brushed a hardening cock through damp silk. “…and mess up all of your expensive clothes.”

_Just to see what you look like. To see what you’ll do._

A jaw unhinged as he wiggled fingers through the opening and began to stroke. “As much as I would love to oblige this fantasy of yours…” Hannibal’s voice dipped low, grating rough, as he pulled a tie from the bed and slipped it around a neck. “I regret to inform once again, we have some place to be.” A knot snapped tight at his throat, drawing out a smirk and a strangled laugh. “I would appreciate you dressed and ready to leave in ten minutes.”

“That’s too bad…” Will sighed dramatically, tugging the zipper up before mouthing across the fly front, cashmere soft against his lips. “Because I really missed having you in my mouth.” Fingers tugged him away by curls. He looked up into dark eyes, tongue darting out in invitation and asked, “May I suck you in the car then if I behave?”

“William, you are testing my patience.”

“Here I thought I was testing your self control…”

Popping a button on trousers, Will exposed his cock in a drag of fabric before wrapping fingers around the base and let out a little moan on an upstroke. He fell back against the mattress, working his shaft and gazing up to find a mouth twitching with a hungry snarl, large hands buried deep in pockets. He moaned again as palms flattened on either side of his shoulders and a knee brushed his, bed creaking, as Hannibal towered above. A shiver ran down his spine, shadow of a predator falling over him. He licked lips, eager for whatever punishment the older man saw fit, to tip the scales and bring back the balance between them, to connect them once more.

“Am I pushing the boundaries of your control in general? Did you miss me while I was away? Did you think about me, Hannibal? Think about…nnn… fucking me into the mattress like you promised while…ahh stroking yourself off?”

Red eyes glowered brighter with a warning growl. A jerk of hands flipped the younger man on his stomach and another dragged boxers and trousers off in a successive pull. He gasped as a tie swiveled around his neck, a hand wrapping in silk and tightening lightly. A belt buckle clicked. A zipper dragged open. Growls turned to groans. Pressing a cheek into the mattress, Will pushed an answering moan into sheets, watching a swollen head slip in and out of a firm grip.

“Oh fucking Christ…” Rolling onto his back, Will followed the taut length of the tie leading up to a fist and bit down on his bottom lip, flushing when it pulled him forward by the neck. “Is this what you looked like sitting and stroking after our sessions, Hannibal?” He laved a tongue obediently across a rush of white liquid, flicking around a tight ring of fingers, reaching down and stroking himself in unison, nearing release with breathless whispers. “What would you have done to me then?”

Bruises blossomed against his thighs as hands lifted and shoved him belly down against the dresser. “I wanted to bend you over my desk, Will…” Palms flattened his hands against a biting edge, refusing him touch. His dress shirt dragged up, pinned above his shoulders. “…to prescribe you a different kind of therapy.” A forearm jammed under his hips, teeth following to nip and bite across soft swelling clefts pushing back for more. “And then…” The younger man groaned as burning lips tugged down the curve of his ear. “I wanted to fuck the nightmares from the beautifully sweet fevered heat of your brain.”

“Oh god, yes!” White knuckled, Will gripped the edge, arching and pushed back onto a throbbing cock sinking in. “ _Baise-moi, baise-moi._ ”

(Fuck me.)

“ _Fottiti_ , Will?” A dark snarl of teeth sank into exposed skin beneath a collar, thrusting harder, Italian marking flesh red than purple.

(Fuck you?)

“Nnn… y-y-yes…”

“ _Più veloce_?” Fingers twisted curls, dragging his face up from the dresser, thighs shaking.

(Faster?)

A moan turned into a southern drawling plea. “ _Plus vite_!”

(Faster.)

The younger man clung to the clattering dresser, moaning louder as he caught the reflection of Hannibal, still fully dressed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he pulled out a slicked and swollen cock before sinking back in, thrusting faster. He would have rattled off French sonnets, history, or geographical locations, anything to drive the older man to release, if he hadn’t lost the ability to think straight.

Cool silk of a tie lashed up and down his bent spine. “ _Più… forte_?”

(Harder?)

“ _Plus fort_ , nnn…H-hann…”

(Harder.)

A belt buckle rattled and snapped against his left hip. He groaned as metal zipper teeth ground against his ass, arms locking to keep knees from buckling as the older man slammed into him harder. He would be covered in bruises. He would be marked again by the only man he had ever wanted to claim, possess, and own every inch of him, mind, body, and soul.

“ _J-j-je vais_ …” Will lifted a sore torso from the dresser, panting, and rolled hips back onto a hard cock in a searing wave of heat. “ _J-je vais_ …”

(I am going to...)

Fingers curled around the front of his throat, damp lips pushing against his cheek, dark whisper heating skin. “ _Come_.”

A snap of hips sent them both over the edge, teeth sinking into his throat in a red spark of pain before releasing with a soothing tongue.

“Oh fuck me…” He breathed out, touching the spot and wincing.

“Are you asking for a third round, William?” Lips curved against his shoulder. “If so, I am going to need a bit of time for recovery.”

The younger man wobbled away and flopped against the bed, slinging an arm across a burning face. “I need to sleep. Leave me here. Go on without me.” He wrinkled his nose, stomach growling. “But for God sake, if you love me, please bring me back something to eat before I starve.”

“Ever the dramatic, dear one.” A chuckle answered, clothing rustling and dress shoes clicking off in the distance before returning. “I am afraid your presence is required for this particular adventure. Not a negotiation.”

Eyes creaking open, Will blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Hannibal looked as impeccably dressed ever, hair smoothed, and clothing manicured in sweeping lines and form.

“God, what the hell?” He groaned, glancing down and eyeing his hopelessly crinkled shirt and tie, white come dripping down his navel. “How can you possibly look that perfect after having fucked me?”

Lines crinkled around a soft mouth as a damp washcloth whisked away the evidence. “Practice, William,” The older man answered smugly, kissing a bony hip before straightening and looking down. “Do you imagine you can manage to get dressed without further distraction? You have five minutes…” Maroon gaze lingered on naked hips and shivering thighs peeking out from a rumpled hemline. “…or I drag you from the house dressed as you are.” A hand curled around a doorframe, shadowed figure pausing, softly breathing out, “And dear one, to clarify... I am not angry with you.”

 

Crumbling pieces fluttered inside his heart as Will stripped off the tie and shirt, tripping back into boxers and trousers. He rolled on socks, trotting over to the bathroom and slicked back his hair. He twisted to admire the bite marks on his neck and blotches of bruises disappearing beneath a waistband. Snapping a cornflower blue dress shirt from the hanger, he fumbled over the buttons, tucking in the hem and yanked on a leather belt. He toed into dress shoes. He reached for a tie, pausing, and instead popped open buttons on his shirt in a small display of distraction and most certain torment. He knew even a collar embellished with a tie wasn’t going to cover the bite marks and Hannibal wouldn’t be able to help staring at them over dinner. He smirked, wondering if they would even make it out to the car.

“William!” A voice shouted up stairs. “I will not ask you again! We are going to be late.”

“A minute!”

Kneeling beside the tackle box, Will rummaged through its contents and plucked out the small red velvet box. His smile deepened, shoving it in his trouser pocket. He trotted out to the bedroom, swirling the jacket around shoulders, and shoved arms in. He carded fingers anxiously though his curls, trying to arrange them into a dignified semblance.

“Will!”

Grinning, he tripped lazily down the stairs, shrugging at narrowed eyes. “So impatient!”

“Remind me to have you illustrate an entire gallery of clocks upon our return home as punishment, Will,” Hannibal replied mildly, thrusting a brown paper gift bag his direction.

“You are such a dick…” He shook his head, taking the bag with a dark arching brow. “What’s this? Bribery? Or extortion?”

“Open it.”

Unceremoniously ripping open the packaging, Will ignored the soft cluck of annoyance as he pulled its tattered remains apart and peeked inside. He let out a loud snort before lifting out a white dog life vest covered in red anchors, its top coming to a point shaped like a shark’s fin.

“Is…” He covered laughter bubbling out of his mouth with a palm. “…Is Winston sailing somewhere without us? Or in this case, having an issue of identity to follow in his father's footsteps?”

With an annoyed huff, Hannibal snatched the gift away and tugged him towards the door. “He has expressed the necessity of a very particular vacation.”

“Oh has he now?” The younger man followed after, waving goodbye to the dog curled up on the lumpy couch before closing the door. “I never realized what a great conversationalist he was.” Jogging after, he leaned close and whispered teasing, “Did you take to talking to Winston while I was away, Hannibal?”

Without looking back, Hannibal kept walking towards the Aston Martin and presented a silver metal cup with a black lid. “Here.”

Will paused a moment, tipping it to his lips. A rich dark roast flooding his mouth and scalding the back of his throat in a blessed rush of caffeine. “Oh god…” He took another sip, eyes closing. “You are an incredible fucking man, Hannibal Lecter.”

“Had I known a simple cup of coffee would have had you out the door and on our way to our destination…” The older man stared at him curiously, head shaking in bewilderment. “I would have considered offering it much sooner.”

“I take it back…” Will stalked over, hands curling around a neck, and feigned a scowl as he stroked a thumb across a bottom lip affectionately. “You are too damn smug for your own good and I still think you are an pretentious ass.”

He thought about stealing a kiss before spinning away, a voice calling after. “I am afraid it is far too late, dear one, you have already fallen madly in love with me and professed such emotion on various occasions.” A hand curved lightly around his waist, another reaching for the door, and the older man pointed as it opened. “In.”

“No ‘please get in the car’ or ‘would you mind if I fucked you’ today?” Will felt another grin twisting across his lips and leaned across the car door, kissing a genuine scowl with a light laugh. “Rude.”

A watch flashed in the light, scowl deepening. “I will take away that cup of coffee you are clutching like a proverbial cross, William Graham, if you do not get in the car this very instant.”

Eyes narrowing, the younger man delicately cradled the burning cup of coffee against his chest and slinked into the leather seat, grumbling, “William Graham. Really?”

A door shut with a victorious clack, a devilish smirk nearly concealed by tinted windows. An engine purred to life as Hannibal guided the car down a narrow dirt path and back to the main road. They drove for a few more minutes in silence as Will continued to smile into the lid of his cup, sipping on the warm liquid and realized they were driving in the direction of Bordeaux.

“I need to know your middle name,” He announced abruptly.

An index finger tapped the steering wheel. “Pardon?”

“If you get to scold me by creating some ridiculous formal title of my full name, then I think I should get to bark out your full name too.”

“ _No_.”

“No?” Will repressed laughter inside shaking shoulders and straining lungs, cheeks flushing with heat from the effort. “…It’s Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter, isn’t it? I knew Chilton was on to something!”

“ _Count_.”

“What?”

“It is _Count_ Hannibal Lecter.”

Liquid burned the back of his throat as Will sputtered, choking it down in an undignified gurgling noise, slamming a hand against his chest.

“My formal title.” Gaze not straying from the road, Hannibal plucked a tissue from the middle console and offered it up. “Should I inquire if you are in need of medical attention, Will, or merely attempting not to be impudent?”

“So…” The younger man cleared his throat, dabbing at watering eyes, not sure if he was still choking or laughing. “You’re an eleventh century vampire?”

Maroon eyes slid over underneath narrowed lids.

“The guy on Sesame Street then?”

Rumbling growls answered.

“S-sorry…”

Will covered his face with a palm, blinking hard to try and wrap his brain around this new information, mind racing in an attempt to cope at the disparity of planes it placed them on, a kid from the boatyards and a gentleman of society. He felt small again, a boy dressed in shabby clothes on the playground trying to offer up a wilted fistful of daisies to a girl with perfect auburn ringlets clipped back by pearls wearing a pretty pale yellow dress.

“You’re serious?” He winced. “So that means…you are…royalty?”

“The original word ‘count’ originated from its Latin roots _comes_ , or _comitem_ , creates a kind of literal meaning of companion…” Hannibal spoke softly, fine brows drawing low on his forehead. He sounded hurt. “Perhaps you might consider it less of a lavish, dated term for nobility appraising my family lineage…” He glanced over, uncertainty of shadows filling eyes. “…and more of the idea of partnership you recently spoke of, Will. Would you accept me as merely your companion and nothing more?”

“I…I don’t give a shit about your money or title, Hannibal…” He murmured, brushing crease lines off a brow, head tipping to the side and resting against the cool window. “Just you. Are _you_ going to be able to accept that?” His cheeks flushed, staring down at his warped reflection in a silvery surface. “Because if not, I am going to require a lot more in this coffee than _just_ coffee.”

Fingers tapped against the wheel once more. “You may settle your delicate flutter of nerves with a glass of champagne when we reach the restaurant.”

“Delicate? Nerves?” His eyes shot over to the profile of an angular face. “Wait, did you just try to make a joke?”

_To make me feel better?_

“I am a wealth of amusement, Will.” A corner of a lip tipped. “You simply have not been paying due attention.”

“I…I would pour this scalding mess of liquid in your lap if I wasn’t looking forward to using it later.” The younger man gaped, blinking slowly, easing back into leather with a shaking head. “And also, because I plan on consuming it. But mostly the former.”

“Emilis…” Arched cheeks turned pink, voice barely audible. “A derivative of Aemilius or _aemulus,_ meaning a rival. If my mother was very cross with me…she would shorten it to Emil.”

“Count Hannibal Emilis Lecter…” Will placed a kiss on blushing cheeks and smiled, breathing out, “It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

Finishing off the coffee, Will tucked it carefully in a cup holder and tapped fingers against a velvet box hidden in his pocket. He hadn’t realized how nervous he actually was until the older man mentioned it. He liked plans. He liked lists. He appreciated the organization of it all, rattled off in black and white, neatly placed within margins. He had nothing, no speech or romantic notion playing out in his head, just the terrified thud of his own heart. He stared longingly at the larger hand resting on the gearshift.

“You do not need to ask…” Hannibal reminded gently, glancing over.

“Are you sure you aren’t angry?” Will asked, covering the hand and threading their fingers together. “If you are…”

_If you are…I understand? It’s okay? It’s both our faults? Just tell me we will be all right?_

“There are not enough languages to express how my very spirit broke in your absence…”

His heart beat once and then stopped.

“Will you give me time to realign the fractures in my bones and give consideration to the beautiful gift you have once more given me, Will?” The older man asked, squeezing fingers reassuringly before returning his eyes to the road. “Did you imagine it was taken thoughtlessly?”

“No…” He sighed, staring out at rainwater turning from mist to droplets. “I am worried it hurt you to have it denied in the first place. That I… hurt you.”

“My heart aches to have you near, William. Nothing more.”

Hannibal steered the car into a parking space, fingers clicking keys to the off position before slipping them into a jacket pocket. He unbuckled, turning in his seat and reached across to frame a bent face flushing red. Soft fingertips stroked through curls as a small smile touched lips. He crumbled, lost in devotion holding close and looking back.

“I spent many months living in the purgatory of our separation and fear you would return, only to remain beyond reach.” Maroon eyes lifted, searching ocean blue, continuing to touch, rekindling connection. “Trust, have faith, we will allow each other to be seen once more?”

“I don’t…” Will glanced down at the hands sheltering his own, sucking in a deep steadying breath and looked up, nodding firmly. “I don’t need faith to know we will be okay, Hannibal. You will say if you need me. And I’ll be here when you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought "Bananibal" was the best suggestion for a middle name, truly. 
> 
> Lithuanian translations:  
> “As tave myliu…” : I love you.
> 
> (And I lied, one more chapter because this particular chapter seems like it's going to be rather long.)


	112. Chapter 112

“A moment please…” Lips brushed across his forehead in a gentle caress, fingertips gliding beneath a jacket cuff to touch a wrist before disappearing.

Will shivered, longing cresting in his chest. Easing out of the car with a languid stretch, Hannibal retrieved a black wooden handle umbrella tucked underneath his arm and popped it open. Blue eyes tracked graceful movements sidestepping puddles around the car before stepping up on a cobblestone sidewalk. He tugged off the seatbelt, face turning towards the sound of a passenger door opening, swearing softly and trying to be a little less obvious with how love sick he felt in that moment, unable to tear his gaze away.

_Christ, why are you so beautiful?_

Raindrops scattered across an eclipsed sun, black void forming around a shadowed head, shoulders curled forward, as Hannibal bent at the waist in an elegant bow and offered his hand in a gestural sweep of fingers. He eased out a trapped breath. This was more than a chivalrous gesture of a gentleman. The older man looked like a goddamn dark prince and he was sure any moment now he would spontaneously combust from heat rising in his cheeks. He knew his ruddy complexion was giving away exactly how charmed he was and hated showing how much little control he had in the way Hannibal made him feel. Like he mattered. As if it was just the two of them, and he was the only one the older man could see.

 _Shit…_ He hooked a thumb inside curling fingers and squeezed till it hurt, to give a physical representation to the torturous beat of his heart. _I can’t feel my hands. Or my legs. Wait, what’s he saying? Does it have to hurt this much when you look at me?_

“Dear one, out of the car if you please.”

Candlelight warmed edges of a maroon gaze as Will placed his hand in an upturned palm, blushing a furious shade of ruby. His eyes drifted to earthy toned cobblestone, weighing the risk of dropping to his knees in a muddy puddle and proposing right then and there. He was not sure the initial stern scolding followed by an hour long lecture over dinner of exactly how much dry cleaning cost was worth enduring. With another inward groan, he let the hand pull him from the car, guiding him around the puddle, and stumbled against a solid chest. He melted into radiating warmth, struggling against weak knees to keep up right.

Hannibal tipped his jaw slightly, gazing down through a thicket of fair lashes with a soft smile. “Going my way?”

“Goddammit…” Will thrust his face into steeped fingers, eyes crinkling shut and laughed. “Thank you. Thank you for ruining a perfectly poignant moment.”

_Thank you for always knowing. Even if I can’t say it._

“My pleasure…” A mouth purred against his ear.

Sturdy fingers wrapped around his waist as Hannibal pulled him in, lifting the umbrella and making sure the younger man was completely beneath its dome. Shaking his head, Will slipped an arm around his waist and allowed his body to be guided carefully though a small crowd of tourists lingering near a bus stop. He huddled closer, eyes drifting shut and enjoyed the sturdy feel of an arm instinctively tightening to shelter. He knew he could let go. Hannibal would take care of him, with sure footing and firm embrace.

What was socially acceptable was not always conducive to how he felt on the inside. He had always felt a weighty expectation in past relationships to square his shoulders, puff out his chest in display of challenge, and march a wisp of a girl safely through a crowded room, no matter how much his social anxiety was secretly eating away at him. He was supposed to protect her honor with fistfights and bloodied noses. He was not supposed to say how it felt like he was drowning and couldn’t breathe in crowds. He wasn’t supposed to say he didn’t know what he wanted, unsure of how to say or ask, even if he did. His father said it was weak to display nervousness, to man up, and do what was deemed appropriate by the gender roles assigned to him. He never considered if he was man enough for anything, aside from physical anatomy. Always the disappointment and never normal enough for anyone’s liking, even his own.

He had always been a footnote, an honorable mention that didn’t quite make the cut. His empathy had gifted him with the ability to innately provide and tend to other’s needs without having to be asked. He knew what they needed instinctively. What they wanted before they did. Will had followed the paths stretching out before him with the idea he would always provide and care for others, without giving much thought to what he might want or need. In a way, he was more comfortable being forgotten and cast aside then the idea that anyone at all might remember he existed in the first place, or insist his desires were worth mentioning or given attention. He never thought much of them. They were hardly important. Why would anyone else think differently?

Maroon eyes flicked cautiously this way and that, narrowed in concentration, a subtle warning for others to give them a wide birth. As always the crowds seemed to part, flowing around and away from them. The younger man tipped his head into a shoulder and moved as close as possible without the threat of their feet tangling, to stave off a shiver of worry. Hannibal looked down, pleased, and smiled at him, eyes warming with an accompaniment of creasing lines. Will never felt he had to play a role or be anything with the older man. He just was. He liked feeling considered, a glimmer of hope that someone thought he might be worth fighting for. That he might be anything more than an afterthought. Safety, protection, and being provided for was merely a breath away, waiting in open arms without condition or terms. He had missed knowing crushing oblivion and a safe harbor were, and would always be, one in the same. It stood out in stark relief in his mind with a thrum of pain.

Will tugged lightly on an elbow, thumbs stroking down silk lapels and settled a palm over a sharp cheekbone, brushing away a fine mist with a quivering mouth.

“Are you well, dear one?” Hannibal stopped in his tracks, drawing an arm around his shoulders as if he was physically injured, eyes flooding with genuine concern. “Will?”

 _Dear one…_ His hands balled up at sides. _Maybe it hurts for you to give me consideration, Hannibal. To know how much I’ve grown used to being cared for by you, when I never needed it before. I’m terrified… What if you stop?_

“In all those months…”

He tugged at his bottom lip, trying to force his voice to rise to more than a tiny whisper. Imagined daisies crumbled in broken stems and rejected plucked petals at his feet in scores of ‘forget me’s filling up his mouth year after year until he suffocated, before he stopped reaching out and let himself drown.

“I heard the loss of you in the quieting stream of my own breathing and the echo of my heart beat, Hannibal, like starlight fading beneath a haze of clouds.” He winced as knuckles tilted his face up, maroon planets falling into orbit with silvery moons. “It… killed me to be without you too. You mean… _every_ fucking thing to me, Hannibal. I want you. I need you...so much it hurts. And I can’t… I can’t understand why you stay or put up with me when I’m not worth it. What if you wake up one day and realize…I’m a mistake?”

_The way I am isn't compatible._

_With the way I am?_

“Will…” The older man leaned in, shadows filling eyes. “Whatever voices breathe life to your insecurities, recreating blurred shapeless years of figures trailing through your youth…” Fingertips traced lips lightly. “They were all wrong, Will. They were thoughtless vacuums of oxygen and would never have understood or appreciated your true beauty. You are _not_ worthless. You are perfect. The birth of galaxies shine bright in your eyes.” Hands pulled closer until the younger man dropped his head against a shoulder, letting out a ragged sigh. “You are worthy of nothing less than daily worship.”

“I…” His shoulders shook, sinking. “Sor—“

“There is no need to apologize under my care, William. And you are under my care.” Furious words cut him off and burned across his ear, seeping into cold caverns of his skull. “Stop seeing weakness where humanity exists. There is _nothing_ intrinsically wrong with you. It is natural to seek out care. The only mistake I see is you were cruelly born into a world requiring you to fight from the first draw of breath and fend for yourself. You were offered broken homes and bruises, innocence trampled beneath uncaring feet and smashing fists.”

“I could not protect you then, dear one.” Hannibal pressed closer, cupping a head to his chest, and softly said, “Let me care for you now, Will, as I promised. Allow me to burn cities and snap bones to erect pagan statues in your honor. Accept the frail gentleness of my heart’s affection and promise to care for me in return. You are all I need.”

“Christ…” Will dragged a sleeve across damp eyes, mouth wavering from a frown to a smile, uncertain if he was going to burst into tears or laugh, over how his chest tightened with every passing minute. “…I fall in love with you a little more every time I look at you. I can’t imagine my life without you either.”

Shadow tipping to the side, Hannibal hooked a hand around the back of a neck, touching their lips together in a hushing whisper, “ _Tu esi gražus, William. Aš tik noriu būti su tavimi…_ ” A thumb caressed flecks of rain away from dark brows, kissing once more softly to drink off any last reservations. “ _Tu esi mano siela. Mano sirdis_.”

“H-h-hannibal…” The younger man stammered out, going rigid in arms as a mouth pushed down his collar and warmed crimson cherry blossoms. “People are s-s-staring.”

A hum of dissatisfaction caressed skin, umbrella tipping and blocking them from onlookers. “Was it not your conscious intention to be claimed fully with this display of temptation?” Hannibal mouthed words up a jaw before pulling away, a sharp incisor nipping out across a faint smile. “You are not allowed to complain when I am incapable of resisting.”

“Hannibal…” The younger man caught a wrist, tugging again, jamming a hand in his pocket and touched a velvet box. “Wait.”

“What is it, dear one?” The older man glanced back, then anxiously at his watch, and over to a white washed restaurant gilded in gold paint and large arcing windows.

_This is important him. It can wait._

“No…never mind.” Will sighed, adoring smile touching his lips, tottering dangerously on an edge of the sidewalk. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

A hand shot out and pulled him back from nearly tumbling in front of a Porsche speeding passed. 

“Mind your surroundings, please,” The older man growled down, sharp eyes narrowing to conceal a spark of flames.

Cashmere peeled down arms as Hannibal stepped over and placed his jacket around Will’s shoulders, pressing the umbrella into an open hand. Heat touched the back of his neck. 

“I…I’m not…” A disapproving look silenced his protest. “Thank you.”

A knowing smile ticked up, fingertips stroking pink cheeks, love warming each word. “Come in when you are ready. I will ensure our table is waiting with a bottle of champagne on ice.”

 _Fuck…_ Will watched the older man stride easily through a crowd with the mere command of presence before letting his head drop, smiling down at rain pattering against cobblestone. _I love that man._ He pulled the jacket around his frame, closing the umbrella and letting rain cool his flushing skin. _Hannibal Graham_. He snorted quietly. _The indignity. Will Lecter. Count William Lecter_. He stifled another snort, head shaking. _Jesus, Graham, quit day dreaming. You at least have to attempt to be a proper gentleman if you ever want him to even consider saying yes._

 

Snapping out of a daze, Will shrugged deeper into the jacket, another chill running down his spine. It really wasn’t that cold. He would never hear the end of it if he got sick from standing in the rain. He lowered eyes to the ground to go inside before stopping, straightening, and mimicked the body language he had seen the older man use. To his surprise, women melted to the sides and men nodded respectfully before stepping out of his path. He tried not to look as confused as he felt, winding through French doors and pushed into a crowded restaurant.

Blinking hard, he tried to keep calm as he searched for a safe spot to wait and saw a vacant foot of space against a long bar of stainless steel. Sidestepping a whirling large tray filled with an array of drinks, Will picked his way through blurring faces and pressed his back gratefully against a counter. He glanced sideways down a row of barstools filled with manicured nails and flashing time pieces, tonics clutched in hands and pressed to lips. He turned his gaze back towards the crowd, searching colored sea of faces in hopes to find the only one he ever hoped to see.

Chattering buzz of conversation faded, colors muting from sepia tones then fading to grey, as Will laid eyes on a flash of silver hair falling over crinkling crimson eyes. Hannibal was clear on the other side of the restaurant, pressed between a neat row of crisp linen tables and gesturing to a woman with brunette hair tucked neatly beneath a chef hat. She was wiping hands on her apron, nodding, and smiling before pointing upwards. The younger man followed outstretched fingers gesturing to a secluded upper level cordoned off by cabriole balustrades, a single table tucked into peaked rafters in front of a stained glass window. He was almost certain he spotted a bottle of champagne before another sensation crawled down the back of his neck and settled at the base of his spine. His gaze floated down, searching the room for its source.

 

Fingers tapped at his shoulder. _“A drink from the gentleman at the other side of the bar, sir.”_

Will spun around, heart leaping in his throat, and growled out, “What did you just say?”

A petite girl with a pixie cut wrinkled her nose, adjusting thick plastic frames on her face. “I asked if you would like something to drink, sir?”

“No.” He shook his head weakly, turning away from a questioning gaze. “No thank you.”

Frantically, he searched the room for Hannibal again. Fingers tapped anxiously at his thigh. He tried to regulate the pace of his breathing by counting slowly to ten. He caught a glimpse of the older man in his peripheral, making his way back towards the front door in search of him.

He breathed a sigh of relief, cupping hands over his mouth. “ _Hannibal_.”

His blood rushed to an icy crawl. Two shadowy figures flowed through crowded bodies, making sure to keep their target within sight and remain unseen. Another shiver seized his heart. They were pursuing Hannibal. Will jerked legs rooted to the floor free and shoved passed a waiter balancing an empty tray, muscling his way through limbs and torsos crushing against him, clawing at backs and sides to make a path. He bit down the urge to yell a warning. If Hannibal heard, so would they. They didn’t know he was there. He had the advantage. He lost sight of the older man in an instant the door came in to view, panic clenching lungs.

Breaking free from the throng of patrons, Will barreled out of the front door and gulped cool air into his lungs, heart slamming wildly in his chest. A hiss of rain plastered clothes to his body, gaze wildly searching for a sign, any sign. He looked to the left where they had come from. Nothing. He looked to the right towards a yellow traffic light. Nothing. No shadows lingered in preparation to attack. No flash of silver hair gliding away completely unaware of impending threat.

_Where the fuck are you._

He was vaguely aware of his body moving on its own, slamming into an unseen figure. He shoved away, a scream coiling inside his chest for release. Pain throbbed to life in his damaged bicep and traveled down to tingle in his clenched fist. He heard the scrape of shoes turning to panicked thuds. Heavy lead filled his stomach, sweat breaking out on his neck and chest. His lungs burned. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Trees, street lamps, and people all became a whirling blend of colors and sound as Will began to spin in a circle, searching, fingers scraping against his scalp and yanking on roots of hair.

“No… no…no…” Teeth gritted, breath quickening, shallow and cresting on a panic attack.

_Hannibal. God. Hannibal. Where are you!_

Will broke into a blind run, feet pounding across pavement, fists swinging at his sides. A guttural voice swore vehemently, a shove of hands sending him careening to the right. He stumbled, jostled by crossed out faces and graying limbs pushing him further against a tide. Hot tears stung his eyes, streaking down his face. His heart strangled him, throat tightening, and eking out a strangled noise of terror. Stabbing sensations raced up his calf, ankle twisting against the curb of a sidewalk. Another push sent him sprawling face first against concrete, jacket slipping off shoulders and pooling against feet.

“H-hann…” The younger man moaned, dragging away gravel from burning palms and shuffled forward on bruised knees.

A horn blared somewhere in the distance. He lurched forward, scrambling and limping to unsteady feet. He dragged his foot across the ground, heart pounding, unable to see through tears. Another obscenity screamed near by. Air rushed past him in the form of a mirror. Will froze helplessly, throwing up an arm to shield from a blinding light falling across his figure, horn rising to a piercing screech, and braced for impact.

“WILLIAM!” A hollow scream echoed in the darkness.

Shoulders collided into Will’s chest. Dry palms shot out, wrapping around his head, face caged against a hard chest. He clutched tight to Hannibal. A bumper slammed into his side as thighs wrapped around his torso, body curling in and around to protect before they rolled up a hood of a car screeching to a stop. Air rushed out of him in a choked gasp. Searing pain flashed as flesh ripped open above his collarbone. Their bodies slid down cold metal, bouncing with sickening cracks and jolts across concrete. Burning rubber filled his nostrils, overpowering a scent of clean skin holding close. They skidded together in a tangle of limbs, rolling silently to a stop. Audible gasps and shouts crowded in.

Tires peeled away from the road in cloud of smoke. Will tried to call out, tongue thick and heavy in the back of his throat His mouth moved but nothing came out. His lashes drifted open and closed against a throat, trying to blink out a morse code. He tried to move hands to push a crushing body off, limply brushing at silver strands, shoulder shrugging and trying to lift a face pressed against it. He was so heavy. He could barely breathe.

Cracked lips parted. “H-h-h…?”

Not even a groan of recognition answered. No shallow breath. Not even a muscle ticked against his body in response. Rain covered his upturned face, struggling to move in a pang of screaming bones and flesh. He winced, something warm spattering across his brow. It trickled down the bridge of his nose, staining his cheek, and pooled against the seam of his open mouth trying to call for help. Tainted copper dripped steadily onto his tongue, blood filling his mouth in a choked scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :whispers: And welcome to Season 5, everyone, where things get real Murder Husband-y real quick. (I can hear a cacophony of your mortified screams already.) 
> 
> Translations:  
> “Tu esi gražus, William. Aš tik noriu būti su tavimi…” A thumb caressed flecks of rain away from dark brows, kissing once more softly to drink off any last reservations. “Tu esi mano siela. Mano sirdis.”
> 
> (You are beautiful, William. I only want to be with you... You are my soul. My heart.)
> 
>  
> 
> Made of Stone x Daughter:
> 
> Hoping I'm over thinking  
> I should be feeling more  
> Draped over your bones  
> Paint colours up the walls  
> To spread our inspirations  
> You are the likely cause  
> Of what will be my demise


	113. Chapter 113

Inhaling a sharp breath, Will jerked awake. His eyes snapped open wide. He could make out a cloud of looming faces observing from a safe distance on the sidewalk. Another scream uncoiled on his tongue. Shoving his right shoulder forward, he pressed against a chest and wedged his good knee under a stomach. He grunted against a limp neck. Pain shot up his left leg as he rocked to the side, flipping the older man on his back and breaking free in a twist of limbs. His eyes screwed shut with violent swear, jagged flesh hanging down his collarbone flashing to life. He let out a hiss of breath, in an attempt to mentally prepare, before looking down.

Will smashed a closed fist against his mouth and bit down to keep from screaming again. Upturned palms rested on concrete where Hannibal lay motionless, completely still, profile of his face tipped against the ground and eyes closed as if he was merely sleeping. Crimson leaked down a corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin, and trickled down a turned neck. Shaking hands touched a right temple glistening in a patch of red where they had hit the windshield, brushing away strands of hair. A left arm hung at a sickly angle, half twisted beneath a waistline. Trousers were ripped open over a left knee, gaping open around purpling bruises crawling up a thigh. The younger man reached out for a line of buttons on a waistcoat, slipping them open one by one and held his breath.

“Oh god…”

Crisp cotton was torn open from a clavicle exposing a chest. Skin beneath it looked like it had been flayed open with a hunting knife, loosely hanging open over a puddle of blood spreading wide. Dirt and gravel peppered through its wet surface of muscle. An animalistic howl pierced the air from somewhere in the distance. Audible gasps of shock and terror stretched around him. Will wasn’t aware he was trying to scrub off gravel with palms and scoop up flesh, desperately trying to neatly put it back together, where it belonged, like it was before, until he looked at blood pooling through fingertips and staining his wrists.

“Hannibal! Fuck, Hannibal! Oh god…” An inhuman wail ripped out of his lungs, turning to strangled screams. Will grabbed by the shoulders and began shaking Hannibal hard against the ground, head rolling across gravel on a limp stem of a neck. “Hannibal! Christ! Wake up! Wake up! Oh god, Hannibal!”

Someone touched his shoulder. Will wheeled around on his knees, crouching, and bared his teeth, red filtering through his vision.

“Don’t touch him!” He snarled up, fists curling, preparing to smash into anyone who came near.

A fair haired woman dressed in a pair of jeans and a large sun hat stumbled back, violet eyes wide and covered her mouth, muffling a shocked yelp. The crowd circled protectively around her in a press of hands and shoulders.

Rough skin touched his throat in a faint flutter of wings. “Please…desist.”

Will fell forward on his hands, crumbling around the body beneath, fists clenching around shoulders and began shaking again, muscles and limbs trembling violently. Glazed maroon eyes stared up, hand slipping from his neck and falling back to concrete.

“Y-y-you fucking prick!” Choked sobs tore out of him. “Why!” He stopped shaking long enough to smother the mouth below, teeth chattering when he pulled away, tears streaking down his face. “Why would you do that!”

“Will…” A feeble breath eased out, trembling fingers pointing to the covered bus stop bench. “I would prefer… not… to recreate the experience of a second vehicle collision. Or risk…a concussion at your hands.”

Struggling to his feet, Will tried to put pressure on his swollen ankle and immediately regretted it, burning sensation shooting up his calf and radiating through his thigh. He grit his teeth, shoving it fully against the ground with a bitten back curse and gathered the older man’s body against his chest. Wrapping both arms around a wider torso, he half limped and dragged weight across the concrete in a scrape of shoes. He growled at anyone who even looked their way, chin jutting up, lips curling apart.

“Useless sheep, the fucking lot of you!” Flecks of blood stained his teeth red. “Please carry on sipping your goddamn umbrella drinks, you pieces of shit. Not like you can be bothered to stop what you’re doing and help! Content to watch a man bleed out in the middle of the road so long as it isn’t you.”

“Dear one…” A weak palm touched his hand, voice muffled against his shoulder. “You are causing a scene.”

“I’ll cause a goddamn scene if I want to!” Will snapped back, lowering the older man to the bench and grabbing onto glass for support. “Fuck them!”

Crumbling to knees, the younger man grabbed on to a waist and buried his face against a knee as fingers threaded against his hair in a feeble attempt to quiet. He knew he was right. He needed to shut up. He needed to shut before he said something he regretted. They were already fugitives. And now they were victims of a hit and run. They didn’t need any more attention than that. They didn’t need anyone looking too closely.

“Fucking Christ, Hannibal, what do I do?” He stared up into a face, pale snow rimmed in blossoming roses, and shook until the older man opened his eyes again. “Tell me what to do!” Hannibal made a weak noise when thumbs dug into his ribcage, paling a shade further. “I’m going to get help!”

Fingers snapped out and yanked him back to the ground by a lapel. “N-no.”

“Hann, please!” Will raked fingers through his hair, leaving a trail of blood in curls, and tried to pry the hand bruising his shoulder away. "God, let me get someone! Fuck! Anyone, oh god. Let me help you!”

“You…” Hannibal rolled up from a slumped position, wincing, and touched his mouth with a thumb, crimson sun setting in his eyes. “…are all I need, William.”

“Don’t you fucking dare... Don’t. Don’t. Please!” The younger man shook his head fiercely, biting down a quivering bottom lip and growled, "I’m taking you to the hospital!”

“It is not worth the possibility of us getting caught, Will… of you, getting caught.” The older man held on tighter than he imagined possible, thumb bruising below his clavicle and fingers jamming into his shoulder. “You are too precious…”

“Now is not to the time to be chivalrous! _Your life_ is more goddamn important than my freedom, Hannibal.”

Silver starlight dimmed, scattering across a shaking head. “N…n-not to me.”

Will snapped the hand away from his shoulder and crushed it between palms, whipping forward and biting down on a split lip. “Y-you don’t get to make that call on your own any more! You promised! You fucking promised!”

A faint smile touched lips, fondly licking away blood in a soft whisper. “It is my life to give…”

“F-fine… then…”

Will jerked shaking fingers through silver hair, touching cheeks, forehead, neck and mouth, suffocating beneath repressed sobs. He peeled the jacket down his arms, resting it around broad shoulders. His voice grew weaker. Hannibal was starting to shiver from head to toe.

“…give your life to me, but god, please don’t give it _for_ me!”

Jamming a hand into his trouser pocket, Will pulled out a red velvet box and rested it in a bloodied shaking palm, mouth cracking open and releasing a weak noise. He yanked open the lid, pulling his good knee forward by force and knelt on it.

“Will you spend the rest of your life with me, Hannibal? Because I can’t… I can’t live without you…” His voice shook out in a series of cracking and broken porcelain scattering across a kitchen floor, unable to lift his tear filled gaze from the ground. “P-p-please don’t make me.”

“Oh dear one…”

A warm mouth trembled across his forehead, leaving a smear of blood. His heart broke when he finally looked up. Shimmering tears of happiness gave way to remorse trickling down arcing cheekbones. Shadowed terror and then deepening despair flooded eyes in another well of tears, seeping out in a mouth trying to maintain a fragile smile.

“I… was never able to fully… predict you… was I, William?” Hannibal gazed at the box for a long time before looking over at Will, smile faltering as he slumped back against the glass enclosure. “How beautiful you are…”

“D-don’t you dare use past tenses!” Will let out a cry, scrambling to his feet and collapsed weakly on the bench, cradling the velvet box of his heart in palms and thrust it forward again, harsh growl turning to a plea. “Answer the damn question.”

“William…” The older man adjusted again, letting out a pained breath as he drooped over, hanging arm cradled against his chest, and placed his lips over quivering ones. Maroon eyes softened, slipping from his mouth and gazed up. “There is no time, no space, no realm in this world, or even in the next where my heart did not belong to you. It has always belonged to you, even before our physical realms entwined, I was already yours.”

“Please, Hannibal. Please…” Will choked back a sob, plucking out the ring, dropping the box in a muddy puddle filling with a stream of red, and pressed it into a palm helplessly. “Tell me that’s a yes.”

“Yes, William,” Hannibal answered softly, fine lashes sweeping down cheeks to conceal another tremor of pain. “My life is yours.”

Will let out a laugh half strangled with joy and sudden hysteria, kissing hard enough that the older man’s head rattled against a corner of the glass windows. He drew away, touching the back of a tender skull with a wavering smile then frown of apology. He reached for Hannibal’s left hand, touching swollen fingers, and swallowed down a lump in his throat. He pushed the silver band up an outstretched ring finger on his other hand. It looked beautiful.

“God, Hannibal…” Will clutched at the hand for dear life, unable to tear his gaze away from the pool of blood running down their chests and gathering between their feet. “P-p-p-please don’t leave me.”

“William?”

“Don’t you _fucking_ say it to me.” His fists balled up against his thighs, refusing to look up. He felt a knee shift against his, stiffening. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say you do. Not now.”

_Don’t say you love me. Don’t make me live without you. Don’t make me live with that and nothing else._

“Will…” The tone addressing him was a velvety whisper, a palm settling over his fist, touching lightly. “Look at me, dear boy.”

Tearing his gaze from concrete, Will let out a broken noise and crumpled forward in a sob. A tiny, open matte black leather box rested over a trail of gashes, dirt, and gravel in a shaking palm. Inside, a fraying red satin ribbon coiled gracefully on a silk lined bottom. The box was pressed into his hand, a palm looping around his neck, a cold metal band lingering on skin. Warmth of a forehead damp with rain and sweat leaned against his for support.

“I am in no condition to get on bended knee at the moment as you deserve…” Hannibal touched lightly until blue eyes lifted to meet his open gaze, voice dropping to a vast ocean sun kissed in glimmering tears. “It would be my very great honor and privilege, William Graham, if you would agree to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Will clenched teeth together, sobs shaking his shoulders, and nodded fiercely before covering his face with a palm and muffled a wrenching cry breaking free. He felt fumbling fingers weakly tying a sloppy bow around his, unable to find his voice to beg and scream and pray to any God, old or new, if they existed at all, for just this. How he would do anything. Anything.

_Just don’t let him die. God, please, if you are listening…Take me. Just take me instead._

“Thank you, Will…” Lips brushed across his tenderly. “You have made me very happy. The red string of Fate will never be broken. You will always belong to me. I will search and find you, Will. I promise.”

“S-s-sirens…” A heavy tongue loosed itself free.

The younger man snapped up his head, listening hard. He glanced around and realized he hadn’t imagined it. The unmistakable sound of police sirens shrieked in the distance. His vision focused and he suddenly realized a hundred pairs of eyes stared at them with gaping mouths and hushed whispers.

“I believe…” Hannibal inched closer, shoulders squaring as if he was strong enough to put up a fight. “…this is what Miss Lounds might aptly describe as Murder Husbands.”

“Sirens,” Will repeatedly stupidly, eyes scanning the crowd and trying to pin point what direction they were coming from.

They were coming from the East. If he moved now… they could make it. They had to make it. He had to try.

“No. Murder Husbands. I have _perfect_ recollection, William.”

“Even on Death’s doorstep, you’re a pretentious ass…” Will hobbled to his feet and glowered down at wide puppy eyes.

He decided there was no other man he wanted to slap and kiss at the same time.

“Is there no way I could persuade you to go without me?”

“Not a chance in hell!” He growled down, shoving the older man back into the corner and pointed vehemently at the ring. “You _belong_ to me now. I’m getting the car. Stay here. And Hannibal, if you even try to fucking move.” He shot a deathly stare over his shoulder. “And don’t you dare fucking die on me or I am never going to forgive you!”

“Understood…” Laughter turned to a pained grimace. “…my dear, sweet boy.”

The crowd parted once again. They weren’t admirers anymore. They were terrified pack animals. And Will knew better than anyone scared animals did stupid shit. They swarmed when frightened and attacked. Stooping with a loud curse, he snatched up the ruined cashmere jacket and yanked out car keys. He hobbled faster down the sidewalk, letting the pain radiate, hoping it would focus him, give him enough to concentrate to drive and get them out. They had to get out. The sirens were getting closer. The place would be crawling with police any minute. And they needed to be gone before then. God forbid someone have an iota of a brain cell to describe them well enough to a sketch artist.

Slamming behind the wheel, Will groaned when he realized he needed both feet to drive the Aston Martin.

“Well, this is going to fucking hurt…”

He jammed feet forward, one on the brake and the other on the clutch, engine revving to life. He looked up towards the ceiling, teeth clenched, and tried to remember pain would keep him awake. He needed to stay awake. One of them had to ensure the other didn't bleed out, and as much as Will hoped, he knew it wasn't going to be the one with the medical license and training to keep them alive. The car peeled away from the curb, odometer ticking, before he jerked hard on the wheel to the right and stepped out of the parked car. He left the engine running.

Red hazed his vision. His blood ran hot and then frigid cold. Two men dressed in cowboy hats were touching Hannibal, had rugged arms around his waist, and were dragging him away. And for a few minutes, Will forgot about the pain. He forgot he was stalking forward in sure heavy steps of a predator. He forgot not to cause a scene.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch him!” Teeth snapped open in a snarl.

Pain blistered across his knuckles, slamming into a right angled jaw. Bones crunched. Blood sputtering from a broken nose. Will dragged Hannibal into his arms, mouth gaping open to reveal rows of sharp flashing teeth ready to sink into any man or woman who dared try to intervene. He wrestled the heavy body across the side walk, flipped open the passenger door, and practically threw the older man in, arms and hands trying to be as gentle as he could manage.

“In a more lucid moment…” Maroon eyes rose from a grey face. “Will you remind me to tell you how very charming I find this new found possessiveness of yours?”

Will jumped back in the car, slamming the door shut and glared over. “I am not possessive.”

The Aston Martin revved to a start, leaving behind a crowd of people in smoke of screeching tires.

A chuckle turned to a cough. “You simply do not appreciate others touching what belongs to you?”

“Exac—shut up.”

Lifting a foot off the accelerator, Will fought the instinct to press the pedal down and get them out of there as fast as possible, to put as much distance between them and civilization. He had to go the speed limit. He had to focus on obeying all the traffic laws and not slip away only to find he was driving on the wrong side of the road out of habit. He had to concentrate.

A tiny moan drew his attention away. He glanced over and saw Hannibal touch the sticky mess of ragged skin on his chest. Looking away from a straight narrow road one more time, he lifted the hand and shoved it back on the wound until moans turned into pained yelps. He winced, stuffing down the urge to jam down on the accelerator to speed up or slam on the brakes to go to his aid. They had to keep moving. They only had one chance.

“Put pressure on this,” Will growled, forcing the hand harder down beneath his palm.

Pitiful whines answered. The older man looked like the color of rain filled clouds outside, stormy and grey.

“Hannibal? _Listen to me_. I need you to keep pressure on this. Can you do that?”

The older man struggled into a sitting position, dress shoes sliding across black mats and smearing blood all over them. Will steered the car onto the highway, gripping the wheel until his fingers were numb, refocusing on his throbbing ankle. For the next twenty five miles his mind raced. He couldn’t take them to the hospital. Where were they going to go? The house was too far. He wasn’t sure if Hannibal had that much time. He glanced down at a puddle of blood spreading out on leather. He wasn’t sure if he had that much time either.

“W-will… I can’t feel my arm…” Fear flooded a small voice.

“Shit!”

Will cursed again and again, horrified he had forgotten about the arm. His arm. No, no, no he wouldn’t lose it. He just had to hurry.

“Hold on!”

The Aston Martin swerved to the side of the road, dying in a pathetic whir as a sole of a foot jammed on the emergency brake.

“Mother-fu—“ The rest was swallowed down.

Clambering over the middle console, Will swung knees around thighs and searched for a small handle beneath the seat. The seat released abruptly, spiraling down in a creak of gears. The younger man smacked his head against the one below, listening to them both swear in unison, except he wasn’t even sure Hannibal’s was remotely lucid, let alone speaking English. He glanced over the contorted arm hanging against a chest and gulped. The shoulder was definitely dislocated. He had to put it back. He had to put it back or…

_He'll lose it..._

“This…”

Will pushed a knee against a chest, rotating the arm to a ninety degree angle, and placed one hand on a bicep and the other on a wrist. Hannibal’s face flushed three shades of Hell deep, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip it started bleeding.

“Hannibal, this is going to hurt. Tip your head to the side.”

For once he did as he was told, rotating his face. The younger man tightened his grip on the arm, taking in a deep breath.

“Your shoulder is dislocated. I need to put it back in, do you understand?”

Before he even finished the sentence, he bore his weight down on the chest and began pulling. Hannibal stared up at him in agony, silent, blood trickling down his chin and mingling with the torn flesh on his chest. Will heard a pop. The older man flinched, relaxing as he let go. The younger man searched quickly for a pulse on both arms, pressing his thumb against the main vein, and let out a quiet sigh of relief. They were both steady.

“Are you… alright, Will? You… look… pained?”

Hannibal sounded like he was having trouble breathing and the younger man had lifted off his knee immediately after the relocation. He gauged the open wound on the right side of the chest, whipped off his belt, and jerked tight around it. Fingernails dug into leather. Shoes scraped across the carpet. This time a small noise breathed out.

“Sorry…”

“Mm.” An equally pathetic reply of forgiveness and understanding.

Bending over, he placed a kiss quickly against a mouth and lifted his eyes to stare out a rearview window.

“Mother fucking hell!”

He had been too busy paying attention to staying under the speed limit and religiously turning on his blinker to realize they were being followed. A black SUV rolled to a stop behind them. No sirens. No bullhorn blaring at them to surrender and get down on the ground. It was unmarked. The windows were dark and tinted. And it was terribly, uncomfortably quiet. A driver door swung open. A gleaming combat boot thudded to the concrete. Black metal of a glock pistol swung into view as a bulky man in a crew cut and bulletproof vest stepped into view. He recognized the uniform immediately. And it wasn’t even remotely close to being official or police.

Will tipped his head up towards the sky and shouted up. “Just one goddamn day. Is it really so much to ask for? For Christ fucking sake!”

A cold, clammy hand touched his. “Will? Are you…praying?”

“Hannibal.” Will gripped the older man’s face between his palms, nails sinking in to flesh, voice grating glass scraping across stone. “Hannibal, look at me.” Fair lashes lifted over dim, dark eyes, struggling to pay attention. “I need you to stay in the car. I don’t care what you see. What you hear. You stay in this goddamn car. Can you do that for me, angel?”

Confusion clouded eyes even further, an owl blinking, lost in a foggy forest.

“Please. Promise.”

Twisting around in the seat, Will snapped keys out of the ignition. The indentations would leave bruises in his palm. He jammed a fist into a glove box, pulling out a gunmetal pistol and a full clip.

Hands gripped his waist. “W-w-will?”

The clip snapped into place in a rigid palm.

“You stay the fuck here, or so help me God.” Will snarled down, the older man shrinking away as he slicked a tongue across teeth in warning. “And you stay alive.”

Kicking the passenger door open, the younger man got out of the car as quickly as humanly possible and slammed it behind him. The Aston Martin beeped obediently, locks clicking into place. He shoved the keys in his trouser pocket, stance widening. He had to pretend like he wasn’t injured. Men like him could smell fear, a shark gazing out from an abyss of the sea with rows of smiling jaws. Will clicked off the safety, cocking the gun, and raised it to eye level. He aimed at the man’s wide bony forehead. His finger curled around the trigger in a caressing embrace.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are…” Will snarled, raising his face covered in gashes, blood, and dirt, and let a wide smile pull across his cheeks from end to end. “But I suggest you get back in that car and leave if you value your life. Or at the very least, surrender...if you don't want to remain breathing while I cut out your lungs from your chest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR FUCK SAKE FINALLY. Oh. Did I just say that out loud?
> 
> I profusely apologize for any grammatical, spelling, or other erroneous errors this chapter has. I came home with chills and a fever, and really did not want to leave you, my beautiful dear readers, completely hanging in limbo. 
> 
> Bear with delays!! I will fix them. ; ;


	114. Chapter 114

As Will stared down the sleek barrel of a gun, he considered all the life choices that had led up to this point in his meager existence, once again facing mortal wounds or imminent death for what seemed like the hundredth time too many. He considered now might be the opportune time to make better life choices. He wanted to reason with the bulky muscle of a man beside the SUV that he would be happy to reconvene this meeting at a later date and time, when it was convenient for both of them, and perhaps when the light of his fucking life wasn’t bleeding out all over a richly stitched interior. A gun slipped out of a leather holster strapped to a chest and he sighed. It wasn’t going to be an option. A waste of breath he needed to conserve given the amount of blood spreading through his dress shirt. He was no longer able to distinguish how much of it was his and how much was the older man’s.

The idea of death never bothered him. He knew it would happen sooner or later. Given his poor decision making combined with the particular way he was able to think, Will always assumed death would come a lot sooner to him than to most people given his near prescription regiment of whiskey and aspirin to dull the horrors playing out in the silver screen of his mind. He made peace with dying a long time ago, in the line of duty or in the field hunting the depraved minds of serial killers. He always assumed he would die alone and if he kicked the bucket, what would it really matter then anyway? Would anyone even notice? Before Jack and Alana, he figured his funeral would consist of his body, a grave digger, and some priest requesting an unknown deity to welcome his sin riddled soul with open arms. He figured it wasn’t too much to leave a detailed list of instructions to anyone who cared to find it, anyone being a broad and unlikely term given his dwindling social circle, for how he wanted his dogs taken care of should anything happen. There it waited, unopened, damp with must and chips of cedar, below a neat stack of unsuspecting white t-shirts in his bottom right door. He figured they were all he would have in this life.

Then there was Hannibal. A lucid buoy blinking fiercely off the shore of a rotting harbor, washed out by an ever sweeping shine from a lighthouse warning him to sail the other direction and fall off the face of the map completely. He had never much liked his life as it was anyway, non-existence seemed like a far more interesting option of the two. Appealing even. True to his nature, like most times in his life, he ignored the glaring neon signs to steer clear and plunged headlong down a path of hallucinations, more wounds and scars than he cared to mention, and then found himself hopelessly lost and plunging right into the arms of the Devil. He had been fine with death, of dying alone and unaccounted for, up until the exact moment he realized he would miss the intimacy of his nightmare as the Atlantic roiled around them.

Will shrugged away a throb awakening in his right shoulder and realized there was a distinct irony in choosing to live, with and for, Hannibal. He had never been clever in choosing the right moment to do anything. Why would deciding it might be a good idea to live another day be any different? He figured if it meant enduring yet another series of knife wounds and a few more bullet holes to do it, then he needed to come to terms with that too. He suspected the man standing squarely between an open driver side door training a gun on his shoulder was thinking the exact same thing. Except he was aiming to maim, not to kill. He hissed out a breath, gritting his teeth. Not dying meant capture. Capture meant torture. And the younger man was fairly certain he would rather he and Hannibal both catch a bullet in the head like some goddamn remake of Tristan and Isolde than be taken alive again. His gaze strayed to the gun in his hands. It would be quick. Merciful even. They would die in each other’s arms.

Sighing again, Will hitched up his shoulder and steadied the gun, carefully tracing the areas he would shoot first if the man decided to be cute and rush him. One in the left shoulder. One in the right. And one shot square between the eyes. His lips curled in another sardonic smile, spitting blood between his teeth, realizing that for once in his miserable existence, some deity with an actual god complex, had decided to answer his prayers and take his life. His life for Hannibal’s.

 _THIS is not what I meant._ He glared furiously up at rain clouds again for a moment. _If you are wondering why more and more people are turning to atheism, you merciless heathen, this is an ample example of why. This right here. This. This is why my beliefs are steeped in science fiction, you son of a bitch. You heard me. I just insulted your first born son. What are you going to do about it?_

Right then, two more car doors opened, both on the passenger side. And two more hulking shapes of men stepped out, one carrying a crowbar and the other flicking out a baton.

 _Thanks._ Will shook his head with another hissed curse, nipping at his tongue and would have flipped off the heavens if it didn’t mean taking his hand away from the gun. _Thanks for that, you prick._ He watched the smallest of three men, with a shaved head that would tower over Will by a good six inches, lope around the back side of the car and reach for the other door. _More? More? Really? Where the fuck do you even find guys like this?_

 

A black door swung open silently. A single black skinned gator shoe stepped out, long glittering point digging into the concrete before another joined. Silver tip of a cane tapped out. Bony knuckles appeared along the rim of a grey suede brushed fedora tipping over shining black hair. The smallest guard bowed furtively and practically tripped over his own two feet scurrying to get out of the way as the door rattled shut. Piercing cold blue eyes looked out from beneath a sweeping brim, thin red lips twisting up in a snarled root of a smile smeared in peppered white and black stubble across olive skin. A single jagged scar cut through from the right of his brow, slashed down an eye, and halted just below sunken cheekbones. The eye beneath was clouded white. Long scarred fingers adjusted folds of a grey jacket draping over shoulders before joining a hand cupped over a chrome bulb of a cane, stance widening as the man leaned forward in formal salutation.

Severe guttural tones of a mountain slide burying hikers alive addressed him. “Mister Liam, I presume?”

Resisting the urge to answer, Will flicked his eyes to keep all the guards within full view, teeth gritting from the sensation of his chest splitting open in fire bursts of pain and a coil of ice running down his spine. Shaved head stood just out of sight beyond the man he assumed was the boss. Crew cut remained where he was by the passenger door, corner of his mouth turned up in a smug smile. A dark skinned man with dreads inched towards the front of the vehicle, baton leisurely tapping against his knee. The younger man could feel the hunger for violence resonating beneath their skin, bubbling up from their bones and simmering hot in their blood. He smiled back, knowing it was just as insulting to these men as it was reassuring if Hannibal was watching, if he was even still conscious.

“We haven’t yet had the pleasure of being introduced…” The well dressed man drew forward, cane tapping across the concrete before pausing and sweeping into a graceful bow. His accent was thick, heavy like weighted marbles. “Victor Castille. Employer of the late Nicolas Lisandru.” A shadowy smile played across lips, voice dripping in polite acidity. “I believe you two became _intimately_ acquainted?”

His grip tightened on the gun reflexively, mouth twitching in a snarl, blood running cold as he choked down a slurring string of derogatory insults and slurs. It was too late. His reaction was noted by all four pairs of eyes looking on. He felt the shift of molecules and tension instantly. They knew. It wasn’t a physical weakness, they all distinctly understood there was a mental one. And they all moved a few feet forward with flashing teeth.  

“You owe me quite a debt, _Liam_ —may I call you Liam?”

 _You can fuck right off…I swear to god if I never hear that name again…_ Acid boiled in his stomach, twisting it tight, trying to stave off a flood of sensory memory and flashing images. _Focus. Focus. Focus._

“One with an accruing interest…” Perfectly manicured nails turned over as they met a thorough inspection of sheer boredom. “…of the price of every life you have taken from the men working beneath me. Quite a few these last months. I would be impressed if it wasn’t such an utter inconvenience to operating my business.”

Will let out a low breath of a laugh, shifting his gun towards a dark highbrow to keep the hunched man from coming any closer, pride filling his voice, “Sorry. Afraid I am unable to take due credit for the violent torture and murder of your men, Victor.” He smirked, gaze flicking across the gathering crowd, eyelids sinking low. “Just _eating_ them.”

He could hear the blink of their eyelids, drawing up and pushing his aching shoulders back in a small act of defiance.

“I don’t owe you a goddamn thing…” Will bared his teeth, ticking a tongue across a sharp incisor, slick with blood. “…except a bullet wrapped around your brain.”

“See…” A broad smile splayed across the man’s face, tipping his head to the side. “Nicolas told me you were a very spirited boy. He regaled me with such bravado and urgency how he would break you, Liam, and how fascinatingly willful you remained in spite of his course of treatment. I kept detailed notes of our conversations yet was always unable to imagine it. How splendid to see it in person. It will be a shame for me not to experience it on a more personal level. One simply should never become attached to their pets. Dangerous habit attachment.”

Two fingers lifted from the cane, gesturing towards the car.

“Tell me, how might you think he will fair? I assure you, Liam, I want him to have the _full_ experience, in the exact sequential order as it was described to me.” Teeth flashed bright, nodding towards the crew cut man. “Now I am not particularly inclined as Nicolas was, however I suspect Petru here will fulfill that role quite nicely, don’t you?”

Raw snarls emitting harshly in the back of Will’s throat sent spit and blood alike hissing through clenched teeth and trailing down the corners of a violent mouth. His legs locked, lip twitching in an endless unspoken threat of ripping open skin and crunching cartilage.

“ _Kill him_.” The benevolent smile vanished in an instant, cane tapping once on the concrete. “Cuff and gag the other. I want him alive and breathing, gentlemen.”

 

Two gunshots rang out. One bullet ripped through a crew cut, splattering brains and blood over a fedora. Petru dropped to the ground with a thud, pooling red instantly ruining gator shoes. Will smiled, a glittering row of twisting satisfaction, for all of thirty seconds. Pain ripped through his flesh, second bullet lodging in his shoulder. He skidded back and right into a baton swinging into his ribcage. The passenger window rattled with the impact of his body, clutching his side throbbing to life.

Dark eyes sparked bright, thick hands yanking him forward by fistfuls of cotton and hanging flesh. Breath knocked out of Will’s lungs, hips jerking as bruised ribs met sleek metal of the hood of the car. He groaned, momentarily stunned before his eyes snapped open. Burning fingers wrapped around his throat, right wrist slammed repeatedly against biting windshield wipers to disarm him. He gripped the gun tighter, heels of dress shoes kicking out in a flail to connect to thigh bones, a hip, a stomach, anything.

His gaze slipped to the side, staring passed clouds drifting over a mirrored surface of glass and into wide red eyes. He could make out a flash of teeth. Through the blood rushing in his ears, he could hear a hoarse scream. Nails clawed at the leather binding a wound closed. Grey skin flushed white when Hannibal tried to move, slumping against the seat, staring helplessly out.

Dark curls splayed across glass as Will shook his head, fingers crushing his trachea, with a strangled choke. “S-s-stay.”

The heel of his shoe connected against a shoulder with a crack. Grip momentarily loosened on his wrist. The younger man snapped the gun forward, firing off frenzied shots, ears ringing. A bullet grazed a forehead, dark eyes whipping up. Gasping for air, Will jammed his bad foot into a stomach and shoved back with all his might. He fired three more shots. One in the left shoulder. One in the right. And one more in the center of a chest. The dark skinned man crumpled to the concrete, clutching at his heart and choking on his own blood.

Glass shattered. Blue eyes whipped over to a tire iron smashing the passenger window. Time slowed. Glistening shards gathered up before scattering across black pavement and the shadow of a figure inside. Will rolled off the hood of the car, righting and slammed his fist against the side of a shaved skull. Pain splintered across his knuckles. Iron clattered away. Boots stumbled across the ground. His nostrils flared, jamming the gun in the back of a waistband. The younger man picked up the tire iron and smiled. He stalked after the retreating figure, claws snagging beneath a thick vest. He barely felt a closed fist swipe at his chest, connecting again at his stomach. Ribs cracked with the first swing of iron. An ulna and radius bone shattered with a defensive swing. A knee cracked open. Tossing the bar, he threw the body to the ground and smiled, vision dimming.

Will saw nothing except shapes of black weakly dragging across the foreground, moaning and sputtering for mercy. He launched forward, slamming his knees into a ribcage below. Trickles of pain filtered behind his eyes from somewhere near his kidneys. He felt lungs take air in sharp harsh whimpers, squeezing it out with his knees. His thumbs gouged into the corners of eyes. In the distance, he heard screaming, felt warmth spreading. Then screams turned to sputtering high pitched shrieking. Flesh tore open. Veins snapped like rubber bands. Gurgling noises reached his ears. Blood sprayed across his cheeks. Cartilage crunched. Hot copper filled his mouth and slipped down his throat. It was quiet.

A burning muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his neck. Hammer clicking resolutely into place. His gun.

“What a lively performance, Liam.”

The younger man removed his sunken teeth from a throat slowly, rolling back from a crouched position to rest on the balls of his feet. Red gushed from his teeth, down his chin, and dripped steadily on the lifeless body below. His eyes slid to the right, blood spattered dress shoe just within his peripheral. He placed palms against his thighs soaking wet. He smirked, nose wrinkling. At least whoever would investigate the crime scene would find him drenched mostly in the blood of these idiots. Images of the Tattle Crime headline and accompanying photographs flashed in his mind.

_Murder Husbands Come to a Brutal End: A Lovers Quarrel Gone Awry?_

“I hate to draw the curtain to a close…” Metal shoved his head forward.

_What happens when lust and murder spiral out of control? We found out just that answer this weekend. Mere minutes outside the bustling city of Bordeaux, infamous Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter met his end in what appears to be a sexually fueled act of cannibalism and blood play, by none other than presumed deceased ex-FBI agent and unstable killer, Will Graham._

Even imagined, Will still hated that woman.

“He belongs to me now, Liam. You quite unabashedly gambled his life away. I promise to take very dear care of him.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, Will sprayed blood all over trousers and a suit jacket merely to add insult to injury, hoarsely growling, “Go fuck yourself, Victor.”

He hoped bespoke silk dupioni cost a small fortune to replace. He briefly wondered who the hell wore gator shoes in this day and age. Mostly he prayed Hannibal was dead. They could be together then. Maybe there were a lot less murderous pricks and cliffs in heaven, or hell, or whatever was after this life. If there was anything. If they were lucky, they would come back as lions and tear the shit out of some unsuspecting herds of gazelles and ogling tourists. Will smiled faintly. It sounded nice.

“You can have him…”

His nails bit into his palm. If a bullet was about to wrap his brain, then he was sure as fuck taking this son of a bitch with him.

“…right after you pry his cold, lifeless corpse from my goddamn hands.”

Fingers tapped thoughtfully across a cane, lips twitching in a considerate smile. “Very well.”

Lips parted in a raw scream. The gun bounced against the ground, skidding towards the SUV. Shoes scraped and hobbled across the pavement in a trail of blood, legs buckling. Labored breathing drew his attention.

Hobbling around, Will felt oxygen suck out his lungs in a rush, evaporating along with the atmosphere around him. Blood smeared across jagged teeth. Red feral coals blazed brighter than any hell. Hannibal crawled across the concrete on his stomach, hand outstretched and searching. Pain blistered to life as the younger man stooped and dragged the body into his lap, framing a face with bloodied knuckles and bruising fingers. He dipped his head, welding their mouths together in a heated kiss before pulling away.

“I told you to wait in the damn car, angel…” Will let out weakly, running shaking fingers through silvery strands, heart pounding in his chest.

Fine lashes drifted over crimson eyes. “P-p-part…ners.”

Wincing, his reply softened, “Yeah, love, we are. We always will be.”

Adrenaline petering out, Will snagged the gun and latched onto a grill of the massive black vehicle before hauling himself up right. Burning, searing aches and pains flared back to life with each mere movement. He nearly vomited. Reaching down, he scooped an arm under a sticky ragged chest and lifted the older man against him, clamping an arm around a waist to keep him from collapsing.

“Hurt…?” Limp fingers trailed and fluttered at his hip. “You… are… injured?”

“Fine. Better than fine,” Will lied through gritting teeth as they stumbled blindly forward. “Few scrapes and bruises. We survived falling off a cliff, remember? This…this is easy.”

Weak agony moaned against his collarbone, lips lighting ragged skin ablaze.

The younger man ground the heel of his shoe between shoulder blades, crushing a body to pavement. Blood spurted from an Achilles tendon loosely hanging around an ankle. He felt the distinct pattern of a pitiful heartbeat through leather soles. Mewling pleas pressed into gravel. Bringing Hannibal closer against his chest, he hooked an arm around a waist and felt the weight of the man he loved securely pinned to his hip in one hand, and the cold metal of a gun in the other. A cheek shifted against his shoulder, angular chin tucking in. They were staring down, predators, eyes unblinking. No sound except the singular one of their hearts beating as one. Will felt powerful, pressing an open mouth to a damp forehead and they shared a fleeting smile.

“Intimacy?”

If it wasn’t for the blood loss, the younger man figured he might get used to the endearing one worded answers from the man whose very tongue dripped in poetry and analytical prose.

“Haven’t you found out by now…” Will tipped his lips against an ear, whispering in a low growl, “I only want the intimacy of my hands touching you. Properly placed around your throat and your cock, angel.”

For the third time in all there years together, Will watched Hannibal flush pink clear down to his toes and smiled, drinking it all in through heavy lidded eyes from more than just lack of oxygen pumping to his brain. Maroon eyes suddenly went pitch black with lust, and he nearly dropped the gun, to fall to his knees for a different kind of proposition. God, if he had ever thought he could make a cold blooded predator blush like a pretty English rose… His throat went dry, gazing down hungrily.

If either of them had less gaping wounds or more stamina, he had a feeling fucking relentlessly in the back seat of the car, slicked with blood, would be a viable option. He suspected the completely unbidden and uncontrolled physiological response probably also had to do with the amount of blood seeping out of Hannibal’s chest, and at this moment, his own. And so he filed the thought to revisit later and cocked the gun.

“P-please!” A ring encrusted hand tapped against the ground feebly. “C-consider your debt—“

A gunshot rang out. Blood seeped out of a bullet wound from the back of a head, body going limp.

Blue eyes stared down coldly. “I would say this makes us even, Mister Castille.”

Switching on the safety, Will wrapped both arms around the body trembling inside his embrace and grunted as he managed to lift the older man a few inches off the ground. He weaved forward, tripping over a body, and barreled into a taillight of the Aston Martin. He groaned, groping for a handle of the back door and breathed out gratefully when it released. Hopping forward, he placed Hannibal tenderly against the back seat and kissed his forehead once more. He was cold to the touch. The older man weakly tugged the tie off his neck, nodding towards the gunshot wound, before sinking back into leather, paling white.

Shaking hands snapped it around his shoulder to stem the bleeding. “Thank you, angel.”

When the door closed, Will closed his eyes and dragged his body sluggishly around cold metal. He pressed lips together in a thin line to keep from crying out. Bloodied palm prints smeared across windows as he fished out keys from his pocket. Locks clicked open. He tossed the gun somewhere in the vicinity of passenger floor mats. The younger man slumped into the driver’s seat, fumbling for the ignition, eyes drifting shut once more. He reached down and dug nails into bruised ribs, heel and sole jerking against pedals as the engine sputtered back to life, car steering unsteadily back on to the road.

“Will…?”

“Y-yeah, Hannibal…?” A raw, cracking voice answered.

“Would you…hold me?” Soft fluttering breath answered. “I feel…cold, dear one.”

“You…” Will swallowed hard, fumbling for a cell phone without looking, perched in a cup holder. “…can hold my hand in a minute.”

“Will you watch…over me…if I close my eyes?”

“Don’t close your eyes…” Tears stung his cheeks. “Talk to me, Hannibal, about anything. I need to hear your voice, okay?”

Static of a dial tone buzzed to life and begin ringing.

“Pick the fuck up, for Christ sake…” Trembling knuckles blanched white around the cell phone.

It rang. And rang. It seemed like forever. In reality, maybe it was less than a minute. It seemed like longer.

A click gave way to a sweet voice. “Hello?”

“Aubrey!” Will shouted into the phone, jamming a hand against his ribcage again to keep focused.

“Will? Will, what’s wrong? Did you and Doctor Bergstrom have another fight?”

“Aubrey, shut up and listen to me! I need you to meet me at the shelter. I need your help. I need your help and I need you to come alone. Can you…” A weak noise escaped his lips, whimpering as another roil of pain crashed over him. “Can you do that, please? No questions asked.”

Another long pause nearly made him scream. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

With the buzz of a dial tone once more filling his ears, Will pitched the phone away and smashed his foot against the accelerator. No use being cautious now. They were either going to live. Or they were going to die. Either way…they were going to do it together. It was the one promise the younger man knew he would be able to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM NOT DEAD. Welcome back! 
> 
> Christ, I am so sorry, guys. It's remarkable that a 102 fever can turn you in to a literal season one Will Graham, where the doctors even ignore you and you sweat through all your clothes, and then a week later they decide: hey! maybe it's a good idea to, I dunno, treat you?
> 
> (I'm still surprised I managed that last chapter somehow haha. Dedication? Or something? Speaking of 'or somethings,' how bizarre is it that during that time I was like: this is awful and that thought was immediately followed by, huh, this is great research for Will! What. Why. What is wrong with you brain.)
> 
> Still recovering, but I will try to update again soon. xoxo


	115. Chapter 115

Running a bloodied shaking hand through his hair, Will turned his involuntary blinking into a mechanical sensation to keep him focused. He felt his eyelids lift and open wide before blinking them shut hard for a second. He gripped the steering wheel, edging the drifting car back into the center of the lane. They were five minutes away from the clinic where he worked. If he could just get his vision to sharpen. If he could just stay awake long enough…

“I am very tired, mylimasis…” A soft threading voice whispered.

“Don’t close your eyes. Hannibal,” Will growled back, eyes flicking to the review mirror to find the older man curled in the back seat, hand clutched over the gaping wound in his chest. “I will _crash_ this goddamn car into the next guard railing, if you do! Stay with me.”

“How lovely and coarse you are, sweet Will…” A tiny smile flickered before fading, fine lashes fluttering closed. “My beautiful boy. My love…”

“What!” The younger man half twisted around his seat to look back, hissing out a blue streak of curses as pain radiated down his ribcage. “Did you just… did you?” He sputtered, blinking furiously to make a left hand turn and keep his racing mind in steady pace with the moving vehicle a breath away from a collision.

_Is that your way of saying you love me in your oxygen starved state, Hannibal?_

“ _Fuck._ Just hold on. Hold on. Alright?”

Will twisted his bad ankle to bear the sensation of pain shooting up his leg and keep his eyes open. He felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead and trickling down his brow. His entire body was one giant nerve ending of shooting pain. He was tired. Closing his eyes sounded nice. He thought about pulling over and crawling in the back seat next to Hannibal, threading their hands together to rest for a moment. A moment that would likely turn into them never waking up again. He felt the weight of his head, thick and heavy, threatening to snap his neck as he jerked back awake. His blood covered hands slipped around the wheel, spinning the car off a gravel medium and back on the road, heart slamming in his chest.

“ _Talk to me.”_ The younger man begged, uncertain if he was speaking to himself out loud or to Hannibal, anything to keep him awake a little longer. “Don’t close your eyes. Don’t go to sleep. Talk to me. About anything. Anything. Rattle off some stupid fact that you think everyone in the universe just automatically knows because you do.” He eased out a shallow breath, lashes fluttering in time. “Just don’t stop talking.”

He let out a yelp, jamming fingers into the torn flesh curtaining his chest. His shoulders snapped back. His head lifted up, eyes wide and glowered at the clinic drawing closer in the distance.

“Hannibal?” Blue eyes flicked to the mirror to look back at unmoving figure. “Hannibal,” He repeated louder, sure that the older man didn’t hear him. “Hannibal?”

No breath, no sound, not even a twitching finger in response.

“Hannibal! _Fucking Christ_!”

Ramming his heel on the accelerator, Will slammed through the gears furiously on the Aston Martin and slid around a sharp corner with gritting teeth. Gravel pinged like hail against the windshield and metal body as the car fishtailed through the gravel parking lot, brakes screeching as it came to a halt in front of the rear entrance stamped in neon yellow, _Employees Only_. He didn’t have time to figure out if the car was visible from the roadway. This was the best it was going to be hidden. He just hoped the police were too busy yammering to rich, black out drunk tourists in Bordeaux to find out anything useful. The pile of bodies strewn out along the side of a road were a different story entirely.

Yanking his throbbing leg from the car, Will flung open the passenger seat door and found the older man laying absolutely still, pale faced and unconsciousness. A primal growl ripped out of his throat. He yanked the limp body out of the car, jostling hanging limbs in his arms, and staggered toward the entrance with a few choice curses and grunts. He hammered a fist against the metal door, reverberations echoing around him.

“Open the fuck up!”

Will knew he should lower his voice, shouldn’t call attention to their presence, let alone scream obscenities so anyone within earshot could hear and come traipsing over to find two bloodied men outside of a veterinary clinic and shelter. It might raise some questions. Which also meant more killing. And frankly the younger man was a misstep away from blacking out himself.

“Aubrey, for Christ sake!” He banged on the door louder, throbs forming in his palm, noting the necessity to clean up blood stained hand prints.

Hannibal would chide him. Tell him to stay calm. He wasn’t calm. He wanted to put his fist through a fucking wall and open the door from the inside. But Hannibal was hanging limply in his arms and wasn’t saying anything, so Will kept banging on the door against his better judgement until it finally swung open.

“My god!”

Violet eyes flashed wide from Will, to blood pooling on the man’s chest in his arms, to the car windows busted to pieces sitting in the parking lot.

“What the hell happened!”

“Long story,” Will grunted, shoving passed the younger girl and weaving his way towards the operating room.

“H-h-he needs a hospital, Liam!” A high pitched squeal called after, door slamming shut and locking into place.

“I fucking know that,” He groused under his breath, lip turning up in a half snarl.

“Liam!”

Ignoring the voice following him, Will swung around the corner and stumbled into the operating room. He groaned as he lowered Hannibal’s cold body, letting it slip carefully from his arms. Limp hands fell away from him, thudding against the cold metal table. He pushed ineffectually at bits of gravel and blood clinging to cheeks and graying lips. He shoved two fingers against a pulse. It was weak and fading.

“Oh my god! Have you been shot?”

Letting out a hiss, Will half turned his head to find Aubrey with slender hands pressed to her mouth, covering up freckles painted across her cheeks. He nodded sharply in response. He shredded the tie wrapped around his shoulder, growling as a pool of blood spread. He ripped off his dress shirt in tearing fabric and buttons snapping off to scatter along the linoleum tile. He threw it against the floor, fury bubbling just below the surface of his skin.

“You need a doctor! A _real_ medical doctor!”

They were both going to die at this rate. Hysteria was not what he needed.

Spinning around, Will reached out with a flash of hands and dragged the younger girl forward by her wrists. He knew it was too harsh. It would probably bruise and he tried to rearrange his face into something pleasant and soothing. He was hurting her. She was scared. He could barely think. He could barely stand. And he needed her help. And that required her to shut up long enough to do so and focus. 

“Aubrey…” Will took a deep breath, running shaking hands through her fiery hair and stroked lightly at her cheek, forcing a small smile on his lips. “Shh...It’s okay.”

_It’s not okay. It’s not okay. It’s not. I don’t have fucking time for this._

“I know you are training to be a veterinary technician,” The younger man let his voice dip to a soothing tone as he had heard Hannibal’s do many times, a lulling cresting wave falling against a shoreline, hypnotic and soft. “I need you to dig this bullet out _right now_. So I need you to quiet down and breathe. Breathe. Do you understand me? I _can’t_ help him if I’m _dead_.”

“I could…” Aubrey yanked back when released, rubbing her wrists, voice soft. “…lose my license before I even start.”

“ _Please_.” Will closed his breath, stumbling over to a dove grey folding chair and collapsed in it, burying his face in a cold palm. ”I love him.” He blindly reached for a palm upturned against icy metal and squeezed it. “Hold on, baby.” He dragged heavy eyes up, staring through a bleary haze and whispered, “Please, Aubrey.”

Delicate nostrils flared. Violet eyes narrowed. He knew in that moment she was either going to help or she was going to call the police. And if she did the latter, they would both bleed out before the authorities arrived.

Turning curtly on her heel, Aubrey began yanking open all the glass medical cabinets and started scattering various medical supplies across one of the counters. Will blinked back tears and looked to the floor, drops of red splashing wet circles beneath his chair. Scalding hot water hissed on. He heard latex gloves snap over wrists. Sharp scent of antiseptic was poured into a small white plastic tub. Metal instruments were tossed into an autoclave as it hummed on. Saline squirted in his wound, followed by a splash of hissing alcohol. The autoclave chirped happily before it was closed. Fingernails sank into his shoulder. He glanced up, grimacing as iodine was scrubbed over the wound.

Aubrey bent over him, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration with a small pair of forceps in her left gloved hand and growled lightly, “This could kill you.”

Will lightly touched her shoulder, vision softening and replied quietly, “If it does, take care of him, please? Transfuse him with my blood.”

“You can’t just—“

“Aubrey.” He gave her a sharp look that shut her up, a corner of a mouth lifting in a smile. “I was strapped for cash in college and didn’t have a lot to eat. Donating blood was a one way ticket to a free meal. I am everyone’s blood type. Universal donor. Just promise.”

“Save him yourself,” She muttered under her breath.

Blistering heat washed over Will from head to toe as forceps sank into the wound. He snapped his teeth together, grinding a fist against his thigh before clamping down on it with a hiss of breath. He felt gauze blotting at blood trickling down his chest and heard soft mutterings of concern. Nausea washed over him in glaring bright light and waves.

“There…” A bullet clattered into a container in the distance. “Lucky it wasn’t deep you arrogant shit.”

He could hear pain and fear in her voice. He heard the soft lilt of how much she cared. He would have hugged her if he was able to move. A hand pushed him back in the chair when he tried. He supposed it was for the best. She would be covered in blood by the end of an embrace anyway.

“Stay.”

Saline squirted into the wound, followed by another round of antiseptic. He swore loudly as liquid bubbled and bit into his flesh around the open wound. The second round wasn’t really necessary after the iodine and he suspected Aubrey did it just to punctuate how furious she was with him for making her worry. Gauze covered palms jammed against the wound, thumb shoving against his brachial artery to slow the bleeding. He glared down at the floor, gripping a metal chair leg with all his might. Gauze was packed tight over the wound, medical tape strapping it firmly into place.

“W-wait, Liam!”

Will loped out of the operating room, barreling unsteadily through the hall, and stepped outside. He jammed a button furiously against a key fob until a trunk popped open. His gaze flickered from a duffle bag stashed with cash and passports, and a tiny leather medical bag. He suspected they would need both, and had insisted given previous experiences, they keep medical supplies and a go bag in every vehicle they owned. Given their tendency for near death situations and already being on the run, it only made rational sense to do so. 

Growling through sharp pain shooting up his leg, the younger man returned with bag in hand to find Aubrey had removed the older man’s shirt, and was sponging away blood and debris delicately with scalding hot water. His first instinct was to throw her across the room. His second was to remember she was trying to help and touching was required. A requirement, not an option, and now was really not the time to be possessive idiot, despite the way his fingers curled into fists watching another pair of hands work their way across bare skin. His third was a reminder she was the closest friend he had since Beverly and trying to kill her might end their relationship. He rather liked her. She never put up with his shit. It was endearing.  

“Christ…” He whispered, gazing at the gaping wound on Hannibal’s chest, following splotches of bruising purple and blue snaking down ribs.

Aubrey pointed to the torn flesh beneath his clavicle and began sharply, “You need to—“

“Later!” He growled, unable to keep from baring his teeth, rolling lips over them and letting out a hissing breath when the younger girl backed away a few inches. “I’m sorry. Just. I’m sorry.”

Will shoved his hands beneath scalding hot water, scrubbing until skin hurt before yanking on pair of matching medical gloves. Snapping open the leather bag, he slammed down a curved needle on the sterile green drape, followed by wiry black suture thread, and one IV needle and a thick donation needle tucked neatly in plastic packaging. He winced. He hated fucking needles. They made his skin crawl. Serial killers. No problem. Sawed off bits of dismembered humans at a crime scene. Fine. Needles. Sharp pointy, harmless little needles made his skin crawl. 

“Swab alcohol over the basilic vein in his arm,” Will ordered over her shoulder. When he didn’t hear any movement, his voice rose to a harsh shout, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out plastic tubing before drowning it fiercely in antiseptic. “ _Do it_ , Aubrey! Now!”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” A quiet voice asked.

“No…” He swabbed antiseptic over his forearm, gritting his teeth.

“Is your name even Liam?”

“ _No.”_

Snapping a dog sling off the wall, Will unhooked it and secured Hannibal’s right arm to the metal table with it, knotting it twice to make sure it would stay.

“This is going to hurt him.”

The younger man didn’t want to follow up that statement by saying the last time he had stuck a needle in an unconscious Hannibal Lecter’s arm, he had nearly lost a hand to snapping teeth of a man near possessed. To be fair, he had only days before given the older man a black eye during the same kind of situation after the fall. He had woken up disorientated, adrenaline rushing, and wasn't clear on whether or not Hannibal had been trying to save him or kill him. It turned out to be the former. He had apologized every day for the next week. 

“Do we have anything for the pain?”

Violet eyes slipped to vials in a locked cabinet, keys jangling. “Morphine.”

“Please,” He asked gruffly.

Aubrey tore off her gloves, replacing them with new ones, tied rubber elastic around the arm, and prepared a syringe. She carefully pushed the liquid in to a pulsing vein, fine brows furrowed in concentration. Her ears were red. It was the only sign she was angry. She had every right to be. But he couldn’t think about that right now. All he needed was lying on at that operating table and if he didn’t do this, Hannibal would die. He wouldn’t think about it. He couldn’t. It wasn't an option.

“Hold his shoulders,” Will whispered wearily before climbing on top of the older man and pinning both arms down with his knees. “He might fight.”

Smaller hands rested on shoulders. “Okay…”

“Aubrey, he might hurt me.”

Wide eyes swung up.

“He might fight and not mean to hurt me. Understand? If he does… just…” Will closed his eyes, clutching the medical tape and unopened IV needle in his hand like a prayer. “Just hold on.”

A fierce nod of agreement sent a blaze of curl alight around fair skin.

With a shaky breath, Will began to open the needle's packaging, staring intently at the blue pulsing vein humming beneath skin. If he was quick, lucky, or both, perhaps the older man wouldn't wake at all. He had never been any of those things. A ghastly sharp inhale was all the warning he had. Wild red eyes snapped open. Hannibal crushed a hand around his throat in a blur of movement, bucking against the table with inhuman strength and feral snarls. Snarling back, Will shoved a knee into the center of his chest and grappled at the hand around his throat.

“Hannibal, hold still! Stop fucking moving!” Will choked out in a hoarse scream, eyes snapping up to violet ones. “ _Hold him down_ , Aubrey. If I can’t do this, he’ll bleed out in a matter of minutes!”

He felt the table shaking beneath the struggle, gasping for breath as fingers tightened against his trachea. He heard soft whimpers as manicured nails bore down into shoulders, thin arms shaking from the effort.

“S-s-stop fighting me! I’m trying to save your goddamn life, you selfish prick.”

Slamming the medical tape and needle against the table, Will dug his thumbs into the older man’s bulging throat and glowered down, fighting against the hand cutting off his air supply. He continued to squeeze against carotid arteries, struggling to inch closer as red faded to crimson, color slowly draining out of eyes as he crushed his mouth against the one below. He felt teeth sink into his lower lip before a hand released and arms fell away once more.

“G-g-god…Did, did you…?”

“He’s fine…” Will croaked unsteadily, blinking away a fog of black rushing to the center of his pupils. “Blacked out. I’m…fine too… thanks for asking.”

He rubbed at his raw neck, picking up the needle in a shaking hand and pushed it into the vein. He pointed silently at the tubing. Trembling fingers handed it over. He taped the IV needle down, threading tubing into it and strapped four more pieces of tape across it. He glared down at the wide gauged donor needle, pushing tubing into it quickly. Pumping his fist to find a healthy vein, Will clenched his teeth together and pushed the needle into his forearm, groaning as he taped it down and watched blood trickle through thin plastic to Hannibal. He tried to ignore a sense of dizziness muddle through the fog in his mind before crouching over and burying his face against a bloodied stomach. He found a hand and held on to it tight, shaking lightly against the body beneath. Pain roiled through his body in another nauseating wave. 

“Could you…” Will closed his eyes, whispering, “Could you stitch up his wounds, Aubrey? I don’t think I can do both.”

A tongue ticked across teeth. “And you?”

“After.”

“Sit.” He heard metal scrape across linoleum. “Liam, you can either pass out on top of him or you can have me tend to his wounds? Which is it?”

A faint smirk touched his mouth. She was exceptionally sassy. Particularly when she was right. And far more so when in charge. He thought Hannibal might like it. Or was it just that she sounded a lot like him?

"How do you even know how to..." Slender fingers gestured at the tubing and needles.

"Did it for me once..." He answered softly. "Saved my life. Again. Owe him my goddamn soul at this point."

Clambering off the table, Will tottered into the chair and rested the side of his face against the cold table, eyes slipping closed. He cupped a cold hand in between his palms, squeezing and releasing, hoping whatever room Hannibal had locked himself away in, he was with him there. He hoped he felt safe. Loved. God, he loved him.

 

“We need to get him to the x-ray machine, Liam…” A warm palm settled over the back of his neck, brushing lightly through curls matted to his forehead. “Or…whatever your name is.”

“Mmm…”

Blinking open heavy eyes, Will found Aubrey gazing down at him with a mixture of concern and adoration flashing across her faint features.

“He’s doing better. Heart beat and blood pressure are back up…”

Dragging a hand down his face, Will let out a small groan when he sat back into the chair and closed his eyes for another moment. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out. He wished he still was. He wouldn’t be able to take any pain medication till they were safe and home. He looked down to find black stitches running along his chest where ragged flesh had been. The tubing and needles had been removed. He realized he felt clean. Skin cool and damp to the touch at least from the waist up. Heat flushed his cheeks a little, gaze straying to Hannibal who had also been thoroughly sponged free from blood and debris. 

“Thanks…” He mumbled finally, touching the back of his neck self consciously. “It’s Will. He calls me William. Haven’t ever really figured out why.” The younger man rose unsteadily from the chair, hopping over and placing a light kiss on an arcing cheekbone. “Think anything is broken?”

“Maybe he just loves you.” Aubrey answered quietly, threading fingers through wiry curls before pulling them back in a taut pigtail at the nape of her neck. “Better to find out now. I can only do so much.” She pointed to his ankle, tone growing clipped again. “You rolled it pretty good. You’ll need to keep it elevated…” She paused for a moment before looking up. “Was this before or after you got hit by a car? I have seen enough dogs come in here from hit and runs to know what fractured ribs look like, Li—Will.”

“ _Before_.” Will rolled his eyes, hands fluttering intently over Hannibal’s body, skin warmer and color returning. “Pulse is better.” He shoved a hand in his pocket and stared at the linoleum, voice quieting, “You did really well, thank you, Aubrey.”

“And the gunshot?”

“After.”

“And that?” The younger girl asked, brow arcing, pointing to a fresh bandage wound around his bicep.

A corner of his mouth ticked up. “A worthwhile mistake.”

Will gathered arms around the older man’s waist and lifted him unsteadily from the table, forcing out every sensation except the beat of his heart and the warmth of skin. He didn’t have time to think about the pain.

Teeth worried along pink lips. “You really shouldn’t be...”

“I’m fine. He’s not. Let’s do this before I collapse, huh?”

“That’s not funny…” Aubrey snapped, trailing after them at a safe distance.

“No, it isn’t.”

Will laid the older man out on another table, stepping back and watching Aubrey arrange protective coverings over Hannibal’s body before they both stepped out of the room and behind the glass wall.

“If…if there’s any internal injury…” A soft hand touched his for a moment.

“Yeah…” Will swallowed hard, staring out at the body lying still in the other room, knowing exactly what hospitals meant for them. “I know. I’ll take him.”

A concerned hum answered. “Prison?”

“Worse. End up all over headlines hounded by tabloid journalists and the six o’clock news, or...” The younger man shook his head at the very idea. “Freddie Lounds. Infinitely worse, I assure you.”

“It _isn’t_.”

“It’s really not…” He answered quietly, gazing at her out of the corner of his eyes.

“Going to look these over…” Nails clacked across a keyboard, eyes squinting at a computer screen. “You can… go be with him if you want.”

“Aubrey…” Will paused in the doorway, staring at a far white wall, and let out a soft sound before hobbling around the corner. “You are a good friend. Thank you.”

He had nothing to do but wait. He hated it. For some reason the clinic smelled a lot like a hospital, disinfectant and death clinging to its walls. He just wanted Hannibal awake and back in his arms, muttering about how reckless and foolish he was, or arguing about who would give whom a sponge bath and how soup of the Andy Warhol variety might be all they had to live on for a few days. He wanted to hear how much the older man hated the very injustice of it. He wanted to hear his voice quiet the dull hammering of his heart. Anything. Will would listen to anything if it meant hearing his voice again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In real life I am exceptionally squeamish about real life blood and needles, so going through diagrams and photographs on how to do direct transfusions was horrifying, haha. 
> 
> Thank you to BGG and my lovely vet tech friend who listened to me ramble off medical questions about everything over really delicious waffles.


	116. Chapter 116

_Hands clasped delicately behind his back, Hannibal felt delicate wisps of sunlight touch the corners of his mouth and warm his cheeks, filtering beneath stripes of grey and crimson chiffon curtains. He gazed out at a sparkling lake, intently following clouds drifting across its rippling surface on a gentle breeze. A small paper boat floated lazily over tiny waves, two scribbled passengers aboard, beneath its crisply folded sail._

_Shining golden curls adorned in knotted wild clovers bounced beneath the sun, a tiny hand lifting and waving happily from the other side of the body of water. He lifted his hand to return the salutation before Mischa turned, giggling, and skipped off, melting into a faint mist of light. He let out a low sigh, heart painted in ugly shadows of the Baltimore city skyline returning where his home had once been before._

_“I see you have chosen another wildly inappropriate time to take a nap.” Fingers drummed across leather. "Classic Hannibal."  
_

_Turning, Hannibal found Will lounging sideways in the charcoal grey office chair, knees bent carelessly over an armrest, ankles hooked neatly over bare feet. Poinsettia curls stuck haphazardly in a disheveled frame around his face. Slender fingertips were delicately folded across a lean chest, fine sheen of sweat clinging to skin and outlining dusky rose nipples._

_“Will…” The older man took a step closer, throat constricting ever so slightly as his gaze roamed down to metaphysically impossible dark washed skinny denim, two sizes too small, clinging to rigid thighs and jutting low beneath peaked hipbones. “What are you doing here?” He asked, trying to clear away a husky dip in his tone._

_“I was about to ask you the same question.”_

_Lips quirked up as Will slung a hand back through curls, scattering them further. He unhooked ankles, propping one leg over the armrest and resting the other on the floor at a ridiculously languid angle of fallen rock star, exposing stretching seams and a thicket of shadowy curls veeing beneath a thin waistband. The older man chewed unconsciously on the inner corner of his lip, perfectly aware that no matter how improbable the situation, it was a distinct fact that nothing was worn beneath those jeans._

_“A second ago…” A flourishing hand pointed up towards the ceiling, jerking his attention away and up to a widening grin. “I was tied to the bed frame with leather cuffs—“_

_Hannibal sucked in a deep breath and held it, nearly tripping over the ornate Persian rug tucked beneath the chaise lounge._

_“—and you were exacting a just punishment with a riding crop like this—“_

_He grappled onto the back of a leather chair opposite to keep his knees from giving out, an abrupt stab of lust hitting him hard, eyes snapping up to watch vivid hands acting out the described scenario._

_“—because I accidentally, with fully malicious intent, threw away your favorite Julia Child’s cookbook.”_

_Mischievous blue eyes slid over to corners before sliding from a flushed face to nails digging into leather, hand still poised with an imaginary riding crop in mid swing, corner of swollen lips curving up._

_"You were paying more attention to it then you were me and I may have become jealous,” Will noted matter of factly, shoulders rolling in a languid stretch before tossing the phantom object and slinging both legs forward, knees widening to expose immaculate stitching tracing up thighs and over a half hard cock. “In retrospect, I may have overreacted.” A pink tongue dipped out across a widening grin. “Does that answer your question to what I am doing in this particular room, at this particular time, specifically enough for your…tastes?”_

_“Are you going to tell me why you have joined me in the office…” Hannibal forced a strangled tone back to rigid indifference, easing nails out of leather, frowning at rows of claw marks tattering its surface. “…or may I go back to my thoughts in peace?”_

_Lips twitched in response. “Wouldn’t you rather hear more about the riding crop incident?”_

_The older man rounded the chair, grateful for the length of an ash colored suit jacket hanging well below his hips to hide a poignant interest in aforementioned incident. He deposited himself against leather in a careful tuck of limbs, crossing a right leg over the left, and rested threaded fingers over his thigh. He stared dispassionately at the younger man sitting across. Feigned dispassion. But dispassion none the less._

_“You are absolutely dull and unadventurous when unconscious in real life, Hannibal,” Will grumbled, leaning back in the chair and spreading toned arms across the back of it. “At least… this version of you is.” _

_Hannibal nearly choked on a labored breath when dark lashes scrunched in a flirtatious wink._

_“You know very well I am merely a construct of your psyche,” The younger man prattled on, gaze lazily sweeping down clothes hanging on his frame as if calculating how many seconds it might take to divest them. “If I had to hazard a guess, you are feeling guilty about blacking out in the car and leaving me to fend for myself.”_

_"It was not an active decision on my part to do so,” Hannibal nearly growled back, watching fingernails leave faint red marks down a naked torso._

_A pad of a thumb drew suggestively across a bottom lip, tongue flicking across its surface to enhance its shine. “We both know that’s a bunch of bullshit.”_

_“Very well…” The older man readjusted in his chair, painfully hard, and struggling to keep his eyes from wandering, let alone remaining seated. “If you must know, it was a necessity and not a punishment. I needed full focus on having absolute control of my respiration to ensure my heart rate slowed enough to control and stem the bleeding.”_

_“Certainly feels like a punishment…” A husky whisper answered, teeth nipping out as a gaze stripped away layers of a suit one by one._

_Hot breath trapped in lungs. “Now you are being petulant to vex me.”_

_“When do I not fucking vex you, angel?” Rising quickly from the chair, Will placed both hands on armrests, trapping him and dragged teeth down the lobe of his ear. “It’s part of my many, many charms.”_

_Seams rustled as knees came down on either side of his hips, hands pushing a suit jacket down stiff shoulders._

_“And you find…” A burning mouth worked its way across his jaw and down his throat, each word accented by a rough kiss. “…every…” Nimble fingers worked a waistcoat free.“…single…” Buttons popped open, silk tie smoothed across a graying chest. “…one…” Tongue dipping out to trace a wet line across a clavicle. “…endearing.”_

_“You are an exceptionally contrary creature, Will,” Hannibal growled, jerking his knees apart and letting the lighter body settle victoriously across his lap. “However did you manage to ensnare me with such poorly formed mannerisms and corrupting language on your lips?”_

_“Probably had something to do…” Lids sunk heavily over clouding eyes, a smirk following. “…with you fantasizing about my lips on very particular parts of your anatomy.”_

_“Another…” The older man groaned, head tipping back into crinkling leather as nails raked lightly up his shaft, tugging at zippers and silk. “…educated guess?”_

_“More of a fact really…” Breath warmed the arc of his neck, mouth sucking faint bruises across its surface. “You forget… I have been in most of your rooms, Hannibal.” Cool air brushed across his exposed cock before fingers wrapped tight and stroked up, drawing out a ragged gasp. “Particularly the ones you built to survive three years in prison.”_

_Glowing red eyes lifted to focus, to watch the younger man completely absorbed in stroking the pad of his thumb firmly across precome._

_“The better question is, why on earth would you willingly agree to and submit to a lifetime of enduring my shit on a daily basis?” Blue eyes lifted, crinkling in the corners. “Or did you get distracted again and make poor judgement calls?”_

_“Would you care to explain your current motivations of your state of undress?” Hannibal growled, yanking lightly on curls as he gazed down at a waistband and fly front rolled down enough to reveal thin lines of white leaking down a navel and spilling over a swollen head._

_“Look, believe it or not, I would much rather be listening to a history lesson about the impact Julia Child had on previous generations by elevating food to a rigorous art form to create an experience of pure pleasure in between rather forceful swats…”_

_The younger man grabbed on to the back of the chair, grinding forward, sounding infuriatingly too calm given the heat and friction he was creating._

_“Which, I might add, is less of a deterrent for my bad behavior and more of a…” Pink lips parted a deep moan as hips bucked up. “… stimulating incentive to continue to get my way. Because I always get my way…” _

_Raking nails down an arcing back, Hannibal latched his left hand in belt loops around a hip and grasped firmly to a cock trapped beneath tight denim, determined to be the cause of absolute incoherence to keep Will from sounding so damned smug, pleased, and utterly too reasonable._

_“And since you are currently depriving me of punishment that I can only imagine ends in exceptionally rough blowjobs and exquisite sex, well, I see no other option than to remind you of what you’ll be missing if you choose to go ahead and die in a most undignified fashion…” The younger man tipped his head back, chin jutting up and let out another moan, toes curling against plaid covered knees. “Aside from that, I saved your life and figure there’s an arbitrary reward of sex involved right there. So, technically, you owe me twice. Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle giving me what I deserve, Hannibal?”_

_Throwing Will over the back of the leather chair, belly down and ass, striped in a glow of red markings, up, he was about thirty seconds way from showing him exactly what clever, impudent boys deserved—before a far away voice rumbled in the far corners of his mind._

_*_

“You heard me...I am going to call you whatever the hell I please when we’re married if you don't wake up soon.”

_*_

_“Did you…” Hannibal glanced around, running thumbs across red markings absently. “…say something?”_

_*_

“My little Danish Crumpet. My hunny bunny.”

_*_

_Will craned his neck to the side, glancing up towards the ceiling and then back at Hannibal straddling his thighs, nose wrinkling incredulously._ _“Are you kidding me? I would like to keep both kidneys and my liver inside my body, thank you very much.”_

_*  
_

“My sex kitten for when you’re being frisky.”

_*_

_Arching cheeks flushed beet red. Will began to howl with laughter, gripping the back of the chair to keep steady, chest shaking from lungs convulsing inside ribs._

_"Actually that one’s pretty good!” Tears leaked out of dancing eyes, peering back over a shoulder. “How well do you think it would go over if I cried that out in the midst of an orgasm, Hannibal?”_

_Smacking an open palm across a soft cleft, Hannibal climbed off the chair and began a furious flurry of movement to rearrange his appearance, heat rising in his face. A fly jerked up. Buttons jammed back through holes. A jacket snapped out from under denim knees, arms punching through sleeves._

_“Oh that’s no fair!” The younger man rolled onto his back, pouting and failing miserably at trying to keep a straight face. “I thought we were having fun or at the very least, I was having fun. Don't you wanna be my sex kitten, Hann?”_

_With a curt yank on his jacket front, the older man glared and pointed at the nearest door, teeth grinding out words. “Admonish the other version of me to ensure you are incapable of sitting for at least a week!”_

_Sighing dramatically, Will wiggled and twisted back into tight denim, hopping a little and sucking in his stomach to slip an antique brass button through a loop. He shot a displeased pout over his shoulder, sauntering across the office._

_“You have the worst temper when you’re injured, you know that?”_

_“Do not think for a second any promises of what your clever, insolent little tongue is capable of doing will save of you from a well deserve Fate, William.”_

_Dark brows rose slightly, teeth glittering, catching the unconsciously intent gaze fixated on the hypnotic sway of an ass hugged by tight denim._

_“We’ll just see about that, won’t we, Doctor Lecter.”_

 

*

 

“Hann… can you hear me?” Wind chimes rustled in a gentle breeze, clanging against an oak tree, lush canopy casting a cool shade across a quiet stream. “Hannibal? Come on. Wake up.”

The older man made a distant grunt of affectionate annoyance, itching from the ludicrous pet names oiled across his skin like iodine lathered over wounds flaring back to life. He assumed Will would prefer him to be cantankerous and awake than docile and hopelessly unconscious. Peeling lashes away from dark circles, his eyes creaked open slowly with what he hoped looked less like undying love and more like a shadowy disdain.

“H-h-hey...”

Bruised wrists swiped across red rimmed eyes, scattering tears across cheeks. Will rolled forward on a chair, running hands down his face and back through his hair tenderly, before holding tight to a limp hand.

“You’re awake,” The younger man announced quietly, voice rough and breaking in a mist of tears rushing back to blue eyes. “Welcome back.” A throat worked down a weak noise. “Really glad you’re awake.

_Me too._

He answered with another hoarse grunt, trying to draw some kind of sound across his vocal cords and form a less primitive form of communication.

_Why are you crying, Will?_

“Hann…” Fingers squeezed painfully around his hand. “How…how are you?”

 _Fine._ Hannibal tried again to clear his throat, tongue lolling around his mouth, trying to sweep away the sensation of dry cotton packed inside cheeks. _Why am I unable to speak?_

Lips twitched in a controlled wince. “Scared me… for a minute.”

Groaning again, Hannibal narrowed his eyes and tried to lift his hand, to stroke it across a soft face covered in cuts and bruises. He felt the weight of a ring on his left hand pinning his arm to a cold surface. Pain blossomed down his shoulder and tingled underneath his fingernails. Sensation stirred in his knees as he tried to rise.

_Will, why can’t I move? Will?_

His groans rose to strangled noises of panic, wild eyes searching blue ones. His right shoulder jerked forward, trying once again to rise.

_Will!_

Jumping to his feet, the younger man winced and placed two hands over his shoulders to keep him still, ringlet of dark curls drooping around his face looking down and firmly whispered, “Take it easy, Hannibal. You got hit by a car, remember? And you somehow still nearly managed to crush my windpipe.” Lines crinkled around gentle eyes. “Had to dose you with morphine for everyone’s safety. Give it a minute to wear off, huh?”

“W-where am I?” A rasping voice asked.

Knuckles traced the curve of dry, cracking lips softly. “It was ‘bring your fiance to work day,’ didn’t I tell you?”

“I am not…” The older man breathed in deeply, immediately regretting fanning flames inside his ribcage, and let it out, an x-ray machine bolted to the ceiling coming into focus. “…nearly conscious enough to abide by your poor sense of humor both in and outside the structures of my mind, Will.”

“Yeah?” Arms scooped lightly under his shoulder blades, mouth pressed tight to his ear as he was lifted carefully up into a sitting position. “How much of a pain in the ass was I being? My usual level? Or exceptionally infuriating?”

“Exceptionally,” Hannibal answered hoarsely, slinging an arm around a smaller waist and holding as tightly as he could manage, a limp embrace. “We will be discussing your punishment at a later date.”

“What? I’m responsible for the actions of your subconscious now?” Arms stayed around his shoulders, fingertips lightly tracing the curve of his spine. “Kinda a raw deal there, Hannibal.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Quite raw I imagine.”

“That’s some rather flamboyant bait you’re dangling in front of me, Doctor.” Will drew slowly away, balancing on an edge of a metal table before taking a seat next to him, glancing over with a suspiciously arced brow and lopsided smile. “And I am not biting.”

Glancing around, Hannibal realized they were in some kind of a room for medical treatments. His eyes flicked over colorful posters of varying shapes and sizes depicting cats and dogs frolicking in different scenes with motivational captions typed at the bottom. One was a tabby cat dangling from a rope with wide green eyes stamped with: _Hang in there!_ Inside his foggy head, he snorted. He glanced at purple pamphlets stacked beside a computer labeled, _Frontline Plus. Keep your furry family free from fleas and ticks this summer!_

It slowly dawned on him they were most likely holed up at the shelter where Will had begun working several months ago. His first fleeting hope was that it had been empty and there wasn’t currently one of his coworkers bleeding out beneath the table. His second thought was for how long they had remained. Time was not on their side. His third was how unbelievably in love he was with the wide ocean blue staring back and how incredibly lucky he was to be seeing them once more. His final thought was to sweep the younger man into his arms and kiss them both unconscious. He imagined this would also require an allotted amount of time, ample pain medication, and a soft surface to accommodate their fall. This assumed they managed to survive long enough to make it home and inconspicuously out of sight from the authorities. 

“We need to leave, Will,” The older man announced gruffly, struggling to get to his feet in a series of groans and curses as each new movement sparked a new pain. “Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I've caught up on the back order of comments! <3 If I have not answered you, just chant Hannibal three times, and I will reappear and answer. (Or you could just let me know I missed it?)
> 
> Also, I really have to stop writing for six to seven hours at a time without realizing it. What is sleep?


	117. Chapter 117

“Hey. Hold on a minute, will you?”

Gentle arms pushed the older man back towards the table and he slumped against its edge gratefully, growling internally at his own feeble bones and weakness.

“It’s Sunday. You know no one works on Sundays. You have suffered some pretty series injuries, Hannibal. You’re still flesh and blood regardless of what your God complex continues to tell you.” Blue eyes peered down into his, a mouth searching for a spot of undamaged skin and kissed it. “I need to know if you are well enough to travel before we leave.”

His eyes closed, leaning into warmth brushing lightly over his forehead, trying not to sound like a disgruntled lion, roars turning to bleeding whispers with just a soft touch.

“It will be a lot more difficult to travel if we are dead or apprehended, dear one.”

“Alright, that’s quite enough.” The younger man cupped hands around his face, mouth curling up in an amused smile at his attempt to remain fierce. “Your ruthless, serial killer streak is showing through and she’s coming. _Pretend_ to be cordial.”

Before the words “who” had a chance to leave his lips, fiery hair swung around the open door and a young woman stepped inside the room, squinting at an aluminum chart in her hand. Light pink dimples on the bridge of her nose suggested she needed glasses to read properly but barely wore them. Cinnamon freckles were sprinkled across pale high cheekbones and dotted around a pink tulip mouth tipped down in a frown, chewing on the cap of a black ballpoint pen. An airy chiffon white blouse rustled over slender curves, clinging to the front of a chest where splotches of drying blood pooled across a torso. Skinny denim jeans covered in red hand prints clung to long legs. For a moment, he thought perhaps the clinic was not empty after all and they were going to be one employee short, two technically, come Monday morning. Up until the moment, he realized who she was and he bristled at the very sight of her.

“How are you feeling, Doctor…” The young woman swiveled on high top sneakers and stopped directly in front of them, piercing violet eyes swinging up. “Never mind. I don’t care.” Eyes rolled with a sigh, voice grating with sudden annoyance. “I assume your name is made up too.”

After waiting for five consecutive heartbeats to pump blood to his brain, Hannibal tilted his head to stare silently at Will, resisting the ticking sensation of fingers trying to curl into fists.

“Do you have a ravenous desire to return to prison, Will, or am I hallucinating the idea of you involving, for all intents and purposes, a _stranger_ in our rather public and tumultuous affairs?” He asked slowly, ice chilling his lungs and pushing out across his tongue.

The younger man blinked once, mouth drawing down in a cross line, voice dipping in a low scolding reply, “I am going to assume that’s the morphine talking and you aren’t being an ungrateful dick to either of us. But especially not her.”

“ _Will._ ” Fingernails snapped into his palm.

“What?” Will limped around to face him squarely, folding battered arms across his bare chest, scowling back. “You thought I magically managed to tend to all of your injuries and then my own before blacking out from my own blood loss? I _needed_ help, Hannibal. What else was I going to do? She isn’t a stranger and you are being rude.”

“Uh…” A pen tapped against a clipboard. “ _She_ is standing _right here_.”

Something ugly snapped inside Hannibal’s heart as blue darted away, a hand lightly touching a slender shoulder, posture, voice, and gaze softening when Will looked her direction.

“I’m sorry, Aubrey, he isn’t usually—“

“Yes, he is!” Aubrey cut him off, swatting the hand fiercely away with the clipboard.

His teeth snapped together, imagining snapping the wrist the hand belonged to in two for the audacity of such an action.

“I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting his acquaintance when he came into the clinic the other week. He got pissed when I wouldn’t tell him where you were and then cordially invited me to dinner!”

The older man wasn’t consciously aware he was growling, eyes narrowing, until Will gave him a sharp look, mouth curling up in a brief snarl before tucking hands submissively into trouser pockets. He had never seen the younger man submit to anyone else, not anyone, except him. Why was he staring, docile as a lamb at his shoes, nodding meekly in agreement? He glared daggers at a mop of curls refusing to look his way, teeth grinding. And why was he ignoring him!

“Just because I received a blow to the head the other week, doesn’t mean I can’t remember the countless nights you spent sobbing on my couch not too long ago!”

“ _He_ also happens to be seated within the vicinity of this conversation!” Hannibal snapped, latching a hand on a wrist, forcibly dragging Will next to him and away from her. “And has intimate knowledge on how to dismember a human body in approximately one hundred ways.”

The younger man’s eyes locked onto fingers crushed around his wrist, stormy gaze dragging up slowly to glower back, voice dipping harshly, “People might _like_ you more, Hannibal, if you stopped threatening them once in awhile!”

“Would you care to repeat that?”

“You heard me the first fucking time!” A wrist burned raw inside a vice like grip, trying to break free. “Why are you acting like this!” Will hissed, drawing close to growl into his ear. “You don’t have to play the stereotypical part of a poorly composed Freddie Lounds article! So stop it!”

Inhaling sharply, Hannibal swiped a hand forward, with the full intent to latch onto a wounded shoulder and remind Will who he was mouthing off to and exactly who belonged to whom.

“GOD!”

A metal chart slammed against the table, startling them both.

“You two really do fight like an old married couple, Jesus Christ, get a room!” Aubrey yelled, fair nostrils flaring and lighting the tips of her ears on fire. “If you are sufficiently done having a pissing contest with each other, do you think it might be my turn to talk now?”

Will snatched his wrist away, sitting down hard on an edge of the table, arms crossed and glared at some speck of dust drifting across the room. Hannibal felt the heat of anger radiating between them, filtering through their hearts and pumping through their blood. If his physical body wasn’t in such dire straights, privacy or not, the older man would have bent him over the table after bloodying both their lips and had his way until Will was forced to apologize.

His gaze slid over to a left hand tucked in the crook of an arm, bits of a ragged red ribbon clinging desperately to a finger. He would have reached out to hold that hand and he would have been allowed after some kind of struggle. The body shifted further away. But apparently this was not an acceptable display of affection in front of her.

“Firstly, for the love of Christ, take a deep breath the two of you and shut up for a minute.” The young woman snatching up the chart and glaring down at its pages as if it was the source of her fury. “You both are clearly in no state to speak to each other, let alone argue, given you have survived what I can only imagine was a traumatic event.”

The older man opened his mouth to snarl something back, immediately cut off.

“And you!” The tip of a pen jabbed in his general direction, violet eyes narrowing. “He hasn’t told me anything, _at all_ , if that’s what you’re worried about so don’t get your panties in a twist, Doctor.”

A laugh was poorly disguised by a cough.

“Don’t even get me started on you, _Will_ , or you and I are going to have serious problems!”

The younger man glanced up, eyes obediently snapping back down to the floor, expression sobering. Digging a canine into his lip, Hannibal bit down on a painful twist of jealously working its way out in a hiss, at hearing soft lips speak his name and see Will cave willingly without a fight.

“You have jeopardized my job, my future, and my freedom within the matter of a few hours, so if it is alright with you, _my majesties_ , may I continue so we can all go home?”

“Why do I have a difficult time believing nothing was spoken if you are using his birth name?” Hannibal blinked slowly, smoke curling through his teeth, gripping the edge of the metal table hard.

“I swear to God…” Aubrey rolled her head back on shoulders, eyes closed, and took in a deep breath and held it, fingers splayed across a hip. “I am going to count to ten and if either of you are still talking, I am walking out and you can figure this out on your own. Got it?” She opened her eyes, glancing over. “Good.”

Punching a button on a large white board screen on the far wall, it hummed to life, flickering before a series of black and white digital photographs of bones flashed.

“Doctor these are your x-rays.” Red manicured tipped nails tapped at the screen, violet eyes looking back. “Cracked ribs here.” Another tap. “Here.” Another tap. “And here.”

He was incapable of keeping his mind from drifting, imagining those same nails digging into the younger man’s shoulders and running through curls to soothe.

“There isn’t any internal hemorrhaging so far as I can tell, which is more fortunate for you and less fortunate for him, given he still has to put up with your shit while you recover.”

Red eyes swung up. He was going to wring her pretty little neck before all of this was through. A firm hand clamped over a snarl rising from the back of his throat. Will glared down at him.

“Please continue, Aubrey.”

Fingers swiped across the screen bringing up images of a femur, tibia, fibula.

“You have massive bruising and swelling on your left thigh and shins, Doctor, presumably where a…” Fingers formed air quotes. “… _hypothetical_ car…” Violet eyes rolled. “…may or may not have hit you. Remarkably nothing is broken.”

“I appreciate your exceptional lack of bed side manner, Miss Aubrey,” Hannibal ground out, teeth grating loudly against a thrumming ache inside his skull and rose unsteadily to his feet. “We really must be on our way.”

“Oh no.” Fiery curls fell into slit eyes. “Sit down. Did I give you permission to leave?”

Like a private symphony, Hannibal heard the cracking and snapping of her bones in a soothing echo in the theater of his mind and glowered down, rising to his full height and towering over her by a good foot.

“You wanna go home? Or you wanna see Will dragged off in cuffs?” The young woman rose up on her tiptoes, heat flushing her cheeks and stared up into the shadowy abyss of his soul fearlessly, repeating firmly, “ _Sit. Down_.”

His gaze strayed to the ballpoint pen perched between a slender forefinger and thumb, picturing it jammed into her jugular before yanking it out, lovely arterial spray painting the walls.

A light hand touched the back of his neck, voice soft, “She doesn’t mean it, Hannibal, Aubrey is just being cautious and a little, _a lot_ , overprotective. And you are being an ass. Come sit by me, okay?”

The older man preferred it when he was completely in possession of all his mental faculties, cursing the way his feet moved on their own, drawn to the gentle call of a siren, joining Will on the metal table with another growl to punctuate his displeasure.

“I am not doing this for you,” Aubrey stated fiercely, gripping the clipboard and tapping it against her thigh. “I’m doing it for him. Li—Will helped save my little pit bull, Cinnamon, after she was hit by a motorbike. I owe him that much.”

Slowly, he saw how her eyes softened, how her mouth formed his name, and a different kind of pain sank in the pit of his stomach.

 _Is she…_ He lifted his eyes to gaze at the younger man. _…in love with you?_

“And he is _not_ driving anywhere until he’s recovered from donating blood and I’ve finished assessing both your injuries.”

“Did you…”

Voice trailing off, Hannibal glanced down at a cotton swab taped to his arm and then over to the matching one on Will’s, heart stuttering to a pitiful stop in his chest.

“Did you give me blood, William?” He asked quietly, sweeping a thumb gently across an upturned wrist.

“You needed it more than I do…” Fingers twitched as touch moved across them, soft whisper replying, “Family. Tied by blood now.”

Dragging his gaze up, the older man trailed a palm lightly down flushing cheeks as Will looked back, blue eyes darting about to find a safe place to rest, settling on a corner of his right eye. He tucked a hand behind the curve of a neck and leaned forward to kiss parting lips.

“I told him he was a reckless idiot.”

_Rude!_

“ _No, Hannibal_.”

Fingernails clamped down on his shoulder, snarl working its way out of clenched teeth as Hannibal launched to his feet.

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Maroon eyes glowed red as pressured increased, keeping him rooted in place, a millisecond away from tearing slender limbs from sockets.

“What did I just say!”

“I’m sorry, do you two need a minute or—“

“YES.” They both shouted in unison.

White high top sneakers marched across the room and down the hall in a huff.

“She is a liability,” The older man snarled, pointing two fingers after the retreating figure, breathing hard.

_A liability I would very much enjoy suffocating with a mouth full of medical scrub tops._

“Lower your voice! She is a person. A human being!” Will whispered fiercely, eyes darting towards the door and then back. “Who also happens to be my co-worker. _Ex-_ coworker. So cut it out! You are scaring her, when you should be thanking her! She didn’t have to help me. She didn’t have to help either of us. She could have ran, let both of us bleed out, or called the cops but she didn’t!”

“Will, you are allowing personal feelings to cloud your judgment!”

He hated the accusation hissing out of his teeth.

“What the hell did she ever do to you? Aubrey is _not_ on the fucking menu, Hannibal. And that’s final.”

_She took you from me._

“She is a danger to us both and will have to be dealt with! And she may very well be the most singularly rude person I have ever encountered.”

Stormy blue eyes flashed back, shoving away from hands encircling shoulders. “She stayed awake for twenty four hours straight holding my head over a goddamn toilet while I was too busy puking out my lungs to stay conscious from alcohol poisoning! Because I thought if I drank enough that maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much to think of you and I sure as fuck didn’t see you lining up to do it!” A rigid palm slammed against the table. “She is my fucking friend and I trust her!”

Pulling away, Hannibal shuffled to a far corner of the table and dipped his head, watching skin flush red and tears flood blue eyes counting linoleum tile. His heart ached. His body hurt. He was afraid to speak, of breaking the rising tension gathering between them, afraid he might look up to find Will had walked out. A few minutes seemed like a lifetime. And for a while neither of them spoke.

“…I’m sorry.” The younger man glanced over then away. “I…know… I hurt you. That isn’t an excuse for you to turn her into a human shish kabob, alright?” He limped across the floor and buried his face against a neck, threading their hands together, softening voice breaking into a plea. “Please don’t hurt her, Hannibal, she has always been kind to me. We’re leaving anyway, right? Why does it matter?”

“Are you two done bitching about me yet?”

Hannibal had always considered himself dispassionately removed from the pendulum of frail and petty emotions, particularly of love and hate. He suspected if you were capable of one then you were fully capable of the other. In that moment, he considered he might very well possess the attributes of hating this particular person for nothing more than her affection for Will and patiently treating both their injuries.

Disentangling their bodies, Will slumped against the table, pale faced and stared out at the shiny wrapper of a fig newton bar being waved in front of eyes like a flag.

“Eat this.”

“Aubrey, you know I don’t lik—“

The younger man sighed when a sneaker tapped impatiently across the tie, tearing open the packaging and jammed the entire soft cookie into his mouth whole.

“Thank you,” Will mumbled, crumbs clinging to cheeks.

Marching over, Aubrey held out a scratchy looking black sling and pointed. “You. Arm.”

Begrudgingly, Hannibal allowed her to place his throbbing arm, which had only been dislocated hours before, into the sling. Her hands were incredibly soft. Despite the anger glittering in her eyes, she was surprisingly gentle and caring. He sighed. Perhaps he could understand being fiercely protective of Will. He glanced over at a mouth attempting to swallow a cookie whole. He was worthy of being protected. Was it so wrong he longed to be the only person to do so?

“Both of you. Forearms up.” A vial and syringe flashed in the dim light. “ _Now_ , Doctor, unless you are looking forward to a ravaging bacterial infection.”

Choking on bits of cookie and a laugh, blue eyes slipped over. “Remind you of anyone?”

“May I ask…” Hannibal pushed the needle away from the younger man’s arm, glancing at the vial. “…what you are prescribing before I allow you to inject both of us?”

“Is he serious?” The young woman let out a furious breath. “How the hell do you manage to put up with this every day?

“…Always.” Will glanced over, head tilted, eyes pleading. “Practice I suspect.”

“Ampicillin, is that al-fucking-right with you, Doctor? Or do you want to waste more time by second guessing my every decision? Maybe you want to nit pick over how well I put the sutures in Will or you for that matter?”

He didn’t mean to snap back. He didn’t mean to raise his voice. He was skittering along the edges of collapsing exhaustion and wanted to be alone. He had wanted to be alone with Will three hours ago and sailing across open waters towards a tumultuous, wedded bliss. He had wanted to propose the appropriate, traditional way in front of stained glass at the younger man’s feet. He had not planned on a near death experience, hadn’t planned seeing the love of his life nearly beaten to death while he remained helpless and safe inside a car, and he sure as hell had not planned on being lectured to by a girl the same age as Abigail would have been.

“You might as well write us both a succinct prescription for death right now if you stitched either of us up without cleaning the wounds first!”

“Is he—“ Tips of red ears filtered through cheeks, across a nose, and filled a face until it was bright ruby red. “Why, _why_ are you with such pretentious cock? What can you possibly see in him?”

“I beg your pardon—“

“Hannibal—“

Wild eyed, Will jerked up from the table and placed himself firmly between them, arms spread wide as if that would do anything to keep them apart.

“No, Doctor, I am clearly so poorly educated that instead of painstakingly removing hundreds of bits of glass and gravel embedded in your skin like fucking confetti… I figured, hey, let’s leave all that in and not bother to wash out the wounds with saline or iodine. Let’s just go stitch everyone up and hope it doesn’t kill them! Because apparently that’s all an idiot girl like me could possibly gain from six years of medical training, a year of nightly veterinary classes, and a goddamn summer of first aid training back in primary school!”

“Christ, Aubrey, please he didn’t—“

“You want to inject yourself? Go for it! You want to try to figure out what animal drugs are also people drugs by trial and error, because you don’t have extensive knowledge on the subject, and hope you don’t die by administering the wrong one? Be my guest! I don’t need this! Either of you!”

A pitiful whisper dragged through parting lips. “Please…”

Color drained out a bruised face. Ears rang. Black hazed a tunneling vision. Shaking knees gave way. A small pained groan filtered through the thick tension. Will crumpled to the floor, beads of sweat clinging to his brow, and matting silky dark curls to his face.

Hannibal tried to move, to peel heavy limbs away from the table, to go to the younger man and scoop him in his arms, letting a silken drawl of their mouths bring him back to consciousness. He tried to speak once more, but nothing came out. He wanted to apologize, to explain to Will how terrified he was, how pain and fear made him weak and ill tempered. How he hadn’t meant any of it. How the younger man was all he needed, a simple touch steadying his heart and mind. Instead, he sat there, dazed and paralyzed.

Gasping, Aubrey dropped the clipboard. It clattered to a standstill on the tile. She shoved the pen into wiry curls and knelt, frantically searching for a pulse before breathing a sigh of relief.

Pink lips pursed. “Are you happy now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments, guys. I'm having sort of a rough time time right now so they keep me going. <3  
> Also, should anyone find the Muse and draw a Sassy!Will from the last chapter, I would love to see it~because he is just so sassy and in skinny jeans.


	118. Chapter 118

Fingers pushed against the bridge of a nose and in to corners of bleary eyes, stretching skin in a rough shove to force away stinging tears. Hannibal tried to concentrate, to force his breathing to steady and remain in control of searing pain throbbing back to life in his ribs with each intake of oxygen. He felt the constraints of his anger ebbing, giving way to something much more hollow grating across his heart. He was defenseless, hopelessly weakened by a few broken bones. The balance of his life, but more importantly Will’s life, currently rested entirely in someone else’s hands.

Covering his face with cold palms, he breathed the words quietly, knowing his voice would rise to a grating scream if he spoke any louder. “Is he alright?”

Sneakers squeaked across tile. “He’s unconscious on the floor all because you can’t control your temper! What do you think?”

Teeth sank into the edge of his tongue, blistering with blood, to remain quiet.

“Doctors make the worst patients, I swear to god.” Soft grunts sounded. “Get up. He needs an x-ray.”

Slotting fingers apart, the older man stared at Will’s body hanging in shaking arms trying to jostle him into an upright position. Shame and then guilt flooded his cheeks, gaze darting back to the floor with a weak sigh. He was behaving monstrously and the younger man was suffering, literally and figuratively, the consequences, half out of his mind with pain and lack of inhibitions fueled by the drugs crawling through his system.

“Can you manage to limp off this table or am I going to have to jam adrenaline into his heart so Will can carry your ass out of here again?”

“N…no… more needles…” An ebbing groan replied.

Biting his cheek, Hannibal opened his arms and waited, needing to feel the contact of their skin melting close to express all he was incapable of saying out loud for fear it would come out garbled and twisted. He held his breath. Stumbling forward, the younger man curled inside his arms, lashes fluttering against a shoulder as knees strained to hold up a sluggish body. Hannibal tucked Will closer still, straining to keep him standing, letting out a shaking breath against curls and closed his eyes. He felt their unspoken apologies wash over the other in a thrum of touch. The scent of antiseptic and blood wafted over faint pine nuzzling close in a press of fingertips tugging at his neck. He brushed his mouth across purple fingerprints wrapping around the curve of a neck before resting his forehead against a collarbone. He wished he had the strength to lift the fragile body into his arms and carry him home, their home, where they belonged and where he could keep Will safe from harm. What kind of man was he if continued to fail the only person in his life that truly mattered?

“Don’t get your hopes up…” Breath radiated across stitches across his chest in a ragged laugh. “…and expect windows any time soon.”

He hated the forced gusto of deflection trying to soothe and comfort, to break the gathering tension stiffening his bones and aching through his dull heart. He knew better than anyone the harder Will tried to smile and insist he was perfectly well, the more pain he was actually in, trying his best to hide it.

The older man eased slowly off the table, snaking an arm around a waist and helped Will unsteadily maneuver his way onto it. His eyes flicked down to a swollen ankle that he was pretending not to limp on, barely able to stand without leaning on the nearest surface. He grimaced. Sprained if not broken. Ugly bruising blotched shadowy hues from a shoulder blade down to a hip disappearing underneath a trouser waistband, rolling the younger man onto his back. Bruised, if he had not also been gifted a set of matching cracked ribs. At this rate, he began to consider if Winston might have to be named the primary caregiver given the state of them both. He quickly began packing grey protective lead packets over his chest and around his body, fingertips lingering shoulders and hands.

“Go on.” Will smiled weakly, more than the added weight laboring his breathing. “Quicker this is done the sooner we go home.”

Reluctantly, Hannibal took the freckled arm offered to him, leaning heavily on it for support, and loped out to a hallway before sinking into an offered chair. A door swung quietly shut behind them. He listened to dim hums of an x-ray machine warming up, curling a protective arm around his ribs and let out a hiss. He glanced up. The girl was bent over a desk, clicking anxiously with a mouse and squinting at fuzzy images appearing on a computer screen.

“How is he?” Hannibal asked softly.

He was fairly certain his assessment was accurate. He was merely making an attempt at being polite. He had an aching pit gnawing away in his stomach, fairly certain he was praying it was not any worse than what he saw or imagined.

“It could be a lot worse,” A sighing voice mused. “Sprained his ankle pretty good.”

 

_“Will!”_

_Hannibal battled through a sea of faceless beings flowing along the sidewalk, weaving to the left and then to the right, desperate to keep a mop of curls running the opposite direction within sight. He skirted around a lamppost, a bellowing curse drawing his attention. A man in a suede sports jacket roughly shoved the younger man away, sending him sprawling, face down across the cement road. His fingers clenched into fists, roughly throwing tourists out of the way, inhuman snarls hissing out between teeth. He grabbed the sports jacket by the collar, drawing his fist back and prepared to slam it into a startled face. A blaring horn jerked his attention away, headlights flashing, hurtling towards Will with a screech of tires._

_“WILLIAM!”_

 

“Some fairly bad swelling along his shoulder and down his spine, spreading out along his hip. I’m surprised he managed to get up and walk, let alone carry you in here…”

_Dress shoes slamming against the cement, Hannibal lunged forward in front of a blinding light. His fingertips latched onto shoulders, curling around a neck, palms cupping a head to protect, knees snapping around a torso. Pain exploded across his thigh. Breath left him in a rush of Will’s name, a soft reassurance to protect him from the worst of it, a sickening crack of bones echoing after. His shoulder slammed into shattering glass, vision dimming and fading. The last thing he remembered was Will’s smile, glistening in a mist of rain, bright eyes shadowed by a tipping umbrella._

 

“Bullet to the shoulder.”

 

_“Will! Where are you—!”_

_The passenger door slammed shut. Locks clicking into place. He groaned, eyes fluttering closed and open in a haze as he stared up at the car’s ceiling, struggling to drag himself up and forward into a sitting position. He heard the sound of Will’s voice ring out before going silent. Latching onto the seatbelt, he yanked on it hard and hissed out a weak breath, fire burning bright inside the arm hanging limply across a bloody chest and broken ribs. A heavy car door sounded. Then another. And another._

_“Kill him.”_

_Hannibal let out a choked gasp. Two gunshots rang out. His heart stopped. Blood spattered across the passenger window. He heard the distinct sound of breaking bones and then a distinct cry of pain. Will’s cry. Will was hurt. Will was hurt. Had he been shot? Was he bleeding out on the concrete, alone and terrified, thinking Hannibal had abandoned him? Was he dead already?_

 

“Cracked ribs on the left side of his body like someone went after him with a goddamn tire iron.”

 

_Clawing at leather, he twisted up just in time to see the younger man’s spine slam into the passenger window, glass rattling on impact._

_“W-will!”_

_Dark hands lunged forward. In slow motion, he watched Will struggle to break free, blood dripping down his shoulder, dress shoes skidding across the concrete. Shoving a hand against the gushing wound on his chest, Hannibal jerked at the leather belt strapped across his arm restricting his movement in a half functional tourniquet._

_The car shook as the younger man was slammed onto the hood, legs kicking out as hands wrapped his throat, fighting to regain control and leverage. His hand battered relentlessly against windshield wiper blades, white knuckled from trying to maintain a firm grip on a gun. The older man snarled, yanking harder on leather to remove it and paled. Gurgling sounds bubbled out of swollen lips. Limbs softened one by one._

_Blue eyes lifted from the hood of the car, flooding with a light softness, a gentle reassurance as hands choked the life out his body. “S-s-stay.”_

 

“You are supposed to be the responsible one! You are supposed to protect him! So why didn’t you? Why aren’t you taking better care of him, huh! Will could have died!”

 

_A shadow fell over the passenger window. A tire iron swung into glass. He flung up a forearm to cover his eyes and protect his face. Fists connected with a jaw. Ribs cracked. Screams echoed. He hunched down in the seat, snapping fingers on the handle and shoved the door open. Hannibal threw himself out the door and fell to the concrete, broken bones crackling to life. He began dragging himself belly first across broken glass and gravel, eyes locked onto a gun shoving roughly against Will’s head. He just had to stay awake a little longer. Inch a little closer. He sank his teeth into a sinewy calf and ripped with a raw feral scream lodged in the back of his throat._

“Hannibal?” Tender hands touched the side of his jaw.

Blinking eyes open, a watery image of Will looking up, kneeling unsteadily between his feet, came into focus. The face gazing up flashed with worry, shadowed with a wave of pain, and then returned to a stoic still mask of reassurance. The younger man took shaking hands between his palms, pressing kisses over tears sliding away from knuckles as they were lifted to a soft mouth. Hannibal stared down confused, uncertain when he had began weeping and uncertain if the wounded sounds belonged to him, or to an ailing animal somewhere within the shelter.

Suffocating fear untangled off his lips in a weak plea, clutching at hands as if they might disappear, terrified the sensations of skin and warmth were merely perceptions of a dying mind. The thick expanse of his skin felt frail, stretched, burning with every stretch of sinew and muscle. There was a deep, searing ache blooming inside his chest, filling his lungs, and racing throughout every single bone in his body. If this was what dying felt like, he wished it would leave him in peace and not plague him with visions of all he had loved and lost.

“W-w-will.”

“Shh…” Will inched closer, threading fingers through silver hair, gaze painfully soft and gentle. “You are alright, Hannibal…You’re just in pain. I’ll give you something to help you sleep.” Lips lifted and pressed against quivering ones. “Ready to go home?”

He nodded weakly, burying his wet face in palms to hide a fresh sting of tears, unable to steady shaking hands, and listened to the conversation bleed out around them.

“Prognosis?”

“Will, he is not allowed to use that arm for a month, do you hear me? Dislocated shoulders aren’t a fucking joke. And he needs to stay off his feet. The impact of that theoretical car could have easily shattered the bones in his legs. That means no unnecessary walking around or pretending to do more than he’s capable of for at least a week.”

“I’ll make sure to take care of him.”

“As for you...I know you’re not going to listen to me anyway, Will. Stay off your fucking ankle and stop trying to pop your stitches by playing the hero.”

Dress shoes scuffed across tile. “Anything else, Aubrey?”

“My professional opinion is you both need mood stabilizers and an overpriced therapist. Aside from that. Nothing broken. Doesn’t mean the rest of your body isn’t fucked. And the possibility of infection is still fairly high.”

“Come here, angel…”

Hands tugged lightly at his wrists, urging the older man to his feet before hands settled around his waist, struggling to find proper leverage with a series of ineloquent curses. He pushed weakly at Will to insist he could walk without assistance, losing his balance and caught himself against a white washed wall, catching cracked ribs on its corner and doubled over.

Cool palms settled over his spine, soft whisper flooding out, “What did you go and do that for, huh? I said I would take care of you.”

_Not at the expense of your own health. I will not put you at risk._

“You can’t keep trying to lift him, Will! What did I just say?” A clipped tone shouted. “You are in no condition! You are going to cause yourself permanent injury.”

“He is in pain!” A growl answered. “And I’m not going to just watch him suffer!”

Hannibal fought against hands pulling at his shoulder and hip, growling, before a grunt and a shaking lift sent the world into a whirl of graying color. Letting out an incoherent protest, the older man dug fingers into shoulders and the back of a neck, quieting once he saw a fierce jaw clench tight and a dim fire burning in blue eyes, stumbling stubbornly down the hall and towards the exit.

“So are you!”

“I am all he has and he is all I have, Aubrey, so I am just going to have to deal with it!” Will snarled, turning sharply on his heel and stopping abruptly in his tracks.

Violet eyes floated away. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

“ _Aubrey_.”

“Don’t, alright.” Fingers jammed into light washed denim pockets, shoulders hitching. “I think…I think you’re a genuinely good guy. And I…I like you. I’ll clean up, burn the evidence, and I won’t say anything to anyone. I’ll just…tell them you went on some tropical vacation or some shit with this idiot. But don’t come back here, okay?”

“Aubrey, I’m sorry! I didn’t—“

“You’re not welcome here!” Aubrey yelled, tears flooding eyes before spinning around and rushed down the hall. “Go!”

Gravel crunched beneath dress shoes as Will stormed out to the car, fumbling for keys and the back door, juggling the older man precariously in his arms. He winced as bent elbows grated across his ribs.

“I will drive…” Hannibal rasped out, pushing lightly at shoulders as he was set to his feet and slumped against glass, trying to reach for keys flashing in a palm.

“As amused as I am by your endearing attempts to maintain in control to protect me, Hannibal, you’re not driving anywhere,” Will growled, pointing to the back seat for him to get in. “I am not particularly in the mood to drag either of us out of twisted metal and burning wreckage of our own making. At least not until I have had a rest.”

“Will—“

“Whoever is not currently under the influence of pharmaceutical grade narcotics raise their hand?”

The older man scowled at a hand gesturing in an abrupt wave. He would have crossed his arms to show how thoroughly not amused he was if it hadn’t hurt to move so much. Pain fluttered in his heart. He suspected Will had been too concerned with his well being to even take an over the counter aspirin, let alone any kind of stronger medication.

“It’s _not_ that far. I’ll be fine.”

Hannibal slinked into the back seat with a grit of teeth and another growl, face flushing as he was buckled in like a small child, belt pushed carefully away from fresh sutures. A pale face gazed down, smile faltering at his obvious discontent, eyes closing for a moment in a hiss of breath. A door clicked closed.

*

 

 


	119. Chapter 119

How long had they been there? How many hours had Will suffered without appropriate treatment and medication? Hannibal glanced down at his injuries, toes curling furiously inside scuffed and torn dress shoes. He was useless in this state. Harsh words rang in his ears. He should be taking care of him, gently tending to wounds and nursing them both to health as he had done before. As he had always done.

Will hobbled back to the front seat, sliding behind the wheel, releasing a tense series of swears as the car rumbled to life. He closed eyes. The last thing a sprained ankle deserved was a sharp jam of a clutch. He wanted to scream, to insist he was capable of driving them both home, drugged or not, and the younger man was to desist in arguing otherwise. Anger simmered just beneath his eyes locking onto the floor. How would he bathe or bind their wounds? Fix popped sutures? Ensure Will took medication like clock work to aid pain and protect from infection? Prepare them meals? How would he do any of that if he was barely able to stand on his own?

His body immediately tensed as they navigated back towards the main road, eyes flicking to the East and then to the West, occasionally glancing behind to look out for any signs of police cars. Plenty of criminals had managed to commit murder and escape from crime scenes unscathed only to find a broken taillight, or in their case a busted passenger window, foil their plans and result in capture from a mere traffic stop or violation.

For the next twenty minutes, tense silence filled the car. Several times the older man tried to lean forward, to rest a hand against scrunched shoulders in an attempt to reassure or soothe. He knew even those reasons were lies. He wanted to do something, anything, to show he was not completely helpless. He could still be useful, half broken or not. He gave up after the third try when a pair of blue eyes lifted to the rearview, hearing a whisper of agony breathe out from the backseat. He settled for matching the pace of their ragged breathing, fiercely commanding his body to breathe for and with Will to help him with the pain, even if it was on a subconscious level.

“She is in love with you…” He whispered quietly, gaze drifting around windows cautiously, listening intently for sirens.

Fingers curled around the steering wheel. “What?”

“The girl.”

“She is not…” Will glanced back in the mirror, brows furrowing low on his forehead. “Don’t give me that patronizing look. Yes, that one.” Lips parted, teeth sinking into a bottom lip with a hiss. “Ow, fuck, can we not talk about this right now?”

“I was in no condition to help you. _She_ was,” Hannibal answered bitterly, wringing the seatbelt in fists. “You said so yourself. Quite forcefully I might add.”

The Aston Martin rolled to a stop on the dirt road leading up their house. With a series of pained sighs, Will deflated in the driver’s seat and rested his head against the steering wheel, clutching at its leathery surface for dear life.

“Are we really going to do this right now, Hann?” A weary voice called back, barely a whisper, a mere pleading breath. “Look, I am in _alottafucking_ pain and I just… Can we do this later? _Please_. You can scream at me and put my head through a wall if you want later, but I want to go home. I just want to go home. Can we do that?”

His lips formed the sounds of an apology only to growl out, “Gladly.”

_I’m sorry. Take us home, Will._

While being half dragged and half lifted into their home, Hannibal considered how he might enjoy being freed from the use of his limbs under different circumstance. How it might even please him to have control ripped away from him willingly. These circumstances were neither pleasurable or a matter of choice. They were forced, unbearably uncomfortable, and embarrassing for a man his age—one who had survived a war, countless stab wounds, bullets to the body, and horrendous food disguised as meals—to be swung around like a pup. He used to be able to will away the sensation of pain and discomfort with mere measured respiration and intense focus.

And then there was the matter of his slipping grip on emotions. His eyes refused to stop flooding with fragile tears each time he moved. His moods kept swinging from bouts of aggressive anger to infuriatingly weepy noises with no end in sight. The latter swing resulted in a throbbing head ringing with an unspoken threat of _you could have died_ , looping endlessly and with growing intensity in far reaching corners of his mind. He tried to convince himself it was the after effect of drugs making him frail. He would refuse to take them if Will offered. He needed to have full reign over his faculties and body, not the other way around.

 _Will…_ His eyes strayed to an ankle wobbling up steps to the front door. _How have I allowed you to suffer needlessly in the bliss of my unconscious state? Unable to offer you more than a weak embrace of comfort._

Firm hands placed him against lumpy couch cushions. “Wait here.”

Paws and nails skidded across a wooden floor. Pitiful yelps filled the air turning to mournful whines.

“Sorry…sorry… We're home. Don’t worry.” Dress shoes scuffed agonizingly slow towards the open door. “Hurry up now and I’ll get you dinner and bone to chew on, Winston.”

Hinges creaked, a happy bark sounding before grinding shut after several long minutes. A clack of nails skipped towards the kitchen. Dry food shook out into a bowl. The sounds of teeth chomped contently on a bone, ignoring the previous offer.

Hannibal frowned at fresh bruises and cuts mapping out angular planes and shallows of his body. Scored flesh was whipped together in a series of offensive x stitches, jagged and winding down his chest, as if to stamp a blatant reminder of human frailty into his skin.

“Hey?”

Their spare black medical box from the kitchen flipped onto the wood coffee table.

“Still with me?”

Two white pills of oxycontin rested in an open palm nudging at his shoulder. He took it, staring coldly, shoulders hunching to insist he absolutely did not need it. He refused. He needed to remain awake in case Will needed a glass of water, another blanket, or dose of pain medication in the middle of the night. He needed to remain sharp and focused if it was necessary to move quickly and violently to protect.

“Just take it.” Will sighed. “Take it _, please?”_

With another sigh, the younger man made a move to retrieve a glass of water for him from the kitchen, assuming his agitated silence was discomfort. He latched onto a wrist, growling, before stuffing the bitter pill into his mouth and gulped it down. He was not about to endure the pathetic sounds of feet shuffling and dragging across the floor for a second time.

“Thank you,” Soft lips breathed out, popping a matching pill between them and swallowing. “I know you don’t like taking medication.”

“I cannot think appropriately with drugs crawling unnecessarily through my system,” The older man snapped back, wincing internally at the sharpness of his tone.

“Yeah, well…” Crumpling against the couch, Will dug heels against the back of dress shoes and kicked them off with a sharp hiss. “I currently can’t think without them. So…?” He tapped against the older man’s thigh. “Can you lift them without my help?”

“I have been perfectly able to unlace shoes all my life without assistance, Will.”

“Jesus…” The younger man reached down, wheezing breath rushing out, and yanked both legs into his lap. “…Christ.” Fumbling fingers yanked apart laces. “You are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

His shoes were tossed unceremoniously beside the others. In their brief flight through air, Winston raced around the corner of the couch and leapt after them, catching one with an open mouth and a delighted growl of satisfaction, chomping down and slobbering over ruined Italian leather. Lines crinkled around blue eyes trying to hide behind curls.

Skittering fingertips pushed at thin socks, swirling briefly at the bones around his ankles, before tossing them away. Those too disappeared into grinning jowls, dragged away to join the shoe in a wet slobber. Sighing, the younger man spiraled back into cushions and let out a groan, eyes screwed shut as he attempted to wriggle free from blood stained trousers and boxers. Hannibal stared furiously down at his shaking fingers, clumsily slipping over the button of his trousers to follow suit. It finally popped open.

“I’ve got it.” Will knelt between his legs, frowning as his hands were batted away once more. “ _Hannibal_.”

He managed to get trousers two inches below bruised hips, to prove he could do so, before giving up with a labored growl. When had he managed to reach an age where he needed assistance to undress after a labor intensive struggle? He was not old enough to feel this frail. He was not old. He was matured like a fine wine. And he certainly did not need help. He was appeasing soft eyes gazing up. He curled a hand around ribs, struggling to lift thighs as trousers then fine linen peeled away, ending up on top of slobber, shoes, and socks.

“You need to lie down and rest,” Hannibal ground out, struggling against hands trying to get him back on his feet. “Lie down, dear one! You have done enough.”

“Enough…” Hands clamped down on his shoulders. “…implies we are no longer covered in the DNA and blood of five different individuals.” A chin jutted towards the small guest bathroom down the hall. “Enough insists neither of us are starving and a moment away from passing out from hunger or dropping blood sugar.”

Fingernails dug into skin, lifting him from the couch.

“And enough suggests _I_ am satisfied with the level of care you are receiving and accept the condition which you are currently in is good enough to bear.” Corners of a mouth pulled into a deep frown. “We are drenched in blood. I am starving. And I am not ever going to bear your pain above my own if I can help it, Hannibal! You come first.”

“Your ankle…” Hannibal winced, voice radiating with weakening cracks, gaze darting to the dog weaving around their legs. “I vowed to care of you. And my care has brought you nothing except pain, trauma, and near death experiences. How spectacularly I have failed you.”

An irritated breath huffed out. “ _Let’s go_.”

“I am capable of walking on my own.”

Pushing away, Hannibal grabbed onto the back of the couch and tottered down the hall, anger and hurt clashing in his heart. He was incapable of allowing gentle gaze and soft hands to touch him a moment longer. He would not allow it again until Will admitted how much he did not deserve it. His chest puffed out, shoulders rolling back as he stared at the proverbial finish line of the bathroom door. He made it three more steps before losing his balance and latched onto the wooden banister of the stairs for support.

“I can see that...” A soft snort breathed out across the back of his neck, hands carefully maneuvering him back into a standing position.

He suspected the younger man had been trailing behind him the entire time, arms outstretched, prepared to catch if he slipped.

“I’m not.” Will shook his head, exasperated, curls falling into his eyes and pretended to lean some of his weight against him for support. It was all for show. “So if you don’t mind I would like some assistance…”

 

Pushing them through a narrow doorframe, Will snagged a small towel blindly off an antique brass bar and jerked open the door of a tiny shower, frosted glass encasing its suffocating interior. Hannibal settled stubbornly against an edge of a cold counter, trying to look as fierce as one was able when stark naked and shivering from the effort to remain standing. He waited for the younger man to get in and he would follow after, even if it meant gripping to a shower caddy the entire time to keep from passing out. Will reached in, swiveling a glass handle into the on position. Hot water splattered noisily against the farthest panel of glass. Steam slowly filled the room. A hand gestured for him to get in.

“You ought to go in first,” Hannibal rumbled, folding arms around his waist to bury shaking hands. “I will wait.”

“Oh, that’s very chivalrous of you, angel…”

Red eyes narrowed with a sharp look, corner of a mouth ticking down.

“And naïve if you think I am leaving you alone to black out.”

In a single motion, Will snapped a hand around his wrist and waist, cramming them both into the shower by force. The older man pushed the curve of his spine as far back as he could against a cold interior wall of tile to escape scalding water, blinking down at curls plastered to a forehead. A triangular square of wood dug into the back of his thigh. There was barely any room to maneuver, let alone breathe. He opened his mouth to snarl out how exceptionally impractical it was, to cover up his discomfort of small spaces, before bossy hands were juggling him once more.

Feet tangled.

“Christ, Hannibal, I am trying to—“

Elbows jabbed into ribs and stomachs.

“This may very well be the worst idea you have ever—“

Curses both foreign and colorfully English filled the shower. Hands pushed slick skin over and against glass.

“Would you just let me—Jesus!”

Fingers latched onto his hips and yanked. Hannibal sprawled into a rigid lap seated against the triangle of wood, legs splayed out over smaller knees and feet dangling two inches above a tiled floor.

“ _Stay_.” A growl rumbled against an arching cheek. “For Christ sake. Stay still.”

Fingertips curved gently around his torso and settled loosely around a bruised waist, thrumming circles absently against his navel. Growls turned to soft lips moving down the seam of his neck and over a rigid shoulder. The older man released a foreign curse, bone and muscle alike turning traitor and melting his body into soft touch.

Hands began to massage his scalp, pushing his head gently beneath spraying water. It was blissfully warm. Red water began to run clear, speckled with grime and asphalt whirling down the drain. Will leaned around him with a grunt, ducking his head under and let curls turn into a dark waterfall of broken bone, cartilage, and blood spatter against tile. He felt fingertips caressing his hips, unaware of a fierce trembling causing his feet to shake against ankles, gather in his thighs, and twist inside his heart.

Words rattled out from clenching lungs. “You nearly died.”

“And you leapt in front of a fucking car to safe my miserable life!” Blue eyes snapped open, curls slinging water against glass. “What’s your point?”

Hannibal opened his mouth to respond eloquently, to ask what other variable options had been available to choose from. Was there another avenue he had been incapable of imagining? Except to watch the only other human being in the world he had ever loved aside from Mischa die? To allow his heart to die with them both? He had a thousand poignant conversations, harsh retorts, and pent up screams racing through his mind and welling up in his chest all at once. Except when his lips parted nothing came out except a rush of tears wrenching free from the back of his throat. Vivid images of Will’s twisted body, broken and bleeding out, along a sandy beach flashing ugly in black and white. How his beautiful heart ceased to beat. They had been the longest four minutes of his life, screaming in between breaths and frantic pushing hands.

“Oh Christ. Hannibal, I didn’t…” Fingers stilled against skin, curling into fists. “I _didn’t_ mean it like that.”

Forearms latched onto his waist tight to keep the older man from slumping to cold tile, doubled over and trying to muffle sobs into palms as if doing so would keep Will from hearing. He tried to beg him to close his eyes, not to look. To blind him from bones shaking apart, crumbling in fragile breaks and cracks. His plea rushed out in an aching howl of pain as lips pressed warm kisses down his spine.

“ _I’m sorry.”_ Hands moved down trembling arms, holding even closer as the older man tried to twist away. “I am really fucking sorry.”

“I-I-I cannot bear to lose you.”

Will hunched closer, melting his front over a bent spine, feeble heart battering inside a chest cavity. “I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry I scared you. And I’m sorry for everything, Hannibal. Please…”

“They will take you from me and I cannot live without you.”

“Shh…”

“I watched you die once, Will, please, please—“

“Shh. It’s okay.” A rigid throat swallowed back a cresting cry, rocking gently. “It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s not like that this time, all right? Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got you.”

A wrist swept under his thighs, lifting and turning gently. Arms wrapped around until Hannibal was curled protectively inside of them, a single palm resting across swollen, red eyes. Fingers twirled absently at the nape of his neck, stroking a soothing rhythm through wet hair. A steady heartbeat pressed into his ear, drowning out cries.

“You know better than anyone what a dick I am in pain…” Will whispered across the top of his head. “Remember that time I got an upper respiratory infection and insisted that I was fucking dying every single minute I was awake? And you finally threatened to cut out my lungs, to prove to me they were still fully functional and I was overreacting, because I knocked your chicken soup to the floor?”

A choked sob muffled into a rough laugh.

“And then I told you… what did I say?” A hum vibrated across his hair. “Oh right.” A bruised chest shook with a snort. “’Your goddamn chicken soup isn’t a cure all for mankind’s fucking ailments despite what Betty Crocker may have told you back in the day!’”

“You…” Hannibal shook his head weakly, rasping out, “…insisted for twenty five minutes she was a real person and not a fictional character of the Washburn Crosby Company.”

“I was out of my head with a fever of a hundred and three, Hannibal!” The younger man pressed curving lips to his forehead. “She was less of a hallucination and far more agreeable to my request for a cheeseburger and large fry from McDonalds than you were at the time.”

“I cannot imagine the idea of someone willingly consuming such atrocities! And aside from that you demanded I fly back to the States to get you one.”

“I remember you agreeing at one point to shut me up.” Will tipped his head around, grin softening to a smile before fading, blue eyes deepening to a ripple of sapphire. Gently touching a face, he whispered, “I love you, Hannibal. You are just going to have to learn to let me take care of you for a while and not fight me. Can you do that?”

“You are not in the proper physical condition to make such demands, Will…” Hannibal answered evenly, uncurling, and surveying the cleaned bullet wound in his shoulder before smoothing the gauze back over with a frown. “You are barely able to take care of yourself.”

“So I am a little worse for wear, Hannibal.” Dark brows shot up. “I will just have to be stubborn enough for the both of us and make do.” Water dripped from the shower faucet as it was shut off. “And you had better promise to be less of an ass about it than I would be, or I am calling Aubrey to come take care of you.”

“I would rather face the welcomed promise of infection and imminent death,” He growled back, snaking an arm around a waist to be guided out of the shower.

Will snorted, running a towel roughly through hair and down his body, glancing at him sideways. “I imagine you would.”

Hannibal latched hands into wet curls and pressed his mouth hard against a teasing smile, pushing his tongue into a heated mouth, trapping breath between them, hoping all the words trapped in his lungs lingered in the other’s. A hand snaked up his spine, sending water droplets scattering and held on, kissing back fiercely.

“Yeah…” The younger man pushed lightly away, breathless, blue eyes straying to jagged stitching, hands stroking down arcing cheeks. “Me too.”

Will reached for the soaking wet sling, peeling it off, and set it in the sink to dry. He slipped a dry towel in its place, making a knot above the older man’s shoulder to keep his arm wrapped and steady.

 Crimson eyes strayed to hands caressing his. “You saved my life…”

“So did you.” An even softer voice replied, continuing to chase away water across skin.

“I could have lost you,” Hannibal answered roughly, steadying the younger man by the elbow.

“Yeah. You too.” Blue eyes lifted, dabbing skin dry around fine brows and cheeks. “An unnerving habit I would prefer for us not to observe on our anniversary, if you don’t object?”

A tense pause followed. “Are you certain there is no unspoken intimacy between the two of you?”

“I love _you_ , Hannibal. I asked you to marry me, if your miraculously undamaged brain recalls.” The younger man shook his head, tapping wryly on the ring prominently displayed on his finger. He curled an arm around his waist and jerked his head towards the open door. “Christ, you are the only person I know who manages to think more when under the influence of narcotics.”

 

Will settled him back into the couch once more, wrapping a cream shearling blanket around his shoulders, hands gripping its suede back on either side of his head tipping to gaze up.

“We clearly need to reevaluate our notion of sharing and jointly work on our issues of not playing well with others.” A smirk flashed. “You can’t just kill every future friend I have because you don’t care for them or are jealous.”

“And you?” The older man asked, tipping lips over to brush across a wrist.

“I…should probably not consider killing my own friends for the same reason.” A throat cleared as it moved away towards the kitchen, mumbling, “But about you.”

He listened to cupboards swinging open and banging shut. He shook his head. A microwave beeped on. Bowls rattled against a countertop. Reaching forward with a pained breath, Hannibal scooped up the medical box and dragged out a packaged syringe and a quarter full vial of morphine. He listened to unsteady feet limp back across the floor, bare toes coming into his line of sight. He glanced up to find two bowls balancing in the crook of slender arms, steam rolling up a face flushing from exertion. The older man tucked his legs to the side, allowing Will to hobble passed, liquid sloshing over sides of bowls as they were set against the coffee table.

“Now I know it’s not organic or whatever the hell you normally prefer, but I promise a little sodium won’t actually kill you, Hannibal…”

With a gentle tug on an elbow, Hannibal pulled Will down beside him, wrestling the blanket over both their laps and stared for a moment at their entwined fingers. For a few minutes they held hands in silence, thumbs and fingertips drifting over knuckles.

“Please, dear one. Rest a moment.” The older man wrapped a band around a right arm, finding a pulsing vein above a soggy cotton ball clinging to skin. “If you are going to insist on my docile submission as an invalid under your care—“

A soft hiss left lips. “Have you looked at yourself? You are the very definition of an invalid.”

“—then I would appreciate your cooperation in obliging my concerns for your well being from time to time.”

“Stubborn ass.”

“Reckless boy. Now exhale for me if you please.”

Scooping Will close, Hannibal wound bandages tight around bruising ribs and secured the hook along a shoulder blade. He knew as soon as the younger man found it uncomfortable, he would tear them off and they would have to start over. If he could not reach the hook, the bandages would stay and he would merely grumble, mostly likely every conscious minute.

Will smirked and repeated the motion of winding bandages, also securing them where they could not easily be reached. Tired eyes dipped closed, settling back into cushions. A ceramic rim tipped against his mouth, scent of tomato filling his nostrils and broth warming his lips.

A single maroon eye cracked open. “My dominant hand remains unscathed, Will…”

“Yeah I know that, angel…”

Hannibal flushed bright and accidentally inhaled broth, coughing, sipping on the soup offered to try and disguise his blush inside roiling steam. He had been about ninety percent certain, up until that moment, the pet names had been part of his hallucination and not actually uttered in real life.

“And you’re going to tell me every damn day…”

Will paused, drawing the bowl away and began to blow lightly on its reddish hot surface, peas and carrots rippling to circular edges. He plucked out a spoon, stirring before scooping broth and pushed it to lips. The older man felt heat gathering in his cheeks once more, mouth opening, to allow himself to be fed. He lowered his gaze, heart stirring.

“…how perfectly well enough you are to do everything on your own, how you don’t need anyone, and complain _incessantly_. And probably whine about how I am not doing things the way you would do them.”

Softly smiling, Will set the empty bowl down and kissed off a trickle of tomato broth, gentle eyes lifting with a hum of starlight, soft and tender, “And I’m just going to ignore it all and take care of you anyway.”

 _I have never…_ The older man touched aching ribs, knowing the source was his heart beating beneath. _…had anyone care for me before, Will._

Hannibal watched Will slurp down his own bowl of soup noisily, head tilted back and practically gulping down its contents without a moment to breathe. The bowl clacked down triumphantly on the coffee table. Dark brows furrowed over eyes fluttering sleepily. Lips quirked in a frown. An unsteady hand clamped onto an armrest to get up.

“I forgot to bring us water, didn’t I?”

Drawing the younger man back into his arms, Hannibal wrestled onto his back and tugged limbs trying to remain upright forcefully on top of him.

“Bad idea…” Damp hair spilled across his sternum as Will pillowed a heavy head there, nestling until their skin melted together and limbs slotted into a perfect fit. “Ribs are broken.”

“Perceptive observation, Doctor,” The older man murmured, drawing the blanket up curving shoulders before stroking fingertips through curls.

“Preferred you nearly unconscious with mono-syllabic answers.” Hands curled around his biceps, lashes fluttering closed.

“You are inordinately rude when under the influence of narcotics.”

A tired snort answered. “I think that blow to the head might have made you forget I am almost always this particular level of rude. If not ‘exceptionally’ so.”

“And where did you obtain your esteemed medical degree, Doctor William Lecter?” Fair lashes drifted over maroon eyes.

“Probably the same pretentious and pompous university you attended,” Will mumbled up, lips curving into a smile against skin. “…Say it again?”

Hannibal wrapped arms around shoulders, turning his face into damp curls and kissed the top of a forehead, hushed ache leaving his lips, “William Lecter.”

“Has a nice…ring to it…angel.”

Shadows enveloped soft breathing and fingers caressing battered skin, filling quiet with the sound of two hearts beating as one.


	120. Chapter 120

Streaks of pale tangerine smeared with wispy grey clouds melted to golden yellows giving way to a sun rising on a horizon of glistening water. A cool breeze damp from a midnight rain rustled curls with hints of soil and saltwater. Twigs and branches snapped beneath an unsteady leather ankle boot. Paws scampered over fallen logs before a golden blur darted after a pack of crows. Black shapes scattered, weaving in and out of trees, only to reassemble and be playfully chased off once more. 

Will slowly picked his way through the forest, leaning heavily on a thick gnarled branch for balance. He had sat on the front stoop the night before and spent an hour roughing sandpaper across the first two feet to smooth its surface to a fine grain, watching the sunset with a glass of whiskey to keep him warm. When it had gotten too dark to continue, he had curled his back against the railing and listened to dusk wash over in the distant humming stillness. He had wanted to hobble out into the forest and look back, to see insides of the stone house warmed by firelight and capture it drifting across inky waves one last time. Shallow breathing from the couch had turned to a husky command for him to come in and rest. He had gratefully melted back into warm arms, falling into a dreamless sleep. 

His foot, wrapped in ace bandages and thick woolen socks, skimmed over the underbrush of the forest floor and then up stone steps. The younger man let out a low whistle, stooping to gather a dirty towel before he was knocked over by a leaping blur of fur. Winston happily wove in and out of legs searching to rebalance with a lopsided grin, tail wagging ferociously. A dripping wet snout lifted from a brass sloshing water bowl before the dog took off again after another crow hopping near the fountain. Dropping the balled up towel on the porch, he figured a few more hours of play wouldn’t hurt and it would be far easier than trying to clean muddied paws marching all over him. A single boot joined the towel, walking stick propped up, before the front door banged closed. 

Sweet sharp scents of sizzling garlic and browning slices of baguette wafted from the kitchen. Rich roasted coffee lingered. Will quietly leaned in the entryway, resting a side of his head against the frame, and felt an easy smile tug across his mouth. He knew his presence was always felt, but never noted upon until he made enough noise to be acknowledged. 

Hannibal was stooped over the sink, thick grey sweater dotted in bleach and oil stains pushed up red elbows plunged into soapy water and pulled down bare thighs leaning against the counter for support. A neglected barstool was purposefully placed off to the side near the stove. Silver flashed in an etched glass bowl beside the sink where a wedding ring waited patiently to return to its rightful place. The last few days, wherever water was, the bowl faithfully went to cradle the ring. Despite several lengthy reassuring explanations that white gold simply wouldn’t tarnish if soaked in blood or other liquids. The younger man had stopped chiding when he realized how much he enjoyed the next part of the quiet routine they were creating. 

Dishwater whirled down the drain in a glugging noise. Will shuffled over, running cold palms down hot damp skin and pressed lips a quarter inch below a fringe of silver lingering at a neck. Hannibal shifted slightly to lean back against his chest, allowing arms to pull closer, watching his left hand lifted to be dried with an ivory towel. The younger man fished the wedding band from its protective shelter and guided it carefully back up an outstretched ring finger. A slow spin ensured a snug fit, making certain the date etched on the inside of the band rested on top. Fingertips lingered before they were placed lightly on hips with another kiss behind the shell of an ear. 

“I have prepared a high protein meal to aid us in our journey.” Maroon eyes tipped over a shoulder. “And you truly ought to be aided by the use of crutches, Will, or the tendons and torn muscles may never heal properly. A twig retrieved from the forest floor by Winston is not a proper substitute.”

“And I thought I told you…” Will dragged the stool over in front of the marble island counter and forced Hannibal to sit back down against it. “…if you were allowed off the couch to cook breakfast that you needed to sit while doing so. Otherwise I will reiterate that threat of buying you a cane.” 

“It was not possible to tend to the baguette in the oven and properly season the eggs if both the stool, and by extension I, were blocking the way,” The older man retorted, pushing a ceramic plate adorned in perfectly toasted slices of bread and scrambled eggs sprinkled in rosemary. “It was exceptionally inefficient.” 

Will plopped down on the stool closest, spearing eggs onto a fork before using it to point in the direction of a frown. “You are going to have to learn to follow orders better, Hannibal, or you are going to find yourself duck taped to the bed for the remainder of this journey ending in a destination you refuse to tell me about.” 

“Please refrain from using your utensils as punctuation.” A corner of a lip twitched in what would have been a smile. “I would prefer to uphold the fifth century honored tradition of the moon cycles until we have arrived at the location of our nuptials. Were the previous arrangements and supplies on the boat to your liking?”

“Well…” Will tore off bits of buttered baguette and talked between washing it down with bits of egg and sips of coffee, realizing how hungry he was from their primarily liquid diet. “I cut up and inserted a bunch of grip liner into the cupboards since someone insisted on having real glassware and I tacked on a few fresh dots of adhesive tabs around the door jams.” 

A jagged nose wrinkled. “Did you at least choose an appropriate color to match the cabinets or the interior?” 

The younger man crammed a stricken piece of bread into his mouth, glancing over. “Do you plan on not sleeping the entire time we are sailing out across open water?” 

“Given all you are currently allowing me to do is rest, I see endless weeks of forced sleep ahead of me.” 

“Then you want the liners and tabs,” Will answered mildly with a roll of eyes, brushing crumbs away from a frown. “I imagine you wouldn’t be lulled to sleep by a cacophony of rattling dishes and banging cupboard doors as I would be below deck.” He gathered both their empty plates and silverware, ringing the soapy cloth around them before rinsing each on clean. “I cobbled together a ramp for you and Winston from the leftover plywood and tools the builders stacked in the garage. It should make it a little easier instead of climbing up and down a ladder every time you want to ask: ‘Are we there yet?’” 

An audible sigh filled the kitchen. “How many stitches did you manage to pop this time?” 

The time before “this time” referred to the day before, when Will had insisted on dragging the remainder of their luggage through the forest, across the beach, heave it sluggishly on board, before throwing them ungracefully below deck. He had returned with a countless array of bruising and a bloody t-shirt much to the older man’s chagrin. 

“None.”

“How many, Will?”

“A few.”

“Will.” 

“More than four, less than seven.” 

“William.”

“Alright, alright.” Hands lifted from the kitchen sink in defense, spreading out during a long and uncomfortable pause. “…Most of them?”

A barstool ground across the wood floor. “I will fetch the kit. This is becoming most taxing.” 

Will muscled Hannibal back on the barstool, grinning down. The older man glowered up, not at all amused by being boxed in by arms and feet. He ran hands up thighs, dipping them beneath a sweater and settled lightly over a bandaged torso. His t-shirt was yanked unceremoniously down by the ribbed neckline for damage to be inspected. 

“See?” He tucked a chin toward fingers splayed across fresh sutures. “A new record. Except this time, I managed to stitch myself back together just so I wouldn’t have to hear about how reckless I am for an hour and a half. Exactly how many of your patients preferred to perform their own surgeries than listen to you drone on about it?” 

A reprimand rumbled out in a low growl.

“Yes. I know.” The younger man smiled down at the dower expression etching lines into cheeks. “It’s hard to believe that anyone with an iota of medical knowledge is capable of doing the exact same thing you spent an obscene amount of money on obtaining a degree in. There were many, many years I had to take care of my own injuries before you, remember?” 

“Are you keen on finding out what happens after weeks and weeks of pushing my generosity and patience to the limits simply because you can?” Hannibal asked in a low hiss, crimson eyes glowing and narrowing, as fingertips skipped playfully around the waistband of boxers. “I assure you the reward will differ greatly from the scene currently playing out in the theater of your mind.” 

“Have you added mind reader to your resume now?” A grin flashed. “I think I’ll take my chances. Now are we going to sit here all day or would you like to…” The younger man glanced down, tongue flicking out as a heated gaze roamed across bare skin. “…put on some pants and set sail, angel?”

“Dear one, is there a necessity for us to discuss these frivolous nicknames you continue to spout like poorly crafted sonnets?” 

“Oh do you not like them? I was going to put at least two of them into my vows.” He tried to repress a laugh, aching ribs splitting when it released. “Ow, fuck. Well, don’t look at me such adoring glances of murder and I won’t laugh.” Warm lips curved against an ear as Will teased softly, “I think you will learn to get used to my terms of endearment given you won’t be able to escape them for the next several weeks.” 

The older man allowed an arm to encircle his waist, leading him back to the couch and help him into a pair of jeans. Will had managed to make it up the stairs to their bedroom once, grabbed an armful of random articles of clothing, and threw them over the banister, hoping the floor would act as a makeshift closet. Remarkably, none of which, included a single pair of trousers. The older man had been rather cross for sudden precipitation of mess and the unexpected outcome, demanding one of them go out and retrieve a pair from their luggage stashed below deck. Will had feigned exhaustion and ended up with a piping cup of green tea, a chest to rest his head, and a luxurious view of thick thighs for the rest of the day, at least until he really had drifted to sleep. 

“I will learn to tolerate them.”

Lips tried to suppress a smirk. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Hands snagged fistfuls of jersey and jerked. Will toppled forward with a yelp, bracing himself on the back of the couch, knees resting against hips. Teeth sank into the hollow of his neck, drawing out a low moan as a tongue flicked out to soothe bright red skin. He rocked back on thighs, settling against a lap and gazed down into maroon eyes through half lids. He knew each of them were giving grave consideration to the idea of stripping down and riding out excruciating pain for the punishment of blunt nails and teeth. 

“As much as I might intellectually find pleasure in punishing you,” Hannibal replied roughly, hands snaking down shoulders and kneading clefts, before applying a sharp smack. “I suspect neither of our bodies are in pique physical condition to engage in the activity. If you are quite done trying to get a rise out of me then I suggest we should be on our way.” 

“Tried?” The younger man cocked his head to the side, smiling as he clambered off and offered two hands for leverage. “I am fairly certain by all accounts that was a success.” 

“I promise, Will…” Red lips leaned forward and sucked another mark above his hip, teeth nipping out to drag across skin. “Each success will be duly noted with side margins of appropriate punishment when my health has been restored. Enjoy yourself, dear one, but bear in mind there will be consequences.” 

He released silver strands of hair his fingertips had unconsciously clenched around, breathing out, “You will have plenty of time on your hands to think about all you’re missing out on I’m sure, Doctor Lecter.” 

“Go.” A rigid jaw clenched, eyes swinging up. “Or I will see to a swift order of ensuring you are incapable of walking for the next twenty four hours, Will.” 

“Mm…” Heat tightened his throat, feeling eyes lingering at his hips as he swung away. “Guess that means Winston will have to captain the boat then.” 

Will hobbled through the first floor of the house one more time to make sure everything was unplugged and nothing remained on that might threaten to burn down the place in their absence. He knew the older man would have preferred if they placed the protective plastic sheeting stuffed in the linen closet over the furniture. His heart clenched for a moment at the passing thought of never laying eyes on it again. He let out the feeling in a low breath and uncurling fingers, knowing his home was no longer the lights of a physical house glowing in the distance. It was a man. Flesh and blood. And Hannibal was all Will truly needed to be home. 

Satisfied with his secondary sweep, he returned to find Hannibal waiting patiently—trying not to appear to be leaning heavily on the wooden table and trying not to fall over—for him by the door with a set of keys. He squeezed out the front door, keeping a hand cautiously around a waist as locks clicked into place and beamed back at Winston trotting up to greet them, pink tongue lolling out in a smile. 

“Did you check the lock on the garage?” Hannibal asked, eyeing the walking stick balefully as it was tucked into a hand and he was tucked into an arm. 

“Yep.” The younger man jammed his good foot into a boot, stringing the other around his elbow. “Three times.” 

“And the stove?” 

Blue eyes flicked over. “Any appliance you are about to rattle off to me like a grocery list were off, Hannibal. I checked.” 

A dissatisfied hum answered. “I am merely trying to be thorough. Did you remember to gather the remaining frozen meat from our freezer and transfer it?”

“You mean, did I gather the three packages of liver, sliced kidney, and carved calf you keep insisting is lamb, even though all of it belongs to people, Hannibal? Then yes, I got that too.”

“If you are not more respectful with your tone then you may join our supplies, Will.” 

Winston rushed by them, galloping towards the end of the dock and circling, prancing and looking anxiously towards the boat. Taking a running leap, the dog hopped up onto the deck and scampered after a lone seagull perched on a rail, eager to discover what other amusements awaited across the ocean.

“Hey…” Will turned quickly, shrugging lazily and looked up, stroking thumbs down a clenched jaw. “You had your chance. It’s not my fault you never went through with any of the opportunities presented to you.” 

Red eyes faded to a shadow of confusion and then hurt, drifting towards waves lapping along a white hull. 

“Hann, I’m…I’m just kidding. Are you ever going to let me joke about that?”

The older man hunched a shoulder, leaning further and further away, voice low and murky. “It is a conscious decision on my part not to reminisce on the violence I brought against you. It requires me to envision a life where acting upon the impulses of my cravings would have resulted in you existing only within my mind.”

“I won’t mention it anymore if it bothers you,” Will answered softly, turning the tortured face back to him. “But I would appreciate you learning to forgive yourself, Hannibal, and let us start with a clean slate once we’re married. We will have all our lives to blunder through new mistakes and argue about who was in the right. We will have equal amounts of time learning how to make up in ways involving a few less scars and serrated instruments. Even then, I could learn to live with a few more markings if you’re the one making them. I will count and touch each one, to remind you how cherished they are. And I promise… I will continue to need and love you all the same, Hannibal.” 

Larger hands curled into fists, crimson eyes staring hard at creaking planks of the dock, voice a harsh whisper, “Am I permitted to kiss you, Will? Or would it go against the course of treatment you have prescribed?”

“I trust you to make the appropriate decision…” His fingertips curled around a wrist, swirling a thumb over a slamming pulse. “…for both of us. And stop asking. I will always belong to you, to do with as you see fit.” 

Tears tangled in fine lashes as a fierce gaze lifted. Hannibal hobbled forward and crooked an arm around his waist, drawing close to press their wounded torsos together inch by inch. Will tucked his nose against a clavicle, inhaling fresh skin and lingering rosemary, dry lips pressing into his forehead then temple. Fingers threaded into curls, tilting his face up to gaze into burning eyes glittering with promises, each one an echo of violence from the past. Those eyes vowed absolution in the form of rough entwining limbs. They assured destruction of remaining broken walls until they did not simply belong to a blur of each other, but were joined as one. They flashed bright with visions of spilled blood to any who dared separate them. They softened in muted sepia of moments not yet shared, with gentle caress and undying devotion upon each waking and in the moments before fading to sleep. 

“You are the destroyer of worlds and prophesied harbinger of light, Will…” Hannibal tipped his head, lashes fluttering over blue eyes, breathing warmth across shivering lips. “I would face a thousand deaths and give myself over to a myriad of glass confinements, if it meant I was able to look upon your face and touch your skin for even a moment. Destroy me, mylimasis, I am yours.” 

Will held onto broad shoulders, fingers splaying around a throat, as Hannibal cupped the back of his head with both hands and drank deeply from his mouth, soothing each new blossoming ache with a sweep of tongue. He leaned into pressure of cool metal creating indentations along his scalp, imagining unique intricate bruising patterns tessellating across skin, to mark claim and show affection. They each would take turns giving and receiving. Nails dug into skin, lungs shuddering for oxygen. He drowned deeper in sensations of sparking pain and pleasure radiating throughout his body, holding tighter, to allow Hannibal to decide their final Fate together; to let the currents take them under and wash them out to sea in a tangled embrace, or drag their limp bodies to shore to fight and live once more. 

They gasped for breath, clinging to each other, stumbling towards and inside each others arms, drenched in gazes of phantom blackened moonlight. 

The older man lifted swollen lips, running fingertips over brows and soft cheeks, steadied by protective hands at his waist, hoarsely asking, “Shall we?” 

“Yeah.” Will answered roughly, relying on firm palms to guide wobbling feet towards the boat. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Chapters may be sporadic this week until Sunday or Monday night! Tomorrow is my birthday (and I might just go crazy and post another chapter then! I may just spend all day writing~well, most of it!) and I plan on visiting my friend for the weekend finally! 
> 
> Look at us, finally sailing off in our little boat off into the sunset (alright, alright sunRISE) for Murder Husband adventures on the open sea and a different country! (Thanks, Hannibal, because I wanted to draft out more sketches of yet *another* new house and do endless research about weather, foliage, and wild life.)
> 
> Love you guys! xoxo You are still the sunshine in my day.
> 
> (ps: To all fellow writers, is anyone else ever bemused and saddened by how compact ten pages looks when you post them here? Show of hands?)


	121. Chapter 121

_Trapped air bubbles misted beneath inky black roiling ocean. Tendrils of crimson swirled between frigid fingers sweeping out and coiling around sinking moonlight misting a halo around a drowning angel. Crashing waves roared the threat of jagged sea monsters rising up out of murky depths to claim its sacrifice. Seams of flesh split open across rocks. Arms tangled around a limp torso with a muffled snarl, dragged below depths refusing release. Seawater rushed out of lungs in choked gasps, claws sank into wet sand and dragged deadened limbs in a trail of earthen depressions muddled in shallow pools of blood. Red ribbon flesh hung loosely over a spine and rigid shoulder blades, dripping down arms and legs, crouching over lifeless seaweed clinging to fading starlight._

_“Will…” Foaming waves rushed across cold skin. “Will?”_

_Will lay motionless, arms splayed out at his side, wrists pinned to sand to create the shadow of a martyr slipping peacefully away. Blood gushed out of a slashed open cheek and seeped out corners of parted grey lips. There was no breath. Not a single sound except the ocean howling for the return of its offering to crushing depths. Fists clenched torn cotton, gathering around bruising shoulders and began shaking, hands and elbows flopping limply by knotted strings of a marionette. A threading pulse ticked to a quiet stop of resignation._

_Graveled screams ripped open a raw throat. Palms slammed over a chest and began pumping furiously for the heart refusing to beat. Hannibal felt the pressure of a weary head resting on his chest and trembling arms encircling his waist fading, relinquishing to soft eyes and hands drawing him closer to death, desperate longing melting into skin to seek eternal peace. He had accepted their end the moment they went over. If he was unable to love Will in this life then he would love him in death, blessing the final moments of being held by tender violence. His last thought of how perfectly they fit inside the others arms, blissfully warm and everlasting in their tragedy. For the first time in his life, he felt whole, shattered pieces gathering and creating a new beginning. A fitting demise of washing out to sea, clasped close and fading._

_Fate has a habit of not letting us choose our own endings, Frederick._

_Except Will was dying. Will was dying and Hannibal was somehow still breathing, shattered, and furious. It was fitting only in the cruelty of irony, to wait lifetimes to rediscover an echo of a human heart only to have it torn out. Even the depths of Hell had deemed him unworthy of claiming. His penance for a lifetime of wickedness to remain on Earth, confined to a cell, and tormented by the ghost of blood soaked arms reaching out. Years of quietly waiting and a single embrace was all he had been allowed to know. A few fleeting moments of limbs gathering close, unable to breathe, let alone whisper all he had ever wanted or needed was Will. All he loved was being claimed by the mistress of the sea, sinking into a murky embrace of eternal slumber. Refused in death, denied in life until the bitter end, to be haunted by memory. Will’s final resting place was in his arms alone. Even if it meant wading into the shallows and allowing them both to drown._

_This is the ending fate has chosen for you._

_Hannibal had never taken well to being told the limitations of his mortality. He would abide by many things, but never to allow man, deity, or existential idea define the capabilities of his mind or body. He was no longer bound by the mortal coils of glass pentagrams to watch Will disappear, leaving once again for a more suitable alternative. If scrawled equations in countless notebooks would not reverse time and bring their souls together for eternity to be ferried to the other side as one, then he would deny them both. Will’s life, his very soul and heart, belonged to him and the mouth of hell would relinquish it back into his care or he would drag the younger man back by force._

_“Breathe, Will!” Hannibal screamed, pulling away from crimson stained cold lips and forced blood into sputtering aortas and feeble chambers with a series of firm presses. “Breathe!”_

_An eternity passed in the ebb and return of crashing waves. Perhaps it had only been a few minutes. Perhaps it had been hours. Hours of relentless screaming, forced breath, and weakened hands refusing to give up or return freedom to one he had dismantled bit by bit to cage to his side. Or had the heart of the man lying quietly on the shore given out years ago, grateful to be laid to rest inside coiling ribs and muscle? A divine reckoning to allow a moment of honest affection before cruelly ripping it away, an intricate web of one last design?_

_“Will…”_

_Hannibal pressed shaking fingertips across marred skin to brush away bruises and cuts nicking across cheeks, trailing over lips. Tears streaked silently down his cheeks, bones creaking until he was lying close, head pressed above a silent heart with a feeble prayer for each breath to be his last. He closed eyes and waited, life trickling out the wound in his side and pooling around the body beneath._

_“Show mercy, Will,” He pleaded quietly, thumbs stroking blood across skin. “Deny me my life. It is yours alone to take. Do not ask me to remain. Allow me to stay by your side in the darkness.”_

_I am yours. I belong to you._

_Lungs crackled with a ragged breath. Glazed eyes snapped open. The remaining hold of the sea spilled out across sand in a choking cough._

_“C-can’t…” Weak hands pushed at the wall of his chest. “…breathe.”_

_Pushing up on trembling arms, Hannibal curled fingers into sand to keep from wrapping them around a throat and snarled down, “I ought to choke the life out of your body!”_

_“Nn…”_

_With another push, Will dislodged the older man onto his side, dark lashes fluttering over muddy blue drifting across flashes of black fury and curled close until their knees touched. Hannibal jerked when a palm settled around his throat, breathing out when it caressed across the arc and cupped the back of his skull. Another brushed across his shoulder and pressed down against a gaping bullet wound, the purest sign of love glittering in the darkness, drawing close in a shaking embrace. The younger man pressed his forehead into a shoulder, face damp, shallow breath radiating across skin. Hands stroked down bruised ribs, gathering near until shivering skin was pressed close enough to meld together in faint warmth. Waves lapped around their ankles as they lay perfectly still, wrapped in the others bones without breathing, without speaking, listening to heartbeats echoing replies._

_“When you have made up your mind whether or not to strangle or rescue, wake me up, would you?” A hoarse voice rattled out. “I am honestly too tired to make that choice for you.”_

_“Will…” Fingers yanked lightly on curls, jagged teeth snapping._

_“Yeah…” Will closed his eyes, breathing quietly into the crook of a bleeding shoulder. “I know. But we’re not. We’re not. I’m here with you now, aren’t I?”_

_Hannibal flattened a trembling palm over welling tears and dragged them violently away, neatly folding each feeble sensation of feeling and tucked them away in marked boxes of his mind. Jerking an arm around a waist, the older man rolled them both up onto their knees and cupped a paling face inside harsh palms with a cold stare._

_“This is your last chance, Will,” He snarled, fingernails digging into cheeks and scraping down to test the fragile stem of a spine. “Escape into the ocean to deny the beauty of your darkness and drown within my arms, or remain breathing at my side to face your becoming.”_

_Drifting clouds struggled to remain open and focused, dim light shimmering. “You will never be able to ask, will you, Hannibal?” A feeble smile wavered across grey lips. “It’s not the darkest corners of my psyche you long for me to confront and remain living for. It’s you. And you can’t ask me to stay for you.”_

 

*

 

“…Will.”

“I’m here.”

“Will… _pasilik su manimi_ …”

“Just a dream. Shhh, I’m right here.”

“ _Aš tave myliu... prašom.”_

“Open, angel…” Broth slipped through a slotted mouth, thumbs brushing at a damp forehead and cradling a heavy head. “I need you to have some of this.”

“Nnn…”

“Yeah, I know it’s not very good…” Soft sighing brush strokes painted rainclouds in dabs of grey. “Hold on.”

Blunt knives chipped away at a frozen lake, pressed to burning lips and slipping down a parched throat.

“There. Go back to sleep.” A washcloth slipped over beads of sweat. “I’m here, Hannibal. With you. Always with you.”

 

*

_Sunlight bounced off golden curls swishing around gentle cheeks of a cherub stained in dripping red. Tiny wobbly knees carried a soft body through a bramble of wild raspberries and blackberries. Pale buttery lemon cotton snagged on branches and briars lashing out. A tiny wicker basket swung haphazardly in the crook of an arm reaching out, sweeping around light bones and lifting._

_Hannibal settled against a fallen log rotting against the forest floor dotted in wild mushrooms, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in a series of fine creases. He plucked out a silk pocket square from a breast pocket and dabbed off juice stains dribbling down a giggling chin. Mischa squirmed in his lap, sticky fingers twisting against tiny ruffled pockets stitched to a half circle apron, leathery boots kicking idly against his legs._

_The older man adjusted a frilly collar around a small neck, touching a string of small pearls, and asked softly, “However am I to prepare a cobbler if you insist on eating all the ingredients, little star?”_

_Autumn leaves rustling over a setting sun swept up from a half empty basket. “Do you not love Will, Hanni?”_

_“Why would you even suggest such a thing?” He sat the little girl on the log, legs still swinging, and bent knees to damp earth, looking up to search wide eyes. “You have traversed the maps of my heart, dearest, surely you know it better than I will ever be able to comprehend its intricate workings.”_

_“Because you are here with me and not him. You must not love him very much if you are ignoring him,” Mischa replied sharply, crossing chubby arms over a puffed out chest. “You yelled at him. Why were you so mean? You never used to be mean before.”_

_Before you, little one, before you I was whole and my entire life fit inside the warmth of your tiny smile._

_“It is far more complicated than you are capable of understanding,” Hannibal answered, tucking stray curls behind little clamshell ears. “I am not ignoring him, my little deer.” He brushed the knuckle of his forefinger over a rosy cheek before looking away and tugged white socks back up knobby knees. “I merely wish to spend more time playing with you. Do you not want me to stay?”_

_“Hanni, I am not little! Or a deer!” The little girl pouted, bottom lip jutting out as hands were placed squarely on hips. “I am big now and I want a grown up name.”_

_“But you are my little deer, Mischa,” The older man replied softly, brows rising slightly as a pouting lip quivered and arms crossed petulantly. “You will always be my dear one.”_

_“I want to be called Princess Mischa!” She wriggled off the log and got to her feet, peaked nose tipping up to the sky and declared, “I’m gonna grow up and be a princess.”_

_“Such vast dreams for such a tiny girl.” Hannibal swept up a handful of forget-me-nots from beneath an overgrown blackberry bush and begin weaving stems together to form a crown. “Will you allow me to be a noble prince at your coronation?”_

_“Only if you marry Will.” Autumn eyes peered up at tiny flowers slipping down a forehead before squinting, a shout forming on pouting lips. “You promised! You promised and said you would. You always keep your promises.” The little girl spun around, arms crossed and back to him, and glared fiercely at a tiny pale moth flitting by. “I’ll be cross with you for a week if you don’t! I like him. He would let me have a puppy!”_

_Bubbling laughter fizzed out of clenching lungs as the older man rearranged himself on the rough log, staring down at cracking lines running across palms and twining around linked fingers. His body had aged year after year, time stubbornly marching on. The memory never dimmed, wrapped in bloodied briars rooted deep within his heart. In between the outstretched spaces, he remembered hands reaching out from tear soaked cheeks trying to clutch him as they were pulled apart._

_*_

_Hannibal awoke with a start to find a savage wolf snatching the little girl from his arms, small terrified squeals filling his ears in a deafening roar._

_“Hanni!” Wide maroon eyes flooded with fear, small hands flailing to hold on to him. “Hanni! No! Please!”_

_“Let her go!”_

_“I wanna be with Hanni!”_

_“Take me!” Hannibal latched hands wildly around a pearl necklace rattling across a faint throat, fingers slipping down an elbow to a twisting thin wrist. “Take me! Leave her alone! Please!”_

_“Let go, you little brat!”_

_“Hanni!”_

_“Mischa! Please don’t hurt her! Mischa—“ Silk filament snapped. White pearls scattered across the floor, muffled by his screams as rough hands jerked on his hair. “Don’t be afraid, Mischa!”_

_“Hanni!” A cry wailed louder as their fingertips slipped apart, feet kicking out across a wooden floor. “Hanni, I don’t wanna go! Hanni, I’ll be good! I promise!”_

_Whipping around, Hannibal sank teeth into a bulging arm locked around his shoulders and raced after the sound of a pitiful voice disappearing out the cabin door. Tunneled snow parted as bare feet were dragged helplessly by a dirty fist clenched in gentle blonde ringlets. The little girl sobbed quietly against the ground where she was thrown, eyes brightening when she saw her brother stumbling through snow drifts to reach her, arms outstretched and screaming._

_“Wait! Please! Look at me, dearest! Don’t look away, Mischa! Look at—“_

_The hammer of a revolver clicked. Blood splattered across a golden halo, seeping out into broken wings of red pooling across fresh fallen white._

_Before darkness enveloped with a sharp blow and silence would mute his voice for many years to come, Hannibal sank weakly to his knees and uttered softly, “I love you, Mischa.”_

_*_

_“Not always, dear one…” Hannibal choked down a cresting sob burning the back of his throat, bending a trembling palm over his eyes. “I did not keep my promise to you. It was broken.”_

_I allowed them to take you from me. I allowed starvation and cruelty to become ingratiated in your thin, flawless skin to create a structure of crumbling walls to keep you with me. A brittle heart of a boy possessed by weakened bones, driven by violent hunger to consume you, both body and soul._

_“You always took care of me, Hanni. You are my best brother, aren’t you?” Tiny fingers pried insistently at the ones shielding his gaze. “When mama and papa died, you made sure to cook my favorite soup and you never tucked me in without a bed time story. You always snuck me pieces of bread when the bad men came.”_

_I starved in order to keep you living a moment longer. It was not devoted care or promise of protection. It was foolish, misguided hope. Had I been stronger, had I truly loved you, mazasis, I would have let you go and smothered you in your sleep._

_“Do you not want to take care of Will?” Mischa crawled back into his lap and curled into a small ball, tiny violet petals crumbling and staining her forehead. “Papa always said he cherished mama every minute of every single day. Don’t you?”_

_“I…” The older man wrapped arms around tiny limbs and tried to find his voice once more. There were moments in time it refused to return. “I try. I am not always able to express the kind of emotion required. The kind he deserves.”_

_“Trying is a fool’s way of allowing in—in—de—“ Fair browns furrowed, stumbling over the next word._

_“Trying is a fool’s way of allowing indecisiveness to mar his every action with disregard for good intention.” Lashes closed over crimson eyes, booming voice ringing in his ears. “For fate and circumstance to guide his life in controlled descent of madness.”_

_“That’s what Papa always said. You aren’t that man, are you, Hanni?”_

_“No, dear one…” The older man swallowed, shaking his head. “I am not that man.”_

_“Promise to do better?” Small eyes blinked up, burrowing against his chest. “I think Will really loves you and I don’t want you to break his heart, Hanni. It’s good to be loved, isn’t it?”_

_“Yes, dear one, it is good to be loved….” Hannibal pressed a kiss to the top of soft curls, rustling each one with a brush of fingertips, sending a shower of red rose petals scattering where a wound once was. “I promise.”_

_“Pinky promise?” Light glowed brighter around rosy cheeks._

_“For you, my little deer. Anything.”_

 

*

With a light moan, Hannibal stirred to the caress of cool palms sweeping damp hair from his forehead and a rough texture mopping across a pool forming in the crevice of his chest. The scent of fresh clean sheets rustled across his skin. Chipped ice pressed against his lips in a cold wet line. His eyes fluttered open to find a celestial map of night gazing down, framed in constellations of worry lines and eclipsed by a mouth drawn low beneath a shadowy horizon.

“Hey…” Will spoke softly, voice fluttering across his forehead in husky tones of guilty whispers washing away in relief, lightly kissing across his brow. “Welcome back.”

Gaze slipping to corners of eyes, Hannibal rolled onto his side and stared at smudged fingerprints pressed across linen tooth of a half finished sketch of the Normal Chapel resting on the nightstand. Shouts rumbled around in the back of his mind. His charcoal pencils he imagined were rolling across the ocean floor, disappearing beneath soot and sand. He was surprised the sketchbook had not joined them.

Tension gathered in the sound of a creaking mattress. “I would never take your memories from you again, Hannibal. I am not as cruel as you seem to think…”

 

*

_“Hannibal, are we seriously going to have this conversation again!” Will tugged clenching fingers through dark curls, sending them scattering around his face at wild angles. “I realize that you are used to having your way, but this has got to stop. You have no idea what you are doing on a boat this size! Are you trying to get us both killed?”_

_They were no longer conversations, friendly or otherwise. They were fights. The older man had been incapable of not picking them. The harder Will tried to please him, the angrier he became. The gentler he was, the more he pushed. When exasperated patience waxed instead of waned, the feelings coiled tighter. Three days had past and Hannibal felt roiling frustration rising in his blood. Helpless and trapped. Useless. An abundance of time slipping through idle hands. Each minute ticked by louder and louder in his mind. It only quieted when Will was near, close enough to touch, to hold, to listen to shallow breathing and hear him ramble about one thing or another before falling asleep. He needed him near. Needed him in a succession of panged breaths unable to utter the reason why._

_“I do not appreciate being stowed away below deck to gather dust simply because it is convenient for you to do so,” The older man growled back, wooden pencil creaking in an iron grip against the mattress, refusing to look up._

_“If you consider it convenient for me to insist you stay out of the fucking way during a thunderstorm instead of getting knocked unconscious by a swinging boom because you can barely walk—“ A hand snatched away the sketchbook and threw it across the room. “Look at me when I am talking to you! Then yeah, I would prefer the convenience of keeping you alive. I am not doing it to punish you, believe it or not.”_

_Crimson locked on stormy blue eyes, pencil cracking in half. “Is it a wounded bird you long to crush instead of a predator to contend with, Will? Does it please you to know I must simply accept whatever whimsy you bestow upon me without a fight? Knowing I alone am at your mercy? How does it feel to possess complete power over both my soul and body?”_

_“Does it bring you great satisfaction to throw a fit every time I tell you what to do? Is it so difficult for you to just listen for once, about anything? Anything! I am literally doing everything for both of us right now because you need someone to take care of you! Do you think I like having to come back down here after having been on—“ Angry fingers jabbed in the direction of a swollen ankle bound in slouching bandages. “—this all day and hear how you feel like you’re a prisoner and it’s my fault? Or the soup is too salty? Or the fish is overcooked? Or how you would have preferred red wine to white?”_

_“All of which could easily be avoided if you would merely accept assistance! Or listen to any of the guidance which I have offered.” Hannibal clenched his jaw, swinging a pencil to point at the younger man, red faced and balled fists swinging at his side. “And both of us would be in far less of a crippled condition had you not run out into oncoming traffic! Or gambled away our very lives upon the first moments of our arrival on dry land for that matter!”_

_“You—“_

_Will ripped the metal tin pencil box out of hands and stormed angrily across a bobbing cabin floor, wrenched open a small door and heaved the pencils out with all his might. They landed in the ocean with a splash. An orange pill bottle flew across the room, nearly colliding with a snarling row of teeth and pinged against a window rippling in blue green waves._

_“Take your goddamn pain medication, Hannibal! You are absolutely insufferable without them! Or don’t. Do whatever the hell you want since you are going to anyway. Winston and I are going for a walk.”_

_“We are not finished having this conversation, Will!”_

_“Trust me! We’re finished!” A door slammed closed._

 

*

“Are we going to talk about this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forecast of ridiculous fluff in the next chapter! Also, I missed you all terribly. <3 (And for all squealing in concern, Hanni is suffering through a fever. He will be okay! You may all set your sharp objects on that table over there please and stay for sugar cookies.)
> 
>  “Will…pasilik su manimi…” (Stay with me. I love you. Please.) “Aš tave myliu... prašom.”
> 
> I Can Feel Your Pain x Manchester Orchestra:  
> And I ran off and ran on to something  
> That I swore was everything but beautiful  
> I only say that word for you


	122. Chapter 122

“Are we going to talk about this?”

A shoulder jerked reflexively when a palm settled over it, stroking lightly down a spine before Will drifted away. The older man shuddered inwardly, clutching sheets in his fingers as light touch sparked pain back to life, thrumming in steady nauseating waves throughout every nerve ending. He squeezed eyes shut, praying sleep would return for a few more hours of numbing peace.

“Or are we going to pretend like nothing happened and bury all of our feelings, until one of us ends up with a knife buried in their stomach like the last time? If that’s the case, it is clearly your turn.”

Will shifted uncomfortably on an edge of the bed with a halfhearted smile fading with his voice, staring out at a setting sun, dark circles clinging to eyes. The only physical sign he had been vigilantly sitting at the older man’s bed side for days and nights. Quiet gathered until the silence stretching between them was filled by waves lapping along the sides of the boat. Hannibal could feel the tension gathering in muscles near him, knowing the younger man needed to hear him speak to dispel shadows of anxiety growing within bones creaking. He felt a gaze roaming down his back, searching longingly for a hand to reach out to reassure and dispel, to say all was well between them. He remained thin lipped, gripping sheets instead of soft skin.  

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand what I am doing wrong, Hannibal. I’m doing my best. I’m trying. The last few days… “ Dark curls cascaded over eyes, head bent in defeat. “What have I done to make you so angry with me? One minute we are fighting and the next I come back to find you curled up in soaked sheets with a high fever.”

_I would never have suffered a fever had you simply remained as I asked._

_As you demanded more like._

The older man opened his mouth to grate out the reply into words but all that came out was a weak noise tangled in a dry throat, tears springing to eyes when he tried to get up and walk away in stoic silence. He curled tighter, arms encircling a burning torso.

“Christ…” Rising quickly from the bed, Will crossed over to the nightstand and yanked it open, rattling through its contents with a furious frown. “I… have spent the last three days docked at this marina wondering if those would be the last words we ever said to each other, not knowing if you would live or die. I had conversations with you and without you, inside my head and out loud, wondering what would happen if…if…Never mind.”

_Were you holding vigil to stave off my death? Or to staunch your conscious?_

A sharp needle pricked into his skin, warmth tingling through blood as the older man hoarsely argued, “I do not need it.”

“Hannibal…” The younger man sighed, capping the needle and setting it aside. He clambered behind the older man, hooking arms under shoulders and dragging sluggish limbs against his torso to hold tight. “You…you _don’t_ have to do this anymore with me. You don’t have to pretend. If you are in pain, tell me. Please. I know you don’t want me to worry or think about you. Trust me. You have to trust me to do what’s best for you.”

Rocking quietly in rhythm with the swaying boat, Hannibal tried to keep resistant growls to a minimum as gentle hands sponged lukewarm water across his chest, dribble across his neck and shoulders then dipped below sheets to stroke up legs. Clammy skin cooled with each gentle ministration. He bit down on his tongue and fought to keep from instinctively leaning in to seek the pressure Will’s touch. He hissed as damp bandages loosed around his torso and unraveled offensively at his feet. He glowered down at scruffy cotton boxers and a navy plaid shirt slung around his shoulders, stiffening as it was pulled down his good arm and landed on the floor beside a sleeping dog. Knees propped underneath his arms as the younger man leaned forward and rested his head against a strap wrapping across a shoulder, thumbs dragging lightly over hips and released another soft sigh.

“Sorry. I’ll do better,” Will said quietly, pressing his forehead into skin and bone. “Whatever it is I’m doing wrong. I’ll…I’ll do better. You have taken such good care of me. I guess I must be really bad at it, huh? Never really had anyone as a role model for the nurturing gene. Never thought I would need it. Never thought…I would have someone to take care of.” A hand wrestled out a small white box and a bundle of charcoal pencils tied together with simple twine. “I considered diving for the other ones...” He felt lips wince against his shoulder. “But I wasn’t sure how you would feel about using them even if I did.”

Hannibal touched the box lightly, chin tucked to his chest, before dragging it into his lap to furtively examine the contents. Pain twisted his heart, skin scalded as the insides of him unraveled by the kind gesture. He peeled back the lid, heavy eyes drooping from a rush of medication. A white linen cashmere scarf was twisted inside brown paper wrapping.

“You kept saying this one bothered you. Particularly because it didn’t match anything you owned. Hope this one will suit you a little better.”

Will balanced a sore elbow in his palm, removing the scratchy black sling before tossing it away. Winston opened a single brown eye in consideration before deciding it was unworthy to chase and let out a snore before falling back asleep. Quick hands carefully wound the scarf into a sling around a bruised arm and knotted it across the opposite shoulder, fingertips lingering across a snowy soft surface before reverently touching purple blossoms of skin. The older man turned slightly and placed a chaste kiss against dark curls, hunching over and averted his gaze to a corner of the boat.

“Do you… regret staying with me, Will?” Hannibal murmured, staring down at the hand cupped over his own. “I do not wish to be the cause of your unhappiness.”

A mild snort breathed out across his spine. “You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t understand you seventy percent of the time, Hannibal. I just try to remember I cannot strangle you with my bare hands and count to ten.” The younger man curled closer, answering quietly, “Regrets? I have a few. You, being with you, will never be counted among them.”

“You did not say you were coming back,” The older man’s voice dipped to a barely audible breath, throat thickening in rush of emotion. “Merely that we were finished.”

Will jerked as if struck, pressing a rough kiss to the back of his scalp, fingers digging in at his waist, replying hoarsely, “Hannibal, I always come back…”

_But you did not say it._

“I will always come home. To you. To our life together. I don’t want you to question where my loyalties lie.” Damp eyes pressed into the older man’s skin. “I am always with you, even when we are apart.”

Lowering his gaze, Hannibal touched the ring on his finger and rested his head against knees. “You do not always return to me, Will.”

“Yeah.”

“You allow time and dwindling hope.”

“Yeah.” Dark lashes fluttered at knots of a spine. “And we will never be able to regain that time, no matter how many equations you try to solve, Hannibal. And… I am sorry I can't give them to you, the years you have lost. The time we lost.” Will sighed and glanced out at a darkening horizon. “Do you remember where I felt safest? When calm settled over the darkness and a glow of promises filled the night hours?”

“Adrift on your little boat floating out to sea on the earthen planes of your farm,” Hannibal replied, stiffening at the mention of longing for what once was.

“It was the one place I felt truly safe and where I could always return to feel wanted, needed, even if I would never return to find those feelings emanating from another person.”

_You are needed, Will. I need you._

“I don’t think that anymore,” The younger man whispered softly, resting his cheek above a beating heart. “I have you. And I have never felt more at peace within myself than when you are near. If I am to drift, then I only wish to do so inside your arms.”

Hannibal closed his eyes quickly to trap a rush of tears and rushed out a reply to change the course of their conversation. “Thank you for the drawing supplies. I imagine they were difficult to locate.”

Fingertips moved from ragged twine to brush down the younger man’s wrist tangled in sheets, wrapping lightly around and twisting it into a small bow. The scraps of remaining red ribbon had been tucked into a kitchen drawer hours into their journey.

“The sling is far more comfortable than its predecessor. And I am rather more fond of the person giving it to me than the last one.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you? Buy you? Chianti? Riesling? Terrible draft beer? A half strangled grocer who tried unsuccessfully to overcharge me for a handful of _pêche sanguine_ and a papaya?” A cold nose nuzzled against the back of his neck, relaxing slightly at the familiar steering away to safer topics. “Both of which you can find cooling in the fridge if you are feeling up to eating. The fruit, not the man. Though I considered it.”

“I…” Sighing, Hannibal drew Will free from the confines of his back and the wall, touching a shadowy beard growing down a jaw and stared at fingers playing with the ring on his hand. “It is not the pain. It is the pain to a certain extent. And I deeply apologize for not having more control over my emotions when it has such a stranglehold over me. I appreciate you caring for me, William. I simply am uncertain of how to…accept it, graciously, without a gnawing ache of weakness.”

“But Hann, you’re not—“ Fingers pressed over lips to silence them.

“You are not the warden I fear caging me in darkness, Will. This spectral visage lies deep within my bones.” The older man sighed, gaze drifting to stare out at sailboats bobbing throughout the marina. “Do you recall cells on the castle grounds where you found Chiyo?”

Will nodded slowly, dark brows creasing deep lines throughout his face, questions and reassurance perched upon frowning lips, readied to spring forth.

“Close your eyes and imagine them without flickering light of candles. Darkness reigns. Where the very walls become living breathing ghosts without sound. Silent. Always silent. Except the maddening caress of running water.”

The first conscious sound of the newly born. The last haunting echo of the nearly deceased. When Hannibal closed his eyes, sometimes it was the only thing he was able to hear.

“Visitors of the dead were the only remaining company. Night was day. Day belonged to the night. And it was always night. Darkness suffocating the very oxygen from lungs in a space even smaller than the one we occupy currently.” Hannibal sighed, trying to blink away sensations of rats skittering across limbs and rotting corpses filling his nostrils. “I spent three months of my youth becoming intimately acquainted within the confinements of Lecter Castle after it had been turned into an orphanage. When it was no longer deemed acceptable for the boy of mute tongue to deliver silent forms of justice in broken bones and bloodied teeth to those who would cause harm to the less fortunate. They were all I knew until I escaped.”

“Hannibal…” Will rose on his knees, blue eyes widening, hands fluttering timidly around shoulders as if a single touch might crumble bones within.

“Confines of tight walls and narrow spaces have always brought me increasing sense of agitating discomfort.” The older man cast his gaze to the bed, reaching out and placing hands to his mouth, murmuring, “I am not myself. You are not the source of my frustrations. And for that I owe you scores of handwritten apologies, Will. I struggle to surrender my freedom willingly, to remain still without distraction, even if it is in my best interest.”

“Why the hell would you have agreed to buy a boat and sail with me? I am making you suffer through this when…” The younger man rocked back on heels, fist clenched and stared furiously out a window. “We could have taken a goddamn train or the car. We could have—”

Hannibal tipped his head forward and covered the mouth twisting with self berating vibrations with his own, quieting in a tender brush of skin and fingertips. He felt apologies warm his lips, feeble comfort squeezing his hands, and empathy radiate through a chest to calm his heart. He pressed close until Will gave in to the pressure of touch, falling to the mattress and curling into arms.

“I believe the most immediate answer would be to spare me from seeing the look of pain filling your eyes knowing you do not merely hear but envision the memory as if it was your own. It is my experience to bear, not yours.”

The older man offered a weak smile against the back of a neck, tracing light circles through unruly curls spilling across a pillow. Will pressed the curve of a spine into his chest, a quiet gesture of surrender and made a soft noise of relaxed protest. He was always reminded how much power his touch, a single brush, had over the younger man. How simple comfort of embrace was more meaningful than creating divine three course dinners or being able to stand upright on his own to be in charge of domestic tasks.

“We both know this is the safest means of travel for us at this juncture in our lives, Will. Aside from that, I had intended to while away the hours of our venture christening this vessel with you to occupy my mind and to escape occasionally to a seaside hotel to allow you a few moments of rest. It is difficult for me to stare at four walls and a ceiling without an appropriate view to keep my mind in the present.”

Bolting upright, the younger man smiled wide and pointed to the bed. “Wait here.”

He watched Will rummage through a kitchen cabinet, tucking something under his arm, and scrambled up the ramp and pushed out the door.

“Shall I ask what it is you are doing?” Hannibal called, cupping a hand over his mouth, head crooked to the side. “Or am I to entertain myself with conjecture?”

Bounding across the floor in a hopelessly endearing limp, Will tossed a strange compact black camera to the mattress and clambered over Hannibal, straddling a chest as he reached up towards the ceiling. The older man placed his right palm against a straining thigh, more intrigued by the proximity of position then what was happening above.

“How’s that?” Nails tapped across glass.

Muted color bled throughout a black Polaroid taped to the ceiling, a lopsided grin of white teeth appearing, followed by a shimmer of blue eyes alight with laughter. Trailing orange hues touched dark curls in a halo disappearing beneath a skyline.

“A room with a view?”

Will glowed against the dark background, softly captured in dim light and unmistakable blurs of love. Crimson eyes returned from the photograph to the same eyes gazing at him a few feet above and let out a small breath. Not a medium in this world would ever be able to capture how beautiful the younger man was, golden skin shimmering as starlight flickered above their heads.

“Look…”

Will quirked a corner of a lip down, clearly incapable of seeing anything except dark circled eyes, scars, and a familiar tired face in a photograph. One cannot see the beauty of form gazing back in a reflection unless it is in the eyes of another. Only then the radiance of a soul is seen shining bright. Nothing burned brighter in the night sky for Hannibal.

“I know it’s not the same as spending every minute of the day together but one of us really has to sail this boat if you ever hope to, I don’t know, reach our intended destination. Unless this is it?”

“It is not…” Hannibal answered quietly, lifting to touch his mouth across the scar etched into a stomach.

A camera flashed once more. Winston grunted annoyance, rolling over in a suede bed tucked into the corner and rustled back to sleep. Another photograph joined the ceiling. A golden blur curled up and resting peacefully only moments before disturbance.

“Now what are you—“

Will flopped down on the bed next to him, pressing a grinning kiss to his lips, as both their eyes drifted closed, lightly touching faces. Hannibal drifted in the sensation of the kiss, fingers curling against ragged flesh on a chest. A shutter clicked. A dim flash went off behind their eyes. This photograph was placed carefully next to the other two and the older man felt gathering heat seeping down his cheeks and flood across his bare chest. He gazed up at the image forming. Disheveled silver strands were tangled in fingers. His palm was flattened above a beating heart, eyes closed, completely lost to the touch of Will’s mouth on his. He wondered if he always looked this far gone every time they kissed. He smiled. The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel dimmed in comparison to the photographs he imagined Will would cover the ceiling in to keep him company.

“That is an awful representation of my flawless appearance.” Hannibal mumbled, tearing his gaze from the photograph and melting when Will kissed him once more, both hands clenched in his hair in an unhurried pull of lips. “And it is not like you to jeopardize our freedom with photographic evidence.”

“You just don’t want people knowing you don’t roll out of bed in a three piece suit and perfectly combed hair, Hannibal.” The younger man smirked and nestled back into the dip of his arm, rolling close. “And we will have a lot more to worry about than some photographs if someone were to find this boat with us on it. I think that would be the first clue to us being alive, don’t you?” A smirk turned into a mischievous grin. “Plus, I can just look and tell you are already thinking about taking photographs that would not be acceptable for public consumption. Or do you still prefer nude portraiture in the form of oil on canvas hand delivered by royal herald? Hey! Ow!”

Hannibal gently wrestled the younger man beneath him, nipping disapprovingly at a shoulder and then a neck, crumbling as laughter rose higher and filled the cabin in light. Will bucked, wriggling as each nip and touch sent his bones convulsing from ticklish sensations, face flooding with red roses spilling down his chest.

“How well you look, Will…” The older man allowed himself to be flipped onto his back once more, resting a palm against a heated cheek and stroked across its ruddy surface tenderly. “The very sun must envy how the heavens gaze upon your smile as you voyage throughout the unknown.”

“It is not possible to see the sun when darkened by an eclipsing moon. Maybe you are merely seeing sunspots of the man I used to be.” A cheek pushed against his palm.

“’The armour of falsehood is subtly wrought out of darkness…” He stroked fingertips down cheeks and a neck, tunneling through curls before traversing across skin once more. “…and hides a man not only from others, but from his own soul.’”

Blue eyes fluttered. “Do you come with a set of subtitles or cliff notes?”

Hannibal shook his head with a bemused smile, burrowing closer and pointed to the photographs above. “Have you not created an intimate, albeit literal, expression of ‘A Room with a View,’ dear one?”

“If one can consider ragged pajamas and windswept hair covering up the signs of sleep deprivation a view then sure.”

“I dreamt of a child…”

“Shit.” Will snapped wide eyes open. “Well. Uh. That was…quick?”

“I dreamt of Mischa, Will.”

“Oh.” The younger man clenched teeth in a bashful grin, touching the back of his neck and shrugged. “Sorry I was so….?”

“Horrified by the idea of us having children one day?” Hannibal suggested mildly, watching the figure roll off to the side and stare up at stars through shadowed glass.

“I was going to say dismissive or abrupt. Or that I was a dick.” Will glanced over, brow quirking. “But…thanks for that.”

“Is it so beyond the realm of possibility we might acquire additional members to our family other than Winston, dear one?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this conversation.” Tense laughter filled the room. “I am not fit for breeding if you recall.”

“It was in anger I spoke those words, Will. You had replaced our family with one of your own making and forgotten my very existence for years.”

“I never had a problem remembering where you were, Hannibal,” He growled, flinching from the effort to calm his voice once more. “It was being unable to forget…how much I loved you that was the issue.”

Touching a hand lingering between their bodies, the older man slotted their fingers together and answered gently, “I truly believe you would be the epitome of grace and strength a child searches for in a father.”

A plea replied. “Hannibal…”

“Mischa wants us to be happy.” Hannibal changed the subject effortlessly once more, forcing his gaze away to focus on counting the stars above and not the ones forming in blue eyes streaking down cheeks. “She told me I needed to be an honorable gentleman and cherish you every moment, every day, with every breath until there are none remaining within the physical shell of this body.”

“A…five year old said all that?”

“Not in so many words. No.” He shook his head against a pillow, glancing over. “She is rather fond of you. Or rather less fond of me, but more inclined towards you, as she believes you will give in to her demands and spoil her with a puppy.”

“Yeah.” Will smiled up at the stars again, looking over and nodded. “Sounds about right.” He hesitated a moment longer, teeth nipping into a bottom lip. “Will you draw her for me one day? It’s just…in my mind, I think…I know she was beautiful by the way your voice sounds when you say her name.”

“I cannot promise you in a frame of time when I will be able to do so. I can promise to share her with you one day.”

“I understand.” Sitting up in bed, Will roughed hands through curls and looked over his shoulder as a hand caught his wrist and tugged. “Hannibal, what is it?”

_“It’s not the darkest corners of my psyche you long for me to confront and remain living for. It’s you. And you can’t ask me to stay for you.”_

Waves crashed over jagged rocks. “Would you…stay a moment longer with me?”

The younger man smiled softly and wisped away silver strands from lowered eyes. “I think I have a better idea.”

Will tugged on a thick beige sweater over his head and reached for a hunter green plaid button up, pulling the right sleeve up an arm before settling it around Hannibal’s shoulders.

“I like seeing you in my clothes…” Hands curved down biceps, lingering, blue eyes misting to a light silver. “I like knowing you are surrounded by me even when I am unable to have my arms around you.”

Slowly, the two men leaned on each other and made it to the top deck, exiting out beneath a velvet black night sky scattered in diamonds and wrapped in a whispering cool sea breeze. Hannibal was placed delicately against the small leathery bench behind the large silver steering wheel. The younger man disappeared below deck and returned with an armful of blankets and pillows. Pillows were carefully tucked against armrests and corners. A fleece blanket was draped over leather. A secondary cashmere blanket was wrapped around the older man as he was tucked into the makeshift bed, a light kiss following as his head came to rest against a pillow.

Will turned and started the boat with a twist of a key, engine grumbling. His hands slid noiselessly around the metal wheel, steering them carefully through the marina and out into open water. Hannibal admired the strong lines of shoulders squaring, how each muscle in the younger man’s body seemed to relax with each passing minute, starting in a neck and working down to legs shifting to contrapasto of a Grecian statue. A hand reached back and the older man placed his palm in it, tilting his head back to gaze at twinkling starlight, imagining arranging shards of light to place over dark curls, binding feet and sun kissed skin in silvery cords of destined lovers.

“Do you see those two shining bright there?” Will looked back, pointing to a curve of sky in the northwest, tracing invisible circles around two bright stars flickering below a cluster forming a cross. “If you are looking for the treasures of the universe, some astronomers say you don’t have to look further than the Summer Triangle. They say its home to billions of star clusters and nebula. The one on the left is Altair and the one on the right is called Vega.”

Pinpricks of light were veiled in haze of gray and white mist, the halos of light winking at each other in silent communion at opposite ends of the stretch of sky.

“A lot of people consider the stars to be lovers.” A hand rested on the back of a neck, gaze drifting throughout the sky. “Many believe Vega was a princess who wove clothes for the gods by the heavenly river of the Milky Way, weeping over her loom in despair to find love. Her father, a God of the heavens, sent her across the river to find Altair awaiting on the other side. Legend says the two became lost in their love, utterly devoted to the other, and chaos enveloped the celestial skies. This displeased the gods and the lovers were separated, placed across the chasm of the river to wander the skies alone and separated.”

_In the absence of your light, will I look for you in celestial canvas of the sky, William._

Hannibal sighed softly when fingers tightened around his hand, thumbs and fingertips stroking absently, gaze shifting from the stars in the sky to the profile of Will’s face brushed in silvery glow.

“It is said the gods took pity upon the lovers and once a year a bridge is created to flow across the Milky Way to reunite the two stars to be together on the seventh day of the seventh month. Supposedly if it rains on this day or there is a meteor shower in the sky, Altair and Vega are weeping for the time they have lost and are unable to reach the other across the treacherous river.” The younger man shifted his gaze from the heavens to crimson eyes, deep pain creasing lines against his mouth, and murmured, “I cannot imagine what it would be like to live without you. But I promise I will return to you, Hannibal, crossing charted constellations to gaze upon the galaxies within your wounds and hold the effervescence of your soul safely inside my embrace. ”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If we do not all have cavatities after this chapter, I have done something incorrectly.  
> (And tying the last chapter : past x present x future events forward and backwards in time, neatly together.)
> 
> “’The armour of falsehood is subtly wrought out of darkness and hides a man not only from others, but from his own soul.’” ~A Room with a View, EM Forester 
> 
>  
> 
> Steal You Away x Benjamin Francis Leftwich
> 
> There was a change  
> In the way you breathe  
> I couldn't believe  
> You would change for me
> 
> And if you hear the sound  
> Of shooting stars  
> Protect your heart 'cause it burns bright  
> Can turns back around
> 
> I said I'd stole you away  
> I said I'd stole you away  
> Next time I'll steal you away  
> Next time I'll steal you, darling, you stay
> 
> High strung your soul  
> It's uncovered by the leaving  
> And the things that you see
> 
> You spent so long running  
> But there's nothing coming  
> Turn around and run into me


	123. Chapter 123

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :cue music: Don't Go Slow x Benjamin Francis Leftwich
> 
> If my bones were wrapped around you  
> If my skin was right in front of you  
> Would you smile and close your eyes?  
> I’m yours tonight

Wrapping a thick white rope around a cleat, Will struggled to his feet and pulled on the throttle to ease the sailboat back to test the payout of the anchor he had lowered only moments before. Once he was satisfied they were secure, he turned his face up towards a bright blue sky and let the sunlight warm his skin. A heather grey cotton shirt was rolled haphazardly up his elbows, a faint breeze rustling the front open around bruises fading from his torso. He peeled a quarter eaten honey crisp apple he had been carving from tidal charts splayed over the console and plucked out a small utility knife from his pocket. They had been drifting through the English Channel for forty eight hours and whenever he asked about their destination the older man simply smiled.

For the better part of a week, he had been growing increasingly anxious as they drifted towards an unknown location. Hannibal’s temperament had mellowed with the pain, enough to acquiesce to each request to be cared for with little more than playful jabs and the occasional bickering. He practiced greater patience then. He knew it was only temporary. The closer they drew to land, the more nervous he became. The farther they drifted out to sea, the more despondent his heart beat. It wasn’t that he was worried. No, he had gone from being worried to outright concern the day before. Logically, he knew they had a life together already and tying the knot wouldn’t change anything between them. He was tired of waiting now, tired of waiting all those years for something he hadn’t known he needed, and tired of not knowing. It was the permanency of the act he craved the most, to know he would always have someone to come home to, no matter how much they threatened the others life with poorly cooked meals and packs of dogs. He needed to know they shared equal footing, to become partners in a literal sense, and till death do us part became more than a fleeting ache in his chest.

The knife sliced into reddish orange skin, peeling off a thin piece, before he brought it to his lips and studied Hannibal resting docile near the bow, pillow propped against his back, staring off silently towards the horizon. Light glinted off silver strands hanging low over eyes, tucked behind ears, and brushing across skin gilded in golden hues of sunlight. Gauzy white linen clung to arms resting stiffly against crossed legs draped in simple beige and thin red plaid, a white ceramic mug resting inside a curl of fingers on a bent knee. A leather bound book rested beside a foot. Bare toes curled against the white deck, one of several small victories divesting Hannibal of one garment at a time over the course of a week as he had insisted on wearing his own clothes again.

Will had tossed the tie almost immediately, insisting no one would know if it was worn or not except a few dolphins skipping across the waves. He had managed to peel off the jacket with an excuse of overheating. The waistcoat had joined it hours later by its own accord. At last, he had pretended to be unable to locate shoes or socks despite knowing they were stashed in a tackle box on deck. With the disappearance of each bit of clothing, he had watched muscles slip into a state of relaxation, forcibly freed from presentation and routine. He had once looked away from steering and swore toes were wiggling in search of a sun crossing the sky. There was one glorious afternoon he had managed to dress the older man in baggy swim trunks and float them around a sandbar with Winston bobbing near by disguised as a tiny shark, with minute hand reassurance he was the only danger lurking.

Over the last few months, Will had learned to search for subtle signs of tension returning. He wasn’t certain if Hannibal no longer found it necessary to hide his emotions or if he was unaware his mask had been torn off, disarmed completely. He only needed to look now to know something was wrong. Anyone else glancing over might not see the micro expressions flickering to life. There was a faint shadowy crease over a right brow. A corner of a mouth ticked in what would have been a frown. Crimson eyes had dimmed to a muddy brown. An injured shoulder hitched ever so higher than the other, locked in a defensive position. The cup of piping coffee resting in a hand had grown cold, untouched for the last thirty minutes.

Wiping a blade clean on his sleeve, Will tucked the knife away and shuffled around the stern. He jammed a hand into a jean pocket, holding onto the rail to keep steady as the boat rocked. He was able to put more pressure on his ankle then when they began their journey but it still stung at the end of the day. When and only when the sting turned to a dull throb he was no longer able to ignore, did he sneak a pain medication. He did his best to make it through. If Hannibal found out, he would never hear the end of it. He came to stand beside the older man and waited for him to speak.

_What are you thinking about, Hannibal? Does your mind drift with me or in longing out to sea?_

When he wasn’t acknowledged, he lowered himself to the deck and took a seat, intentionally brushing their shoulders together to make his presence known.

Crimson eyes drifted from glittering ocean to glance over, red waves glistening in light. “Hello, Will.”

Taking the cup of coffee in hand, the younger man took a sip of cold contents before setting it aside. “Is something bothering you, an—“ He snapped the last half of the word in two, swallowing it whole.

“Out of the options presented, this particular endearment you have been painstakingly avoiding is one I may learn to live with,” Hannibal drawled quietly, tipping his head to the side and drinking in the sight of an amused smile before adding, “Is there something you wish to talk about?”

Shifting on the deck, Will took a hand inside of his and ran calloused fingers across a smooth surface, smile turning into a knowing smirk. “You realize trying to get me to play along with your reverse psychology isn’t convincing me something isn’t bothering you, right? It’s merely one of your many tells. You are going to have to learn new tricks.”

“Oh isn’t it?” The older man cocked his head to the side, gaze sliding away to search the various patterns they created with caressing fingertips. “Are you suggesting my gift of creating an illusion to allow others to see me as they thought I was and not as I am, has been wasted on you?”

“I am stating it as fact. You aren’t closed off to me anymore, angel, you are much easier to see.” Will laughed, tone softening when he saw a look of pain reach crimson pools, ripple fading to a still surface. “And I believe you like to be seen by me.”

“And might I ask what you see?” Hannibal asked quietly, glancing up with an expression as placid as the eyes gazing back.

Curving an arm around a waist, Will pulled a little closer, sensing a gathering disquiet tensing limbs, and nodded towards coffee dribbling down the side of a cup. “A man who, for as long as I have known him, barely speaks or uses English before having his first cup of coffee. Yours remains full, and cold I might add, because you keep staring off at the horizon like it will tell you answers to the mysteries of the universe.”

He tilted his head to gaze passed grey fringe into eyes lingering anywhere except his face. It was unusual for Hannibal to avoid eye contact. Something was on his mind.

“Aside from that, you have the unmistakable appearance of a brooding owl considering coughing up its prey by the way you’re perching.”

Fair brows rose. “Tell me again why it is I spin words of your beauty and you merely reduce me to household objects and whimsy?”

“An expression of my true heart’s affection, Hannibal.”

Sighing, Will tugged on the rail and got to his feet to set sail. He knew if the older man wasn’t ready to talk then there was no point. A root canal was far less painful than trying to pull out information. He knew better than to push. If the younger man had learned anything, it was how to listen to the cogs of his mind ticking along in silence in an attempt to formulate the correct eloquence of a sentence.

Taking care of Hannibal, or rather making sure Hannibal listened and took care of himself, proved to be a full time job. He had tried to make the cabin as comfortable as possible. Having gone through the film they had on hand, he had started plastering their photos down the right side of wall where he knew Hannibal would wake in search of him. He had allowed small tasks of cleaning fresh fish, cooking, and tidying the cabin to lessen the amounts of complaints. It was easier to prescribe less medication than it was to insist the older man rest, a painful weariness etching new lines into skin, exhausted from pushing too hard to be in pique health. He spent most hours arguing that if Hannibal didn’t rest, he would never get better, and was usually greeted by silent submission by the end of it. Maybe a good deal of his anxiety stemmed from not resting properly.

Fingertips encircled his wrist and pulled lightly.

“What is it?” Will asked, glancing down to find agony flooding crimson eyes below, afraid he had mistaken emotional turmoil for physical symptoms of injury. “Do you need me to take you below deck?” He glanced at the plastic grey watch strapped to his wrist. “Did I miss one of your doses again?”

A tremor was whisked away on a gust of seawater. “I wish for you to spend the rest of your life with me, William.”

“Isn’t that kind of the idea?” The younger man tipped his head to the side, shifting weight to his good foot and knelt on the deck.

“There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you,” Hannibal said, forming each word slowly, rolling it around in his mouth to acquire its taste. “And in our blissful delirium of carnage and physical injury, I believe we may have rushed into agreement without properly reviewing the finer details.”

“You sleep on the left side of the bed and I sleep on the right. Winston will remain our only child until I am able to even think about any more additions. And you will start calling our food by its appropriate name. What…what else is there to talk about?”

Shadows filled eyes below. A glimpse. Enough time to catch hints of fear. Will wasn’t certain if it was his or Hannibal’s, but he felt it like a slap to the face.

“Wait…” Will rocked back on heels, standing up, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you having second thoughts?”

A shiver ran down arms shielding his heart and he considered for a moment the swell of emotions rising up from his lungs, foaming in the back of his mouth, and easing out in a heated breath through flaring nostrils. He had never wanted before he met Hannibal. Never thought he needed more, easily accepting the idea of loneliness more readily than the notion of belonging to or with anyone. And now he wanted and needed, endlessly and without control, to be claimed by one person, one man. An ache seeped through his chest at the very idea of having it taken away, if perhaps he was no longer worthy of it. He wanted to be branded in silver, to know with a single glance at his hand, he would never have to fear being alone again. For years he hadn’t even been able to think it, let alone, speak of wanting. Now it was the only thing looping in repeat in his head.

_I want you. I want you and only you. I just want you._

“If you would allow me a moment to expl—“

He needed to believe. He had tried to believe words were enough.

“You said yes!”

He wanted more.

A hand reached out for one swinging out of reach. “And I am—“

Hot breath sucked back into lungs and rushed out of a mouth twisting into an ugly shout. “No! You said _yes_. I said yes. If you were getting cold feet, maybe you could have said something before we were stranded in the middle of the fucking ocean!”

Will began pacing the bow, boat rocking back and forth with each pounding foot step, raking hands through his hair as if to hold himself in place. Crimson eyes followed him, back and forth, back and forth, as the tension in him grew and knotted in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick. They had said the words hadn’t they?

“We exchanged rings. If that isn’t a binding agreement then what is? Okay, fine. I gave you a ring and you gave me that stupid ribbon. And I…”

Voice trailing off, the younger man stared down at his barren ring finger and his mind went blank. He had taken off the fraying little ribbon and set it aside. He had taken it off and now Hannibal thought he didn’t want to get married, or worse, that he didn’t love him enough to commit. Will paled and began frantically motioning with his hands in an attempt to explain, mind racing, trying to remember exactly where he had placed the ribbon for safe keeping, sentence rushing out in an endless string of panic.

“Is that why you’re reconsidering? Because I haven’t been wearing it. Because you thought I didn’t want to? That it was just in the heat of the moment I proposed? That I didn’t mean it? That I didn’t want it? Didn’t want you? I just didn’t want to lose it, Jesus! I’m sorry! I’ll go find it. I’ll put it back on and then we’ll—”

“ _Will_!”

A hand yanked on his forearm. Will slipped on the deck, tumbling into arms reaching out. Hannibal twisted around his body, tighter and tighter, until he was no longer able to inhale breath wrenching out of his lungs at an alarming pace. Knees burrowed into his torso to keep him in place. Fingers latched into curls and pushed his head roughly against a steady beating heart, tucked beneath an arm cradled in a cashmere sling, to be enveloped entirely.

“Calm yourself.” Lips touched the tip of his ear. “Please.”

He remained perfectly still as a rough hand gentled, stroking the back of his head, following the length of his spine to hips before beginning again in a steady rise and fall. Hannibal rested his cheek against curls, holding steady, increasing pressure until Will was no longer trembling from head to toe. He wasn’t sure when had started shaking to begin with. All he knew was how his lungs burned and his throat tightened with each passing minute of silence, dreading what might be spoken when it was broken.

“You really ought to listen to the words I speak instead of simply hearing my voice inside your skull speaking in tones of the imagined, dear one,” Hannibal scolded softly, splaying through curls and tugging slightly to be looked at when addressed.

Peering through slotted fingers, a muffled ache breathed out. “Did you change your mind?”

_About me? About us? Because you thought I didn’t want to._

“How many times must I become intimate with death, Will, for you to understand my compassion for you is eternal?” Jagged lines of hurt appeared one by one across a high brow as Hannibal pulled an armor of hands away, mouth drawing down in a thin line. “Or is it only in the pinnacle moments skirting the edge of oblivion you see what it is you mean to me?”

Will flinched away from the hand touching his cheek, escaping coiling arms and legs, to place a few feet of space carefully between them. A corner of a red mouth ticked once, a sign of anger.

“This is what I was concerned about,” Hannibal noted flatly, gesturing hands folding neatly in his lap to maintain control, to appear passive, staring out from a haze of cloudy strands.

“I’m sorry.”

_I am sorry your words still grate across the wounds you have lanced in my flesh, to bring them back to life from time to time. When your touch was violent. When your words hunted me for sport. When your mouth was cruel._

“I just need a minute, okay?”

The older man leaned back, gaze tracking across a spray of sea foam hitting the hull of the boat, voice lost to the pulling tide. “Has a roaring ocean come between us once more and you have forgotten we belong to one another?”

“It is difficult to know where I belong…” Will winced as cool eyes returned to his face half hidden by a palm pressing over stinging eyes, voice scraping out in a hollow whisper, “…when I don’t know where I stand and what I see.”

_I need to know. I need to hear you say it._

Hannibal gathered upright on weak legs and extended a hand, palm upturned, waiting patiently to be denied or accepted. Will stared at their bare feet nearly touching as he was helped up, swaying unsteadily as blood rushed to his head, and a smooth hand released his. A thumb tilted his face up until he was staring near the outlines of crimson, not quite able to meet a crumbling gaze looking back, silently waiting for him to take a single step forward, reach out, and fall into an embrace. He was worried falling this time might kill him so he stayed where he was, achingly aware of the space remaining.

“Only in the mirrored gaze of those we cherish do we see our past, present, and future aligning as one. And you have been standing right beside me throughout time, the imprint of your shadowed outlines burned into my eyes and filling with clarity from the moment I saw you…” The older man squared broad shoulders, taking a deep breath, and tugged Will a half step closer, heels digging into the deck to keep them apart. “You are standing before me as you were moments before we were lost to the sea, searching for language to express what I was unable to speak.”

The younger man was shaking again, no longer seeing solid surface of the boat beneath his feet, but rocks eroding and giving way to a churning ocean below, mouth opened wide and prepared to swallow him whole.

“In this moment, I am not a disciple struck blind and speechless to the hollows of bright blue eyes blackened in moonlight by the idol of my worship. Nor am I paralyzed by the merest sensation of your divine skin reaching out to envelope mine, to cope with the loss of having never known it.”

Pressure of palms faded from his shoulders. Will wasn’t ready. He waited to be turned away. Waited to be forced to let go. He closed his eyes and waited to be pushed over, to find the older man peering over the bluff to watch him fall alone, without protecting arms, to end whatever it was between them once and for all. To end him.

“H-hannibal…” The younger man stared up at the sky, barely aware of a palm cupping his fist and trying to pry fingers loose. “Please.”

_If you’re going to take it all away then throw me over. Just let me drown without you._

“Have you every intention of refusing to meet my gaze? Won’t you look at me?”

“N-n-no…” Will gritted his teeth, blinking away a rush of tears.

“I would like…” Lips pressed against white knuckles, voice softening to hues of a sunrise. “…you to see me as I truly am.”

Will placed a shaking hand across his stomach, protecting jagged flesh, sinking beneath waves of blood and images flashing inside his mind. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see again. He needed to know. And his eyes tore away from the heavens. He stumbled, gripping the railing, and let out a weak dying breath.

“Oh god…”

 

Fevered light shimmered glowing outlines around a body, ringing wet droplets of tears around pools of blood staring up, crushed by hope and desperation. Hannibal remained kneeling on the deck holding Will’s hand hard, grinding bones together in a shaking grip threatening to snap each one with every tremor. A black velvet box covered in a thin layer of dust, shadowed an upturned palm peeking out of cashmere binding. It remained unopened. He would have to let go and the younger man held on tighter to ensure he didn’t, knowing his shaking hummed in time to the bones he refused to release.

“In this moment, I am as you always say…” Hannibal murmured roughly, glowing face upturned, pulling him near to touch lips to a wrist and caress over rigid fingers. “A man, a foolish man, on his knees pleading to be allowed to gaze upon you every single day and know you truly belong to me, Will.”

“I said yes the first fucking time,” The younger man growled, words shaking apart inside his mouth, drowned out by a heart pounding in his ears and threatening to crack open his ribs.

He was certain he was dying, struggling to breathe, trembling, and stunned, awaiting the final blow.

“A muted verbal cue stained in tears, however endearing, is not a binding agreement and as you pointed out, a ribbon is not a good substitute for an actual ring.”

Will choked down a strangled protest as fingers slipped away to open the box. He wanted to snatch both hands into his, injured or not, and wrap them firmly around his waist, to keep his body from crumbling to dust and drifting away. A thin silver band tarnished by age rested in the slot, glistening across reflections of wide blue staring down, blurring in another rush of tears.

“Would you do me the great honor of taking my surname, the one of my family, as your own in this life, William?” The older man asked quietly, as if he was terrified to ask the question, let alone know the answer, cradling the ring carefully in his palm. “Not as a veiled mask of identity we have never been and never will be, penned on bits of parchment, but as we are, as we were, and as we will always be as one.”

“You can’t mean…”

 _Hannibal and Will Lecter._ It would be real. Not just inside his mind. And god if it wasn’t everything he ever wanted. All he needed.

A garbled sob turned into barking laughter. Wobbling lines of a mouth turned up in a bright smile. He shook harder. Will knew he was about three minutes away from buckling knees letting go and leaving him in a crumpled mess on the deck, and his body kicked into a high alert defense to keep him together.

“This may be the most irrational thing you have ever suggested and you once encouraged me to carve up a dead man to put on display,” The younger man exclaimed, throwing hands up in the air, before forcing his warbling down a few octaves and firmly stated, “I don’t need anything to tell me who it is I want to spend my life with.”

“In regards to you, I have never been less sane and at a complete loss for control…”

Every divot and arc in Hannibal’s face darkened one by one, pin pricks of red glowing bright. A deep set scowl framed a thinly pressed mouth, singed in black creases. The ring was reunited with its slot. The box snapped shut. The younger man jumped at the finality of the sound, eyes darting between a closed box to a glowering face, unsure if he would pass out from sheer terror of losing everything or the inability to stifle his own nerves long enough to beg.

“In my professional opinion, I am in the right frame of mind to make this request knowing its importance, without hesitation,” The older man growled, box clutched inside a fist swinging near his knee. “This is not a matter I have taken lightly nor would I suggest it without proper consideration and diligent research.”  

Every single time Will opened his mouth to croak out an apology, to bluster out how much of a crazy idiot he was and by association his brain, or to babble incoherent pleading noises—nothing came out. And it all came rushing back to him. His entire life. All those years of not being able to speak, to ask, to say, and when he had, the answers had always been in his mind.

 

*

_“Well, do you love me too or not?” –If I don’t know what love is... How do I know the answer? “You can’t even manage a yes or no! What a waste of time.”_

_“We don’t have to this if you don’t want to. Do you want me to go or do you want me to stay?” –Stay, stay with me. I don’t want to be alone anymore. “I understand. Good night, Will.”_

 

 *

“Your stoic silence is charming, dear one, and I would never dream of hastening your answer, however if I am going to remain on my knees I may find other ways to pass the time.”

 *

 

_“You’re distant all the time. Even when you’re here with me, you are somewhere else entirely. If you didn’t want to be in a relationship, Will, all you had to do was say so. I’m going to go.” –Wait. Please wait. How am I supposed to tell you I don’t want to share you with my nightmares? Please. They are so much quieter when you are near._

_"No forts i n the bone arena of your skull for things you love?" -Not a lot of room for things other than monsters. That's no place to search for love. Not enough room. An utter waste of time to try and do so. Love implies accepting my demons. Not even I do that. Who the hell else would want to?_

_“We are a zero sum game.” –I am afraid to lose you. I am afraid to lose myself in you._

_“You delight. I tolerate. I don't have your appetite. Goodbye, Hannibal.”—Don’t look at me like I am the only person on this earth who exists to you. Don’t look at me like I’ve broken you and left your shattered pieces on creaking floorboards. You left me there long ago. Just go. Disappear. I’ll know you’re safe somewhere then, even if it's without me._  


_*_

“Will?”

 *

 

_“Our family is pretty small, but I think we have room for one more stray. Don’t you, Wally? What do you say, my sweet Mister Graham, do you wanna get hitched?” –I love you…but I gave my soul to someone else. I think I belong to him, Molly. Can I give myself to two without splitting in half like some kind of Biblical myth?_

_“You just came to look at me.” –I needed to see you. I missed you._

_“Was it good to see me, Will?” –Not like this. Not here. I put you here. You don’t belong behind glass, caged and forgotten. I’m sorry, Hannibal. I’m so sorry._

_*_

 

“Will? Are you able to hear me? Listen to my voice.”

When Will came back to his senses, he found Hannibal stooped over him, one arm around his shoulders and a mouth pressed to his ear rising and falling in soothing tones. At some point in his haze, he had wrestled the ring box away and was now holding onto it for dear life, cupped fists tucked between his knees and chest to keep it protected. He realized the faint voice wailing and begging for Hannibal to _stay, just stay, don’t leave and I'll change, I promise I'll change_ , was his own. 

"Shh, dear one, I am here. There is no need to speak."

“A-ask. Ask me again. Ask me again. Please I’ll t-try harder.”

“You are exhausted, Will…” The older man traced knuckles gently down the side of stained cheek. “Let me take you to bed to rest.”

“N-n-no. Ask me.” Fingers fumbled the ring box open and shoved it into a hand. "Please, Hannibal, don't make me live without you."

A weary sigh touched his brow. “You will be the very death of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :cue crying for this chapter, next chapter, and then send me all of your medical/dental bills obviously:


	124. Chapter 124

Rising from the deck, Hannibal looped an arm around Will’s waist into a standing position. The older man slipped the box into a trouser pocket, gaze sweeping over a mop of damp curls clinging to wine stained cheeks, arms slung around a shivering figure barely able to keep upright. He looked lost in tears streaming from blue puddles, broken, dragged away by heavy currents of his mind, practically praying to be held under, to breathe in and drown.

Fumbling with the knot on his shoulder, the cashmere sling loosened and fell away, groaning as sore muscles protested its cradling embrace. Stepping close, the older man dabbed gingerly at tears with an ivory corner, pushed away curls, and drifted down a shadowy jaw before looping the scarf around the younger man’s neck. His left hand slipped beneath heather grey cotton, caressing a jagged wound, before curving across a shoulder. His right hand slid down a spine and rested at a lower back. Slowly, Hannibal reeled Will in and began to sway with the boat, using it to mark time to a music that only existed in his mind. He waited for crying to quiet. He waited for muscles to melt and for hands to need the strength of his frame once more. Most of all he waited for Will to choose, to choose him, as he always had. The younger man slumped into him and held on, for once not protesting about injuries or insisting he was all right, tendrils of fear raising flesh, giving in to a simple need to be held. Will clung to shoulders, overwhelmed and raw, relying on a single hand to keep him from sinking to knees.

Hannibal rested his cheek on top of a head and listened to an ache of his heart trying to decipher if there was a single bone gathered to his chest not painted in darkened hues of fear. Fear of being unwanted. Fear of being unworthy. Fear of rejection and irrevocable loss. If he had only reached out all those years ago, would Will have allowed him to draw out each demon and banish them with every touch, learning not to fear the idea of being accepted completely for who he truly was? To understand Hannibal would wait, always wait, and stand still in a stream of time until Will understood he was everything. He imagined each moment between them differently, sighing softly against dark curls. If time could be bent and pruned to his will. If only he had reached Will sooner. If only he had been the first to pledge his undying futility at the feet of a fallen angel, battered and bruised by the kindness of strangers. If it had been different. If only he had been different.

 

*

_“Whose profile are you working on?” Storm clouds flashed in crackling lightning behind glass. “Whose profile is he working on?”_

_Every fiber of his being hummed electric with an unnerving heat. Hannibal’s gaze drifted from darting eyes to a mouth shouting out dark syllables then to a fist clenched against thread bare jeans. The skin was rough and calloused. He wondered how it might feel in his own if he reached out and placed his palm over it. He rarely gave in to impulse. When he found himself doing just that, the older man let out a pained breath when Will jumped as if it hurt to be touched, eyes darting down to the hand, then to him, and back to Jack shouting for him to lower his voice and remain calm, blind to the small caress._

_“Now, if you'll e-excuse me, I have t-to go give a lecture on psychoanalyzing.”_

_Will bolted out of the room at a near panicked run._

_“Maybe we shouldn't poke him like that, Doctor. Perhaps a less, uh, direct approach.”_

_“Excuse me a moment.”_

_Hannibal stalked after a bedraggled figure slumped against the wall in an adjoining hall. He reached out to place a hand on a shoulder to steady what appeared to be trembling. Will swung around with a sharp inhale of breath, backing into the wall, hands out stretched defensively._

_“What the hell!”_

_“Will…” The older man eyed hands rumpling a score of pages against a chest with a head tilt. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I had no idea you were so sensitive to touch. And it was unthinkable for me to do so without asking for your permission first.”_

_“I am not…” Dark brows knitted low to conceal a fine sheen of sweat. “I am not sensitive. It was appallingly unprofessional. And I don't know you.” There was a pause before blurting out, “And I like women.”_

_Will covered his face with a forearm, threading fingers into unruly curls. He had the distinct desire to reach over, pull off glasses, and swipe the thinly concealed veil away. The implication hung in the air between them like a feeble spark. As if time and knowing would create a distinguishable difference, a missing variable to steer them towards an imminent fall.  
_

_“I mean. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s perfectly fine if you like men. Obviously it’s fine. It’s just. I-I don’t. I mean maybe I’m your type and I gave you the wrong signal? Probably not. Unless your type is unstable. And a nervous wreck. And remarkably late for class, late for life, late for all sorts of things. Am I making any sense?”_

_Hannibal considered the fevered rush of words stumbling out of lips in an attempt to explain something, which was normally reserved for familiars and not a complete stranger. That was interesting. Intriguing. There was something exceptionally open and honest about the strange young man before him._

_“I find society’s increasing necessity to label the most basic of human emotions repulsive. Physical attraction has very little to with the gender one was assigned at birth, should one identify as such, or acquiesce to created rules stating who one ought to be attracted to. One should not allow themselves to be confined by the restraints of what it is conditioned and considered appropriate by a general public of the uneducated and narrow minded. I believe the craving for human connection bleeds across all imagined boundaries. The appreciation of beauty is quite universal."  
_

_Will choked, eyes wide. “I-I-I have to get to class.”_

_Maroon eyes followed after a figure trying to take up as little space as possible, disappearing down a crowded hallway, perhaps hoping to disappear into nothingness to never be remembered or forgotten, unable to see beauty clinging to rumpled clothes and tired eyes._

_*_

_For the last thirty minutes, Hannibal had tried to paint over the picture of Will Graham half naked and confused framed in the first rays of a rising sun. He had turned away and listened to the sounds of clothing whispering across skin. He had tried very hard not to imagine it was the sound his hands might make traveling across skin and stripping each garment away, layer by layer, until flesh was stretched taut and waiting for the exploration of his mouth. He had tried to pay attention to eating and not watching silverware disappear between tensed lips._

_Airy laughter filled the small room. “And how do you see me?”_

_He could compose music by the mere notes that voice elicited._

_“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.”_  
  
_Perhaps it was the way Will flinched again at the overt compliment, mouth wavering from smile to frown and back again, or how his gaze snapped to the table, skin flushing a dusky rose. Or perhaps it was how all of his muscles seemed to gather up defensively at once to form a protective shield, shifting uncomfortably in a creaking chair. Whatever it was had Hannibal on his feet, reaching for a hand resting on the table, and grasping the back of the chair across from him. A broken sound vibrated against his mouth as he leaned down and kissed Will lightly at first, a chaste and reverent touch. Fingers curled in lapels of his suit jacket before tugging once. A desperate groan had him pulling lips open with a drag of his thumb, to drink in salt of a thousand oceans, promising to wash away sins. He kept his tongue inside his mouth, worried he may devour the younger man whole._

_“W-w-why?” Will began shaking beneath him, breathless, as the older man pulled away, gazing down into silver stars falling. “I-I-I said I didn’t like men.”_

_“You said you didn’t like men, yes. You did not, however, clarify by stating you were not attracted to me…” Hannibal tugged curls out of eyes, fingertips drifting down a shadowy beard, simply to watch eyes flutter closed and felt his throat tighten when Will shoved into the touch. “And an exchange of lips is very much like a conversation, where one is presented with the choice of reciprocating or abstaining from a reply. Now eat your breakfast.”_

_*_

_“Do you feel alive, Will?”_

_The younger man drew in a weak breath between quivering lips, slouching lower in the leather chair. Dark eyes searched for a safe place to rest, pain flooding them in a shimmer of light as fingernails dug into arm rests. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession of what would have been tangled emotions cresting into sobs, well maintained inside burning lungs._

_“I feel like I’m fading.”_

_Hannibal leaned forward on the chair opposite, placing his hands around ones hanging limply in a stiff form of prayer, and kissed the tips of fingers one by one. “Then stay with me. Allow me to anchor your corporeal form drifting across the sea of your mind inside my own.”_

_“What?”_

_A lip ticked in a half formed smile. “I am asking you to stay the night.”_

_“I told you I don’t—“_

_Grabbing onto rough grey lapels, Hannibal dragged the younger man to his feet, holding a swaying figure searching for the nearest exit right before him. He felt shivering beneath layers of clothing once more. He inhaled the unmistakable scent of longing, eyes narrowing to the sound of a mind turning over in silent words._

_“I asked you to stay the night, Will, not engage in carnal activities. Though it gives pause to consider you may not understand the difference between physical comfort and fleeting sexual gratification. Do you often find yourself hollowed out by the intimacy of a retreating form leaving your bed cold?”_

_“I…” The younger man crumpled against the armrest, gaze sticking to scuffed up boots, trembling. “I do not often sleep, carnal or otherwise, and over the years my bed is far more empty than it has ever been filled.”_

_There was an aching loneliness, cold and cracking, through the shell of a man whispering. Hannibal wanted to take it away, to tell Will his life was empty without the presence of his voice and curve of his smile._

_“Let me take you to my bed, Will. To sleep. Nothing more.”_

_Blue eyes drifted up, wavering and uncertain. Hannibal was hardly surprised to find Will weighed almost as much as a silver head of a pin, as if he was effervescent and if the older man breathed, he might splinter into dust and scatter through cracks in the floor boards, never having existed, as if soul had been signed away long ago. He carried him upstairs and set him down against the large bed. He removed a wrinkled shirt and placed it neatly folded on the dresser. He knelt on the floor to remove mud caked boots and made a promise to remedy dark circles and ribs sticking out from flesh. The older man tucked shivering skin inside silk sheets, pulling off tie, jacket, and waistcoat before toeing out of shoes then socks, and crawling in._

_Will curled up into the tightest anatomical ball imaginable, precariously balanced on the very edge of the mattress, threatening to fall off and race through the nearest door to escape. Hands covered a face to blot out the sound of shaky breathing. Two fingers pressed into a knotted spine before following its length, drawing out tensing muscles and flinching limbs. Hannibal rolled onto his side, studying the huddled figure hiding inside blankets, shifting a fraction closer to radiate heat across bare skin. Breath knocked out of his lungs when the younger man practically rammed the curve of his body inside arms, shaking slowly subsiding to the tide of sleep in quiet breathing as the older man held tight.  
_

_*_

_“Her lips are very kissable.”_

_For a few moments, Hannibal wished he had reached into the oven without protective mitts and the scent of his own searing flesh was filling his nostrils instead of a floral Jasmine perfume. His teeth were clenched so tight together the bones in his jaw were flinching from the effort to keep from snapping. He kept seeing another’s lips where his had only been a moment before in greeting, before being bombarded by scent, acrid cherry chapstick, and a string of sentences fanning flames licking up the insides of lungs._

_“Wait, are you angry with me?”_

_“It is your life, Will…” The older man ground out in an aloof tone, setting the tray carefully on a grate cooling rack instead of slamming it violently against the marble countertop. “You may preside over it however you choose to govern yourself.”_

_They had not made any particular pact or declaration. Had not set any safe guards in place to keep either of them behind a particular line drawn in sand. Now he was bitter for remaining quiet, resenting the disorder of it all. Hannibal was giving serious consideration to sinking his teeth into a soft neck and ripping out flesh just to get a voice to stop, to cease any kind of noise, and for the love of God stop trying to equate and explain._

_“That’s not fair, Hannibal, it’s not like we are—what the hell are we anyway?” Will wrinkled his nose, big sad eyes darting to the floor as if he had been scolded. “I mean it’s not like we are a couple. We aren’t fucking. We share meals together and conversations and sometimes I sleep in your bed. Isn’t that the very definition of friendship?”_

_If Hannibal never heard the word friend, friends, or friendship ever, ever, ever again it would be too soon._

_“Not that I would know. Aside from Beverly, you are really my only other friend.”_

_There it was again. He was going to scream. Break something. Knife someone. Or quite possibly all three. They hadn’t braided each others hair and exchanged matching macramé bracelets for the last several months. They held hands in privacy of the car, at the office, and occasionally caressed briefly to bring Will back from a horrific crime scene. They drifted in each other’s arms, with little more than a thin layer of clothing between them. They had kissed. Often and to the point of asphyxiation._

_Crimson eyes slid over from silver block of knives. “Do you often kiss Beverly, on the mouth, sometimes hours at a time?”_

_“Of course not!”_

_“Then we are not the epitome of friendship you are searching for, Will.” Fingers yanked on a towel and clenched to fists._

_Boots scuffed to leave. “Jesus Christ, you are such a moody prick sometimes!”_

_“Hanni—“_

_Hannibal slammed Will against the wall, hands latched onto the offensively puffy vest, and pinned him there with more force than he had intended, forcibly removing breath and noise._

_“—bal!”_

_“You carry the scent of her perfume on your skin.” His hands shook. “You did not even possess the decency required to at least change your clothes before seeking my counsel.” Crimson eyes fell to lips, narrowing, rage boiling to the surface. “You taste of her. Would you have…slept with her if she stayed?”_

_Blue eyes flashed up, gaping in half horror and fascination._

_He eased away, turning and raking silver strands away from his face, desperate to search for control he knew he had lost the moment he met Will. “Go, before I do something we both regret.”_

_“I just want you. I wanted it to be you.” The younger man wound fingers into belt loops, face pressed into shoulder blades, mumbling, “I’m tired of fighting who I am and how I feel, Hannibal. Please let me stay.”_

_“If all you are looking for is a warm bed then I suspect you know where to find one, do you not? And I assure you it is not here.”_

_“Why are you—“_

_“Because I love you, Will!” The older man shouted, spinning the boy in his arms, and glowering down. “Is it so very hard to imagine the possibility that I may have developed an attachment to you over the course of our friendship and long for more?”_

_“How do you know its love?” He sounded absolutely terrified._

_“It is the one singular notion to explain why it is you frustrate me beyond measurable means to the point of insanity while also making my very heart weaken at the sight of your smile. Why every waking moment is filled with the scent of your skin and pressure of your lips on mine, taking up residence inside the rooms of my mind and refusing to leave.” Hannibal flinched at desperation threading into his voice, reaching for a damp towel and scrubbing lips red, and washing away scent from a neck. “And why I cannot abide by the idea of someone else touching you without thinking of carving out their very hearts! I want you as mine and mine alone.”_

_“Then take me to bed…” Will wrapped a hand around the one touching his face, gaze lifting, and whispered quietly. “…make me yours.”_

_It was the only invitation he would ever receive._

_Hannibal closed the space between them in a single step, lifting the younger man to counter, and tore clothes away to reveal a map of uncharted skin awaiting claim. It was different in the light, pale and dotted with freckled stars, both flawlessly untouched and marred by marks of history. With a feral growl, he pushed his tongue into a hot mouth and raked nails down a back in a trail of red ribbons, to remind them both and show any who dared to question, who it was Will would always belong to. His to hold. His to love. And his alone to destroy._

_*_

_“We could not leave without you,” Hannibal answered, lips flinching into a snarl, licking off a cascade of blood._

_“You lied to me!” The younger man snapped, forcing gleaming metal forward, hands clamped around a grip, gesturing to a ghost of a girl lingering behind him. “She was not yours to take! She was not yours to keep!”_

_“I wanted to surprise you…” Hannibal breathed out, sad eyes tracing over the gun placed squarely between him and the man he loved, the man he would have to leave broken and bleeding to save his own life._

_“If you are going to kill me then you had better do it, Hannibal,” Will growled, gaze flicking down to a curved knife in a bloodied palm, before lowering the gun. “I know you. I see you. And I don’t know how to forget that. I don’t know to forget you. And I don’t know how to stop loving you. Take it away from me. Cut it out if you want. But I am done with the pretense and bullshit of pretending not to know you as you are.”_

_“Did you…” The older man reached out, carding curls away from cheeks, flattening a palm across a rain battered face. “…say you loved me, Will?”_

_“Yeah…” A shoulder hitched in a shrug, gaze lowering. “I thought it was pretty obvious by now, seeing as how I have blatantly lied through my teeth through every case to the FBI and went to jail for you.”_

_“But you did not return to me.”_

_“I was angry at you for lying to me. And I am pretty pissed off with you right now! Can you blame me?”_

_“No…” Hannibal answered softly, facing the ire of his god and waiting for retribution, slumping in acceptance. “You have always been blameless in my eyes.”_

_Will placed hands around shoulders, resting his forehead against a blood soaked shirt and murmured, “I still love you.”_

_“You will stay?” Shaking fingers touched curls, gazing down at the only mouth he longed to kiss for eternity._

_“Where else would I go?” The younger man asked, brushing fingertips across bruising cheeks, blue rimmed in tears. “I need you.”_

 

*

But Hannibal was just a man, not a deity able to shift the very fabric of time and space, to mold it into images blurred in softness to give Will the life he deserved, and not the one he had nearly destroyed. Now was all they had. And he could still give himself over, silver claim emblazoned across their fingers, knife at the ready to vow to lay Will to rest inside his broken chest cavity, curled around his beating heart, to protect him with every breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, I meant to stem the bleeding, and it just got much worse! Hannibal loves Will so much! :weeps helplessly in a corner and gathers your beautiful comments against my breaking heart: No one likes you teacups, time, and rules of disorder~stop trying to kill us by shattering our hearts over and over.


	125. Chapter 125

Arms wrapped around Will, Hannibal tried to bring the disparity of threads he longed to untangle in the web of time and weave into intricate designs, alongside the knotted mess they had created to bind each other together over the years. There was nothing he could do to change it, to go back in time, and convince Will he was worthy and to accept nothing less than utter worship. He needed the younger man to understand he was real, constant and solid, not to be swept away at the slightest hint of turbulent waters. He would stand directly in front of Will for as many years as it took for him to see he stayed, to forcibly claw out every fear lurking beneath skin and damp eyes, stripped bare of everything except the promise of always being loved and protected, for who he was, not who he thought he needed to be.

And it was love, feeble word turned to an insurmountable force claiming both their souls in its fury; when winding paths met to mingle in time, sound muting to absolute silence, color seeping away to ashen shades, and looking up to find eyes in full blown technicolor holding all the things you never knew you wanted. With that unmistakable feeling of a chest tightening, struggling to breathe without reason, and knowing if death was coming, at least you had a moment to glimpse into the soul yours had been quietly searching for. Even if it was taken away, you had known it.

He was more than willing to let this storm claim them both, to allow them to be broken over and over, for them to build a design more beautiful than the last, cracks mended in gilded gold of lips touching and hands entwining, an intimate _kintsukuroi_.

_I ought to have kissed you every single day from the first moment we met._

Tears soaked the front of his shirt. “P-please…ask…”

_Had I been able to speak, to form the words to express what I was feeling, let alone the word, not knowing it was love driving us together, as we struggled to break apart and survive without the other... Would you have come to me then?_

“If days were the quiet streams of your mind sweeping into broad rivers of time, I would ask to stand in the waters to drown in your eyes every moment…” Hannibal cupped the back of a head, tracing circles into a scalp, and whispered each word with great care into the shell of an ear as they swayed slowly across the bow.

“Just as a setting sun sinks to rest a weary soul along a darkened horizon then I may ask to spend each night in the circle of your embrace.” He rocked shivering skin in his arms, pressing his mouth to a brow and then a cheek, eyes filling in a well of tears. “If I were to grow feeble bodied painted in the starlight of your smile as the minute hand hastens us towards death, would I ask the brush of your lips to be the first and last to draw my final breath.”

Will muffled a pained sound against his chest, fingers twisting the gauzy dress shirt, front gaping open to reveal torn lines of a healing chest, as if they were old and grey already, drifting through their final moments until the bitter end. When time would continue on without them, forever present, forever marching forward and leaving the essence of memory to live on its wake of a cloudless day or the warmth of sun on skin, where nothing truly dies.

“And if I were a man of less cowardice…”

Hannibal guided them carefully apart, pulling a left hand loose to place a kiss against a rough palm, and waited until blue eyes lifted in a flutter of lashes.

“Then perhaps I might ask to have your hand in marriage, Will?”

Will froze again, paralyzed in a tremor of shoulders, steadied and torn asunder by the very hands holding on, searching eyes for the violence that was once brought against him and promised shelter in the darkest streams of time. And he let himself be pulled over, to fall once more, and become something else entirely; a man loved by his most cherished nightmare.

Quivering lips parted in a low, aching breath. “ _Yes_.”

Hannibal tugged the ring from its dusty box, polishing it against his shirt a moment, before lifting it to the light to inspect. All the while he held a shaking hand, squeezing it once in awhile to reassure, to request a moment longer, to calm. A narrow stripe of red ringed the center of the inner silver band, etched into its surface at the older man’s request a month and a half before. All he wanted was encompassed in a single flash of silver and ocean blue. Both their fingertips were trembling so much he was barely able to guide the ring to its rightful place. He slipped silver around an outstretched finger, lingering across its cool surface, before releasing a breath he had been holding. It was beautiful. But not as beautiful as the face mirrored in the reflection of his gaze, truly seeing, knowing him, and accepting to be his. This was everything he wanted. All he ever needed or would need was Will.

His mute tongue formed words inside the safety of his mouth, to breathe life into his lungs, knowing the past would relinquish his voice again one day. _I love you, Will._

“Every part of me belongs to you, Hannibal, carved in my skin and shadowed in my bones...” Red threads untangled on soft lips, tumultuous sea washing over dark pupils. “If you would allow me the privilege to take your family name, then I would willingly give you my very life.”

 

Wide eyes lifted from the ring to fingers caressing a hidden scar slashed across a cheek, moving unhurriedly to curl around an ear and splay across the back of a neck. Will trembled as he was drawn in bit by bit, wrapping an arm around the older man’s shoulder, and waiting to be laid out in his final resting place. Their lips touched feather light, once then twice. He kissed the knife wound softly then traced lips over curls covering a track of a saw’s blade. Hannibal pushed away grey cotton and sealed his mouth over an old bullet wound on a right shoulder bestowed by Chiyo, traveling a few inches lower to cover a healing one. He kissed the third on a left shoulder, a gift from Jack. His fingers skirted delicately across raised flesh of a shivering stomach, tenderly slicing it open from edge to edge to bury his claim deep. He needed Will to be his.

Will reached for one hand and then the other, exposing ragged knife wounds near a thick wrist, and nuzzled gently against each one before sealing the mark with a touch of lips. Hannibal stilled as a knife flicked open. Its tip ran down the arc of his neck, breath hitching as it followed the line of his clavicle and began slicing open the front of his shirt. He watched the blade trace around a stamp of the Dragon before twisting, eyes fluttering closed, pressure leaving a visible white then red line of flesh across his stomach, mark fading. Hannibal exposed his throat, a heated breath escaping lips, waiting for a familiar trickle of warmth to spill across his skin and bleed out at feet in soft prayer.

“W-will…”

Cold metal pressed into his palm. His eyes opened, tensing as Will turned in his arms, melding his chest to a sun warmed back. The younger man reached for his hand, touching a ring lightly, before forcing fingers to curl around the blade. He grabbed onto a peaked hip for support. Breath billowed hot in his lungs. Trembling started in knees, worked up his spine, and ran down his arms. Hannibal watched as Will helped guide the blade from left to right in a light drag over jagged skin, creating their own design.

He felt the hand steadying his own increase the pressure ever so slightly, shaking breath rattling to match his own. Rubies adorned golden skin in tiny beads trickling down a navel. He groaned, lust hitting hard as bloodied fingerprints dabbed across skin. An index finger swept up a few drops. The younger man twisted around, panting for oxygen, and pushed the digit between parting lips, given permission to devour. Every remaining thought fled in a scatter of copper filling his senses and blood staining their torsos in a rough embrace.

A plea rasped against his ear, nails digging into his waist. “Hannibal, I need you.”

“Bed. Now.” He managed to command in a hoarse breath, crimson eyes burning bright, voice dipping to a low hiss, “I will not tell you again.”

 

In a moment of sheer disbelief, he found Will blindly obeying in a flurry of clothing, not even a single protest of either of them needing rest. He followed the trail in a shuffle of feet, ignoring the ache in his arm and side to focus on the one throbbing between his legs, trying to calculate the exact number of days and hours it had been since they had shared more than clinical touch. He stepped around a grey shirt rumpled at the foot of a silver wheel. He quickened his pace to a hobble, drawn in by a series of moans, and managed a near miss of a step and ungracefully falling down the ladder. A denim puddle was discarded across the narrow floor. Cotton boxers were flung across the small table. The scarf slithered down a side of the bed. He raised eyes from crumpled textile bodies and stumbled to a stop, upper lip flinching in a snarl, universe contracting in a wave of heat.

Splayed naked in the middle of the bed, Will was arching his back into a bloodied hand slicking his cock red in a frenzied grip, head thrown back, heels dragging over sheets. The younger man met his gaze steadily, creating the perfect provocation, on display for his eyes only, knowing he would get what he wanted without having to ask. He would gladly crack open healing ribs before missing the opportunity of devouring blood red skin. He threw the latched knife to the mattress. Stripping off a ruined shirt, Hannibal wrapped both hands around ankles, hauling a writhing body to the edge of the bed, growling when knees locked at his hips and tugged insistently, needy moans calling out.

He pushed a hand firmly in the center of a chest, dragging fingertips over a sternum, swirling around a navel, until the younger man lifted hips and arced into him, shaking apart with each drag. Nails bit into an ass to keep him suspended. Hannibal watched the flow of red beads reverse, dripping up a stomach, trickling over a chest, and pooling against a throat. Will watched him with dark eyes, curious fascination blooming in his cheeks, shivering from intense gaze tracing across his form alone. He dropped hot skin, letting hips bounce against a bed, before pinning thighs in place.

Blood embedded beneath fingernails raking along a heaving chest. Hannibal chased after sticky lines mingling in sweat with the flat edge of his tongue, lapping at a red pool spilling from a navel, before licking a jagged smile line on stomach clean. He nipped teeth around skin, copper filling his mouth to suffocate on all Will was on a molecular level, drinking in his essence. He tasted hot, sweet, and earthy like a blazing fire consuming a forest.

“G-g-god, fuck me,” Will begged between shaky pants, lifting to be taken into mouth or hand.

He slapped a hand away from stroking, crimson staining teeth, swollen cock slapping against a stomach in a streak of white.

“Keep your hands where they belong,” The older man hissed, watching shaking fingers twist in sheets to remain still. “Or are you in need of a reminder on how to listen and obey?”

Will bit down on his bottom lip, head shaking weakly, knuckles turning white. A glittering gaze roamed down a thick vein throbbing beneath a red sheet, slipping over velvety balls stained in fingerprints drifting between thighs and rimming a puckered hole. Hannibal glowered underneath a silvery fringe, clamping down on thighs before slinging legs over his shoulders, and licked roughly from hole up a thick line of a head bobbing against his lips. Every one of his muscles and healing bones screamed in protest. His lips flinched in a perpetual snarl, drawing out louder moans with each stroke of his tongue, studying the perfect arc only younger men seemed to possess as heels bruised his shoulder blades to keep him close.

“Hannibal, I’m going to nnn—“

Wrapping a hand firmly around the base of a slick head to quell orgasm, Hannibal cleaned off the rest of drying blood clinging to throbbing flesh and bit down on an inner right thigh, sucking hard. Knees clamped around his head as Will let out a strangled cry, balanced precariously on the edge and refused release. He wasn’t aware of breaking skin until blood touched his lips, nails biting into his skull, and then it was too late. Both hands slid down skin to hold legs open. He devoured a burning thigh hungrily, switching between an idle drag of tongue and scrape of teeth, reveling in the body bucking against him and smearing blood across lips. He felt eyes on him, watching, studying the feral sounds rumbling out of his chest, ragged breath escaping in a series of groans. He shifted slightly, corner of a bed digging into a length pulsing for attention and relief.

“H-harder, harder, Hannibal! Christ!” Will yanked on his hair, stranded between pushing away and burying sharp teeth deeper. “Fuck!”

Another bite had knees locking against his throat, cutting off air, as Will let out yell of his name and came in a roll of hips, white striping over shoulders pushing a chest up from the bed. A left leg fell away. The right thigh remained, skin hanging in a snag of teeth, released slowly to place it back where it once was. Hannibal tongued almost apologetically over angry raised flesh imprinted in bite marks, bloodied and bruising, before raising his head, warm liquid streaking out of the corners of his mouth, to form the words.

Crystal clear blue eyes stared down at him, a low whisper fluttering out. “God…you look so fucking beautiful in red.”

Red filtered through his vision in bright sunspots, blinded, realizing in a dim corner of his mind Will wasn’t searching for an apology. He was giving him what he wanted. What they both wanted. In a blur of motion, Hannibal flipped Will onto his stomach, a hand wrapping around a bared throat and forcibly dragged him onto knees and back into a rude erection straining through the front of his trousers. He peered over a shoulder, watching a cock twitch back to life with each squeeze of fingers, red streaming down a thigh and pooling between knees. He curved a palm against an inner thigh, sweeping blood up and massaging it into balls until the younger man pushed back, belt buckle digging into soft clefts.

“Are you trying to kill me, Will?” Hannibal rumbled low and deep against an ear, grip tightening at a throat, rolling rough skin inside his palm. “Or simply wish to drive me mad by this display of utter debauchery, to lay out a feast before me, knowing I am starving and unable to consume you?”

He released a neck rubbed raw. The younger man dropped to all fours, sinking to elbows, to push shoulders back and create a flawless divot of his spine, darkened eyes lifting to peer back in blatant invitation, lips lifting into a shadow of a smile.

“Did you touch yourself here?” His other palm squeezed balls once more before tracing up cheeks, pulling them apart, and circling a thumb over a clenching hole wet from fingers dipped in blood.

“You know…” Will’s entire body jerked, gasping as pressure deepened but not enough to push in. “…I did. You just want to hear me say it.”

A palm smacked an outer thigh. “Then say it.”

Shoulders dropped, a moan muffled into sheets, body a vision of a perfect s shape. “I needed you to fuck me so I touched, knuckles deep. You know I hate waiting.”

“Creating a scene you know I would be unable to resist, knowing full well I am not in the physical condition to make good on my promises to punish you?” The older man raked nails from neck to prominent divots of a lower back, taking his time to appreciate a quivering spine, running a tongue across blood stained teeth. “Patience is a virtue you have never acquired. When did you decide to spread yourself open for me, Will? Before you began touching yourself or after?”

Hands raked down sheets, imagining it was skin. “During.”

“Was it your intent to deny me the pleasure of watching you come undone, Will? Or have you forgotten I appreciate the image of your writhing form?” Reaching around straining hips, Hannibal palmed a leaking head, hips pressing into thighs as he pulled out his own cock to stroke. His eyes closed at the friction, tugging from base to tip. “Bloodied cock dripping in your palm and long fingers working into your tight heat, allowing me to watch for my pleasure alone.”

“God…” Will whined, cheeks clenching around a slick head gliding through them. “At least let me suck you off. Please I need you in me. I don’t care how.”

“Do you need me, Will?”

“Y-yes.”

He tested a thrust of hips forward, head of his cock digging against a quivering hole, knowing how Will would beg and plead until every inch was buried in him. He bit back a groan of pain as his ribs throbbed back to life, arm jerking in a quivering burn. He snatched up the cashmere sling and bitterly knotted it around an arm with a tug of teeth and fingers.

“You may have me when my body has healed enough to fuck you as I promised, Will, and not a moment sooner.”

The younger man groaned face first into the mattress at the very idea of denial, shoulders slumped, arms dangling limply against the mattress, shivering from the effort to remain kneeling. Hannibal knew very well he was incapable of denying Will anything, particularly with the scent of copper trailing over skin.

“On your back.”

Will rolled over quickly, snatching hips forward, and buried his teeth into a stomach with a needy moan. Hannibal watched purple blooms form around his chest and abdomen, curls tracing over skin, continuing to stroke in a steady even motion to pace breathing. Nimble fingers hooked in a waistband, freeing him completely. He hissed as a mouth nipped down his thigh, widening the space between his knees sagging into to the mattress to allow a pink tongue to flick up inner thighs, pointed tip touching balls and then fingers gripping the base of a cock.

“Please…” Will pushed fingers between his own thighs, bringing red stained tips to his mouth, painting lips, gazing up into glittering eyes and breathing out, “I want you inside me.”

Hannibal whipped his head down, biting fiercely against a mouth, tongue delving into wet depths, growling when the younger man pulled away with a coy smile, pleased by the momentary loss of control. Teeth sucked in a bottom lip, worrying it swollen. Will continued to rim battered lips with a slick tongue, taking two blood stained digits into his mouth, pushing in, and drawing them out in a glisten of spit. He sank down on thighs, leaning back to give Hannibal a proper view of fingers scissoring open a puckered hole, picking up the pace of his hand to match.

“Don’t you want to give in?” The younger man moaned, eyes drifting closed, pulling legs wider apart. “Don’t you want my hands on you? Don’t you want to know how I imagined your cock buried in the back of my throat with that pathetic excuse for a man ground out by my heel?”

Need pulsed beneath fingers releasing, nearly coming from the hazy image sharpening to painful focus. The younger man was purposefully scrounging around in his brain and unveiling every single sheet soaking fantasy he had ever dreamed of. He was absolutely helpless to look away from a mouth lifting to coast up his cock and suck off precome, Will was hellishly bent on having his way, even if resulted in further injury.

“Don’t you deserve to have me drink in and savor every drop of you in my mouth?”

“Fuck, Will—“ He hissed, rubbing against a tongue curling around his head, legs going rigid, nearing completion from just slick touch and images burned permanently behind his eyes.

Lips glittered in blood, curving into a smirk, tips of fingers applying pressure to keep his orgasm at bay for the moment. “Is that an invitation?”

Lungs shuddered inside a tightening chest, creating a series of deep and endless growls, before snaring dark curls and yanking a mouth rimming the tip away. “You deserve a sound lashing, Will, and nothing more for this blatant use of power and manipulation over me.”

“Are you admitting I have power over you?” The younger man smiled, throwing him against the mattress before climbing on top, walking two fingers down a useless arm strapped to a chest. “Oh Hannibal… I don’t think I need to manipulate you into fucking me. I think you want to. And you’re going to let me because there’s nothing you can do about it. Because you want me to. I think all you can dream about is fucking me over and over again drenched in Dolarhyde’s blood…”

A blade flicked out, tip digging above a heart and slicing open a fresh new line. Hannibal opened his mouth to reply, a weakened noise escaping, as his cock twitched painfully beneath a steady gaze.

“And I think you wanted to fuck me in your kitchen instead of bleeding me dry. Did you want to bend me over the nearest surface of every crime scene we visited, or just the ones you created?” Will reached for a palm and pressed it above seeping red over a pounding heart, slicking a palm, and Hannibal lost control completely, groaning, and began to streak imprints down a torso. “What bothers you more, Hannibal? Knowing I’ll fulfill all your darkest fantasies by my own hand? Or let you cut me open to do so? I'll give you whatever you want.”

Latching hands in hair, Hannibal weld their mouths together in a scrape of teeth and burning breath, groaning as Will dragged his bottom lip into a mouth and bit down, dark eyes glowing back to stare into the shadows of his own, lost in heated darkness melding together.

“Let me have you, Will, or cease this endless torture of empty promises and conversation.”

“I’ll give you what you want…” Toes rolled up on balls of feet, thighs bunching, as Will reached for a cock in a teasing stroke of fingertips, preparing to sink on, hand pushing down on lungs for balance. “ _If_ you ask me nicely.”

The older man wasn’t even sure if he heard the words or imagined them, eyes following a trickle of blood slipping down the crook of a rigid thigh, dripping down his head pressed against a warm entrance.

A faint noise answered. “Please, Will…I am at your mercy.”

Lips parting in a quivering moan, Will sank on inch by inch, nails digging into shoulders to keep steady. Hannibal swiveled his hips up, hitting his target, rough and quick.

“Jesus fucking—“ Dark curls flung back over shoulders in a stumbling curse, toes curling against thighs. “Is that what you want, Hannibal, a quick and dirty fuck?” Hooded eyes narrowed as Will looked down, locking their gazes, roots of grey hair splintering as it was tugged sharply. “Say it.”

A bloodied hand pulled slowly on a cock bobbing above his navel in a firm grasp. “Fuck me like you actually mean it, Will.”

“Like I mean it?” Lips curled into a growl.

The younger man began to grind mercilessly against him, thrusting into a palm, and rocking back to bury a cock deep, curses turning to incoherent moans directed at the ceiling.

“Is this what you nnn wanted?” Damp palms raked back a wild flow of curls. “Like this?”

“Yes…” Hannibal ran nails down a thigh, gritting teeth, slipping a hand between legs to grip the base of his cock, watching a blush creep from face to chest. Will swiveled hips, letting out a frustrated cry, slick head brushing just inside him. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

“Hannibal, god, please!” Will rocked against the hand beneath, struggling for a few more inches, shoving thumbs against bruised ribcage. “Fucking fuck me already!”

Breath hissing out in a sting of pain, Hannibal knocked the lithe blood stained body forward with a shove of his knee, forcefully grinding a slick cock into his pelvic bone and thrusting up in deep strokes, growling every time his ribs creaked in protest. A damp forehead pressed into bone, curls splayed across his chest, as Will watched the roll of their hips, moans grating into near screams, intently watching a dripping cock disappearing inside him at a fevered pace.

“Y-your so fucking p-perfect, Hannibal.”

“Come here…” The older man rasped, tugging hard on hair. “I’m close.”

Hands burrowed beneath the back of his head as Will arced a slick chest against his and held on. Blood trickled down skin, seeping against white sheets, enveloping them in metallic warmth. He lifted his head and sealed lips over an open cut, lapping gently, testing a quickening heart beat with the tip of a tongue. He wrapped a curl of fingers around the back of a neck. Breath slammed out of lungs, radiating against his throat, and rising to quickened _I love you, I love you, Hannibal, god, please, I love you._

“Tell me you’re mine, Will,” Hannibal growled out, fingertips bruising hips, cock pulsing in a tight channel.

“I-I-I’m yours. God, I’m yours!” The younger man sobbed against him.

Hannibal’s cock twitched, spilling inside heat, caging Will to him with a low hissing breath, “Always mine, Will.”

Will came in quick succession, collapsing against a chest in a quiver of limbs, melting inside of the arm wrapped firmly around his waist, carding fingers in silver hair to keep them from parting.

“Always?” A cool nose pressed into his throat, as a face nuzzled closer.

“Always.” Hannibal pressed his mouth into a damp forehead, lost in the sensation of cold silver caressing their skins. “In the lives stretched out before us and after this one, you have existed to become mine alone. May the gods themselves grant mercy to anyone who might try to take you from me again. I surely will not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Andddd hello almost official Muder Husbands. Thanks for entrusting me to recreate your hearts every single chapter, guys. It's an honor!) 
> 
> A hundred and fucking twenty five chapters later and Hannibal finally properly proposes! Bless that man for searching for the correct words for six years and creating a literal red ribbon of Fate.
> 
>  
> 
> kintsukuroi : repairing broken pottery with gold and finding beauty in the broken damages brought together as new


	126. Chapter 126

Will awoke pleasantly sore and tucked into the crook of an arm, barely giving pools of drying blood on sheets a second glance before slinging a leg possessively across a naked torso. Hannibal murmured something in another language, fingers twitching in curls. He could easily say this was his favorite time of day, when it was the first hours of morning and the world hummed with a calm. It was different with someone next to him. Waking to the sight of Hannibal sleeping was as nearly pleasant as it was a surprise, never quite certain if in those first bleary eyed moments if it was real. All he had to do was stretch out a hand, place it softly on a cresting cheek and feel heat to know he was alive, to sink into a few more minutes of gazing at a peaceful face covered in a mess of bed head and five o’clock shadow. He wondered if it was possible to look at someone for infinite days to come and never tire of it, knowing the very sight washed a placid calm through him. The older man stirred again, fingertips tracing worry lines on his forehead, and pushed warm lips into ones hovering above, tongue flicking out to taste nicks and cuts.

Will pushed a half hard cock against a hip teasingly and murmured, “Do your plans for the day involve sleeping through it?”

Fair lashes slid open over glassy maroon eyes. “Impatient for the beginning of our day together or are you merely waking me to see if I am functional enough to be used for other purposes?”

_Impatient for the beginning of our lives as one._

The younger man shivered as nails trailed up his thigh resting on a stomach and swirled around his hip. “Why can’t it be both?”

“I am afraid I am not quite well enough to tend to your needs at the moment…” The older man chuckled, tired smile wavering across lips, proof how thoroughly sated and sore he remained. “Though there is the pressing matter of disinfecting open wounds, self inflicted and otherwise.”

Glancing down, the younger man nodded slightly with a shrug of shoulders. Aside from a quick glance of a damp washcloth, they both remained stained in ombre hues of wine streaking down their tangled limbs. An image of the glassy eyed couple in the Primavera recreation bubbled up to the surface of his brain. How might they look to anyone walking in, lying in each other’s arms and blood, foreheads touching and gazing into eyes? Beautiful? Blissful? Lost in what they were, what they were to each other?

“Are you suggesting your medical training did _not_ involve an entire semester of clinicals where you practiced licking off blood of terribly vulnerable young men?” Will asked, incredulous brow rising in mock pretense, struggling to maintain a straight face.

“If it had…” Hannibal rolled the younger man beneath him and nibbled on the curve of a neck, murmuring, “…and they were half as pretty as you, Will, my entire education would have been wasted, concentration torn asunder and studies flagging, except for learning how every single part of your anatomy tasted.”

“Did you…” A nose wrinkled at the word, feeling its touch in tick of fingers chasing after curls. His heart stirred inside a strange fondness. “…just call me pretty?” Warmth trickling up to eyes blinked away, displeased frown replacing it. “Then give brief consideration to tasting someone else beside me in a non-cannibal and entirely sexual way?”

Silvery fringe scattered around a cavernous face, corner of a mouth turning up into a brief laugh before sobering, tone quieting. “You are quite pretty covered in blood, Will, whether it be yours or another’s, is of very little consequence. If I had my way, the canvas of your skin would be perpetually stained crimson, to gaze upon you in the finest galleries of my mind.”

“Hardly sounds sanitary…” He was looking at him again, in that way that suggested beyond all rational reason, only he existed inside crimson eyes and his response petered out to petulance, craving for another series of praise. “Sounds messy and inconvenient. And would require a lot more effort on my part.”

_But you know I would give you anything when you look at me like that, don’t you?_

“You are pretty enough to ensure I would have failed out of medical school in my youth hoping to draw you into my bed. I would have endeavored to capture the lithe twist of your body in canvas across its surface for days and nights at a time, leaving you breathlessly crying out for more despite how you ached.”

Lips tipped down to kiss a crinkled nose lightly. “And all the other sad eyed boys of your youth? What of them?”

“I believe the insinuation was my desire to only study anatomy with the trace of my tongue across you, Will.” Hannibal slicked a tongue across dissolving stitches, drawing out a gasp, chest pushing against his mouth. “I solemnly promise you are all I long to devour in the most sensual ways imaginable.”

Fingers twining in hair, they pulled into a languid kiss, mouths open to pant breath across tongues. Their skin brushed together in soft whispered promises of comfort, of what they might do with clever tongues and mouths if their healing bodies were more cooperative. Will pulled away gently, nuzzling into lips dotting across his face, before rolling out from underneath sturdy arms and slinging legs over the bed. He rested a palm over textured indents of his stomach and smiled, glancing around the crime scene taking up residence in their bed.

“Well. It’s official we have created a murder boat somehow.” He glanced back to find the older man studying the curve of his spine, eyes soft and drowsy, warily eyeing the hand extended to help him up. “You are a terrible influence. You’ve turned us into a cliché.”

“We?” Hannibal blinked, giving consideration to pulling Will back into bed, before taking the hand and groaned as he was helped into a standing position.

A flutter of stained sheets ripped away with a swift tug. “ _We_.”

“I remember it differently.” Breath caressed the back of his neck.

“You remember it _incorrectly._ ” The younger man turned his head, sighing into a mouth as it covered his, before shoving an armful of fabric between them. “Take this.”

The older man glanced at the sheets, as if he was meant to dunk them clean in the water to alert a pack of sharks to their presence, then at Will before letting them rumple to floor. He enjoyed being the only predator to circle the younger man for miles and miles around. He curved hands across an abdomen, following a seam of a neck diligently with his mouth.

“Perhaps we should recreate the scene to determine which of us in the right?”

“I thought…” Will twined an arm around the back of a head, pushing shoulder blades into a chest, and wriggling, toes curling, as a hand slid over his chest to cover a threading heart. “…you weren’t up for taking care of me.”

“Mmm…a bit later then,” Hannibal sighed against hair, playing out imagined notes across ribs. “Once we have found our way to a more conventional bed.”

The younger man tipped his head to kiss the edge of a jaw before reluctantly moving away. “Which will be never if you don’t tell me where we’re going.”

Will tucked the leather medical bag under his arm, wringing out a soaking washcloth in the sink before moving to sit beside Hannibal on an edge of the mattress. He watched eyes close, squeezing water over tensed shoulders luminous droplets dripping into the crease of a thigh. He began to dab away the evidence with the memory of the older man’s mouth dripping in blood, beautiful and feral, stirring heat in the back of his mind.

“You could do it again if you wanted…” Will spoke quietly, as if hoping by some chance the older man wouldn’t be able to hear him above the creak of the ship, afraid he might hurt him by saying it. “Mark me, I mean. You don’t have to ask.”

Without looking up, he felt a kind of stillness wash over Hannibal, momentarily paralyzed. A low breath eased out of lungs. It wasn’t the words. It was the implication. The slight lilt in the way his voice crested across the notes, suggesting more than what he was capable of saying. He was ready to his very life and body, having been robbed of them both, and place them inside the safety of supplicant palms outstretched.

“If that is what you wish…” A fluttering voice answered, as if Hannibal existed on the very notion of providing whatever it was Will requested, happiness squarely placed above his own.

As if to reply, _we don’t have to live this life of cravings, of thriving on impulse, if it isn’t what you want._

“If it’s what we want.” Will pressed his forehead into one bent to stare at their hands seeking caress and comfort. “Always, remember?”

_We. And I want it. I want you._

Hannibal retrieved the cloth and began dabbing delicately across scabbed cuts and broken skin, sweeping away blood and replacing it with a sting of antiseptic. He kept eyes lowered, a shiver of a bottom lip the only sign of holding back words inside a mouth. The older man lingered a little too long on the shallow cut slicing through the wound on a stomach, flinching when hands reached out to keep his pressed over it, as if touching physically hurt.

“Hannibal…” Will crouched closer, squeezing fingers. “Hannibal, look at me.”

Jaw clenching, the older man screwed his eyes shut for just a moment, unable to make them go blank, before lifting red eyes, shadowed in loss and longing.

“You didn’t hurt me. I like knowing only you are burned into my skin to lie within my bones. I like being marked by you.” Soft lips pressed against silvery stands, touching left palms together, metal bands glinting in the morning light. “I like knowing I am yours. I'll be your canvas, to paint as you choose, to show the world what it is we have created.”

“Is it strange how we imbue our past into the mere objects we take from our former lives, carrying it with us as if our memories live on inside of them?” Hannibal asked, spinning the thin band of the younger man’s finger, weary creases marking his mouth.

“Who’s past are you giving me?” Will pulled Hannibal until they were sitting side by side, looking directly at each other, clasped hands resting on bent knees. “Yours?”

“My past is entwined with those of the family I lost. All sorrows and hopes gilded in silver to encase the lives it touched. How my father looked at my mother, eyes filled with absolute devotion even as life drained from his body. How my mother’s hands were warm silken reassurance on mine one last time. How the entirety of my heart fit inside a small trusting smile of my sister.” Light faded from rooms darkening in the corridors of eyes, one by one, snuffed out, until a single glimmer of candlelight remained. “I believe they would have trusted you to carry my life inside your chest, approved of you wearing my mother’s ring.”

“Do you trust me to take care of your memories as if they were my own, Hannibal?”

_I will take care of you. We are family now._

A weak smile played across lips before Hannibal leaned a head on Will’s shoulder, slumping as if he was suddenly exhausted from the weight lifted from his soul. “Thank you…” Whispers sweeping knuckles over face, placing a kiss against a neck.

“For what?”

“Entrusting me with your life,” A whisper replied, knuckles sweeping down a tan face before lips kissed a faint line across a stomach fondly.

“I think you continue to underestimate the lengths I will go to make you happy.” The younger man swept fingers into fine hair and held Hannibal there against him, above his heart. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Now? Or all those years ago?” Cracks broke through a steady echo of the past crashing into the present. “I see you painted in the hues of my imagination like sunlight filtering through a cloudy sky, vanishing only to reappear on different paths of our lives entwined.”

“You said yourself the horrors of our past led us to each other. I wouldn’t change that, any of it, even if I had known we would end up here…” Will stroked hair, fingertips curling around a neck, tracing patterns to the low hum of his voice. “We are here now, aren’t we? Together? A little more bruised and broken then when we started, but together none the less.”

Fingers tightened around his own, a tremor racing across skin in a shiver of uncertainty as if letting go meant it would all return to how it was, separated and waiting. “I will gild your wounds in gold and set your broken bones in silver to ensure you will always remember how precious you are to me. Even if I cannot speak it.”

“Then I’ll learn to listen differently.”

“I hope to provide you with nothing except comfort when we reach...”

“Yes?” The younger man let his head loll, to peer upside down into a placid face, breaking out an easy grin to banish scattering shards falling from eyes. “And where is it we are going?”

He felt their very molecules shift in the tiny room, dissolving into their normal routine of mock argument and banter. This was far easier to handle than feeling how fragile Hannibal was beneath his skin, aching, living in a state of purgatory while his mind tried to reconcile underexposed images of the past with ones filled with smiling faces.

The older man straightened, shoulders drawing back into a neat line, expression somber. “How would you feel about arranging a ceremony in Denmark?”

Will tried very hard not to laugh at the word ‘arrange’ as if it was just as simple as choosing a location, picking out a bunch of silly flowers, and showing up with rings in hand. He couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. He knew Hannibal already had some ludicrous suit fully made up and tailored in his mind, imagining Will with exquisitely coiffed hair and poetic lips. He also imagined a priest duck taped to his pulpit with no other choice but to bear witness.

“I suppose…” The younger man turned his back to a frown, tugging a white t-shirt over his head. “…that would depend on who it is you are planning on us becoming intimately familiar with to acquire a marriage license.”

He heard offended incredulity run across teeth. “And how do you know I have not already obtained it by more legal methods?”

“Because I know you well enough to know you have already outlined an elaborate plan. And I know we are in no position to follow the letter of the law.” Will jammed one leg and then another into a pair of jeans, twisting this way and that to pull them over a bruised ankle. He turned around, catching a fleeting glimpse of amusement in maroon eyes. “Just because my last marriage involved a simple ceremony at a courthouse during a lunch break does not mean I am completely clueless with the necessary steps to take before hand.”

Hannibal leaned back, nose scrunching, as if he had just placed a charred piece of steak in his mouth but refused to spit it back out to maintain an air of being polite. “Surely you do not expect me to agree to trivialize our momentous occasion over a forty five minute discourse? Particularly when I waited five years to merely hold your hand and six to finally—“

“Put a ring on it?” The younger man offered, reigning in twitching muscles trying to loose another grin.

“Propose in an appropriate fashion and hope beyond all reason you would accept,” He replied in flat monotone, blinking out a morse code of displeasure.

“I expect you to all but send in a written announcement to the local papers memorializing our engagement and nuptials like a seventeenth century gentleman.” Will tugged a pair of wrinkled ivory linen boxers from the suitcase and knelt between legs, pressing lips into a tight line to keep from laughing, particularly because he was a breadth away from a flush line of a cock.

Fingertips caught under his jaw, lifting a face up to glower. “Are you once again implying I am immortal or past my prime?”

The younger man scooped a hand around a torso, wriggling boxers up legs before allowing elastic to snap around a waist, with a teasing growl pressed to a throat. “Sometimes I think you practice a very particular version of selective hearing.”

“I have learned from the best how to do so.”

Will pushed Hannibal flat on the bed, clambering on top and tried to gather his face into some semblance of mock offense. “Uncalled for! Perhaps I will revoke your status as a gentleman, hm? I think we both can agree you are far from being past your prime. And that was not an invitation. I said ‘all but’ which means we will not be telegraphing our existence to _Tattle Crime_ and the general public.”

The older man smiled easily, as if he had planned out the entire exchange and gotten exactly what he wanted. “I would like the world to know you are mine.”

“And as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I would like to remain out of police custody.”

Winston peeked his head over the side of the bed, head crooked to the side, tail wagging and awaiting an invitation to play. Hannibal swept two fingers in motion, sighing dramatically as if he had absolutely no choice in the matter, and the dog hopped up on the bed, tiny paws struggling not to wobble against a foamy mattress.  

“You do not object to my proposed methods of persuasion to obtain what we require then?”

Will rolled between them to protect the older man’s arm, allowing the dog to pounce his chest, air wheezing out in a laugh. He ruffed fur vigorously down flanks and a neck, a crooked grin sliding towards the older man.

“Are you asking if I plan to jilt you at the altar or object to persuasion that almost certainly involves a main course of blackmail, extortion, and a side dish of violence?”

“I have several promising candidates for us to pursue.” A peaked nose tipped to the ceiling.

“You make it sound like an inquisitive game show rather than a string of crimes…”

There was singularly long pause when Hannibal just stared at him, coiled and unblinking “Do you fantasize about leaving me at the altar, Will?”

A quirking smile lifted lips. “I fantasize about many things with you, but I’m afraid to say that isn’t one of them. I rather enjoy remaining among the living even if no one knows it except you and Winston.”

The older man seemed to relax slightly, tone a gruff warning, “As long as you aware of the consequences.”

“I guess we have Freddie to thank for depicting us in an accurate light for once,” Will huffed, eyes rolling and watched the dog prance back and forth between them.

“I suspect you are right. Though I would rather it go unspoken as I find the very idea of thanking her disquieting.” After a moment, he said, "And distasteful."

Winston turned in a circle, exactly three times, before settling down with a head against paws.

“Where would you like to take our vows?”

Brown eyes flicked between turned faces gazing into eyes as if to listen closely for instructions, to play a role in their important day.

“If we are writing them, I am not promising anything floral and poetic so don’t get your hopes up. And it’s not like we have the luxury of choosing a venue.”

Will had never really given much thought about relationships, having never maintained them for more than a month or two, and had never thought he would be in one long term, let alone have the option of marrying, of anyone wanting to, at least not with him. When Molly proposed he had stared at her for a good ten minutes in silence, word turning over in his head, warmed in front of a bonfire before finding his mouth had opened and released the eloquent response of 'yeah sounds good.'

“I will buy an entire office of magistrates to give you whatever it is you desire.”

“Too many unknown variables and pockets to line. A secure location we can control is best. Would it be terrible if I asked for you to decide?” Heat rose in his cheeks, knowing the level of ostentation he was imagining in his mind paled in comparison to whatever the older man would actually plan. “That is unless you _want_ a courthouse wedding.”

Hannibal gave him a single look that suggested he might be hog tied to an open fire shortly and served for dinner if he continued. “I would sooner marry you in a seedy back alley pub, William.”

His eyebrows rose. _You would miss me._

 _Would I?_ Crimson eyes squinted.

_Admit it._

_With certainty?_

_Oh yes._ Dark lashes swept lazily down cheeks. _My mouth. My hands._ _And if you’re going to insist on eating me, well…_

“Oh now that _does_ sound romantic, doesn’t it?” Will replied with another smirk and scrambled up from the bed, startling the dog who jumped up to follow, just missing blurring hands intent on pinning him to the bed.

Hannibal propped up on an elbow, adjusting the sling around his shoulder and grumbled, “My current injuries have allowed you to become far too ill mannered for my liking.”

“Those injuries prevent you from doing anything about it, angel, which I find both amusing and an incentive to push my luck.” Will flashed a coy smile, stretching hands over his head and turning slightly to accentuate new found sailing muscles.

“There are parts of my anatomy which remain uninjured and have thus far been poorly tended to by the very young and handsome doctor living on this boat.” A red tongue wet lips, knees shuffling across the bed. “I suspect he will resent his future punishment when I have regained my strength.”

“Is that so?” Will asked loudly, glancing around the room as if someone else was stashed down there with them besides Winston. “I have been told I am the jealous and possessive type, Hannibal.” His voice dipped an octave as a mouth found a stretch of bare skin between waistband and hem of a shirt. “I would slit a man’s throat for touching you again.”

Hannibal growled, glowing eyes lifting from skin, muscles coiling to attack. Fingers latched around Will’s neck, yanking, hard mouth biting at his and drawing him into a series of rough kisses. He growled back, placing knees on either side of hips, sinking into a lap. He rolled shoulders into nails raking down his back, fisting strands of hair and sweeping his tongue across one inside a hot open mouth.

“If you wish to continue down this line of intrigue, I would prefer we do so in the comfort of our new home,” Hannibal panted, forcibly untangling and moving away till a safe distance separated them once more, pointing to the door for Will to go. “Where we can both relax in the comfort of warm water and a real bed. Which happens to be about thirty minutes west of here. That is if you think you can bear to separate your lips from mine long enough to do so.”

Jaw creaking to the left, Will crawled up the bed and settled over a body shivering beneath his, roughing denim lightly across bare skin. “Just for that I am going to dip the rails before we reach shore.”

“Is this…” Hannibal let his head fall back, throat bared. “…a euphemism from your generation?”

“Oh yes…” A wolfish smile glittered across teeth grazing down a chest. “And I suggest you grab a hold of something because it’s going to be a wild ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update! Word kept crashing (repeateddddly) and I kept having to start over~which I guess is what happens when you reach 800 pages? : p (And oh Hannibal, that is not what you think, and you are going to regret itttt.)


	127. Chapter 127

Stumbling off the boat onto a cement dock, Hannibal braced hands over knees and considered all the ways he could give thanks to having solid dry land under his feet. The planes of the earth could not yet be navigated by the beaming hellion waving at him from the helm with a white and black captain’s hat in one hand and a rather perturbed looking dog tucked under the other arm. Winston looked far more amused than he felt and considerably less seasick he imagined, if dogs were capable of having their insides violently thrown about and trying to heave out of one’s throat that is. He was about to snarl a sharp rebuke at flip flop feet coming into his peripheral, but opened his mouth and immediately snapped it shut to keep stomach contents from the night before where they belonged. Which also meant he had to listen to an entire litany of why flip flops were not appropriate footwear inside his own head.

A smile tipped into his view, all bright eyes and wind swept curls, and it was nearly offensive how lovely the younger man looked bathed in sunlight, sea foam dripping down a bare chest. “You aren’t looking so good, Hannibal,” Will noted, clutching aching sides to keep from laughing further and plopped the cap playfully on the older man’s head.

He had bought the pristine cap on a whim during an afternoon stop at a port near _St. Brieuc_ not because he thought Will would look handsome in part of a captain’s uniform, or that he had ulterior motives, but because he thought they both might find it amusing. If he was going to be ordered about, it might as well be in a mock official capacity. Or at least that’s what he told himself. That is until he started having vivid, reoccurring dreams of the younger man in the cap and nothing else. He had stashed it somewhere in their kitchen cabinetry so well even he had forgotten about it. How Will found it, just to torture and steer them to certain death, was beyond him. He wanted to growl what an absolute abuse of power it was, but that required opening his mouth and he wasn’t willing to yet take the risk. He imagined Will would cobble together a temporary insanity plea once more and get off scot free with a flirtatious smile.

“Here.” The younger man was laughing again, tugging the cap to an askew angle on his head before loosening the sling and helping him into a half buttoned white linen shirt. Dress shoes, forgoing the courtesy of socks, slipped onto his feet. “In all fairness, I did warn you, ya know.”

Hannibal shot him a dagger glare, lip curling in response. Winston trotted around feet, nosing at his calves anxiously, and whined up at him as if to ask if he was going to end up face first on the ground at any moment. He had barely managed to pull on a pair of trousers before some demon had taken possession of the little sailboat and had it keeling hard into waves. He had been thrown unceremoniously across the bed, rolling over its surface, and landing a few feet from a snoring dog tucked in a plush bed sliding across the floor. Brown eyes had considered him with a brief look of annoyance having been disturbed by his abrupt landing before closing again. At first, he thought they had run into rough waters off the coast of Denmark. His second thought had been perhaps they were capsizing and he would soon be fighting the ocean once more, this time with Will and a dog in tow, to yet another shoreline. His third thought was one of a high shrieked siren going off in his mind, propelling him unnaturally quick up the ladder, prepared to dive after a sinking figure pitched from the helm. And then there was Will, little ocean drenched succubus, looking over his shoulder, who had the sheer audacity to laugh in loud and clear tones before spinning the wheel into another sharp turn, leaving Hannibal gripping the leather bench for dear life.

Will had his fun, silver rails of the boat slicing through ocean water, boat at a near forty five degree angle, and grinning wider when Hannibal shouted demands for him to desist. This continued for the next fifteen minutes. After which he had abruptly lost his voice, the younger man refusing to heed any command in blatant insubordination. And for those minutes the older man was certain he saw life flash before his eyes on several occasions, at one point, clutched to a bare waist afraid it would be the last embrace he might receive. In a stranglehold of the world spinning, he vaguely remembered mumbling incoherent threats followed by how much he would adore Will even in death and whatever lay in wait after. Then and only then, did the sailboat tip itself to its appropriate and dignified right angle, and navigate towards the small port of _Hvide Sande_. The younger man put an arm around his waist to keep him at an appropriate vertical angle as well until they reached the docks, where Hannibal practically flung himself overboard to reach land.

Caught between arms holding him steady against a railing, Will grinned again, motioning towards the boat and asked teasingly, “Would you like me to get our luggage or would you? Or do you just want me to do all the work?”

If he never got on any kind of vessel bound for open water for the remainder of his time on this earth, the older man would be content. Unable to form an answer without opening his mouth, Hannibal narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, teeth snapping out at stretching tendons in a neck.

“Hey! Hey!” He was easily batted away, curls shaking into dancing eyes. “No biting!” The younger man turned abruptly on his heel to head back towards the sailboat tied to the dock, mumbling under his breath, “Jeez, Winston is better behaved than you are sometimes I swear. Aren’t you, boy? Yes, I know. Your father is absolutely no fun, I agree.”

Stumbling like an unseemly drunkard down the dock, Hannibal managed to find a stretch of white sandy beach and in a complete lack of grace or caring, fell against it with a groan. Oh how he would yell till his voice was hoarse once more when it returned. Right after the entire world stopped spinning. He flopped onto his back against shifting ground, eyes closing to shut out swirling clouds against a blue sky and tried to ignore how much he hated the feeling of sand in his shoes. He sighed, letting the sun warm his face and began a mental checklist of all the appropriate punishments that came to mind.

“Napping again? Really? Do you do _anything_ else when you aren’t busy carving people into steaks?”

Holding a hand over his eyes to block out the sun, the older man looked in the direction of the voice. Will had two small suitcases tucked under his right arm and was dragging the largest leather one behind them, eyes narrowed and heels digging in to pull it along with nearly inaudible grumbles. Even Winston was pulling his weight, leash clamped between teeth and trotting as it made lines in the sand. Out of the three of them, Hannibal chose to remain useless, either out of spite or because the idea of putting any kind of weight against his stomach by carrying something made him even more nauseated. He suspected the pallor of his skin resembled a shade of green from a kelp bed they had floated across. Given that this was _all_ Will’s fault anyway, he figured it was time for him to play the chivalrous role for a change. Which at the moment might include carrying him across a threshold and tucking him into bed.

He glared up at the offered hand, moaning when taking it resulted in him standing and stumbling after blurry figures across a tilt-a-whirl landscape. For a few moments, he eyed the red leash trailing across the sand and considered tying it around his waist, lifeless body dragged by growling teeth and rough leathery paws. By the time they reached rolling hills, he thought about how exactly difficult it might be to remove mud and grass stains from white linen. He had already ruined one set of garments that week. If this was going to continue, he would be in need of an entirely new wardrobe. They skirted the edges of a small town nestled inside emerald green and colorful spots of wildflowers on foot.

“Are we vacationing in Middle Earth or what?” The younger man mused out loud, stopping abruptly and stepping out of the way just in time to keep Hannibal from running straight into him. Bags dropped to the ground, arms catching around his waist to keep him from falling as he stumbled. “…Never mind. Look, if I am going to have to put you into a fireman’s carry over my shoulder, I will need to know where we are going.”

Hannibal paled a few shades lighter at the mere mention of being tossed or turned upside down, muttering incoherent protests, and pointed down a winding dusty path. They trudged along in silence, watching a golden dog race ahead of them to discover what rested over the hill and stake out the most suitable branches for fetch. Will paused, shifting the brown suede bag on top of the largest suitcase, and put the black leather medical bag in his left hand, extending an arm towards the older man with an amused smile. Sighing, he took the arm offered, locking their fingers together around the small handle to share the weight. He was either going to have to learn to start saying no or give up the pretense of being able to do so altogether. It was becoming clear to him Will would, ninety five percent of the time, have his way and Hannibal would simply have to come to terms with caving and giving in, or in less pitiful terms, acquiescing to his every whim and request. He tried very hard to scowl at the thought, heart fluttering in his chest and knees weakening from more than another dizzy wave, when another smile was cast his direction. Well, that answered that.

Coming up over a slope, wispy white queen anne’s lace and pink marguerites speckled a wide meadow fanning out around an ember colored brick cottage. Tiny square windows dotted in triangle formation to the right of the door, winding around the front before disappearing. Broken clay and various smooth stones cemented to form a path leading up to the front door. Giant dogwood trees in full bloom cast shade over the west end of a shingled roof, looping a swinging hammock between them. Winston was already bounding through wildflowers and chasing playfully after a ground squirrel, bushy tail twitching in annoyance as it scampered up a tree. Varying trees spiraled out in the wake of rustling petals, filling a gentle breeze in a twitter of birds calling out to one another. In the distance, a sapphire blue ocean twinkled an invitation for them to float in balmy waters rippling around spindly legs of an ivory great egret turning its head to acknowledge their arrival. Nestled near the back of the house, a small herb garden was blocked in by stacks of bricks and netting.

“It’s…” Will cast eyes around the vast green surrounding, taking it all in, softer smile reaching his eyes. “…so quiet. And peaceful.”

Hannibal grunted an agreement, stooping to retrieve a brass key from beneath potted tulips placed next to a white washed door covered in an intricate design of stained glass depicting a rising sun. The lock clicked open. Will scooped an arm around his waist to assist the older man inside, setting bags down, and entered a sunlit parlor. He motioned towards a cabriole wooden chair propped next to a chestnut grandfather clock and gratefully sank against a sun bleached cushion, eyes closing. He listened to Winston barking happily outside at everything that moved. He listened to floorboards creak as the younger man moved about through the cozy three room, one level cottage littered in Victorian furniture, lace doilies, and palette knife oil paintings of the seaside framed in crackled brown wood. He had made arrangements to rent the house for the summer months from an older couple vacationing in Brussels, winning them over with eloquent exchanges of handwritten notes and an envelope of cash. He thought about offering to purchase the property outright, but heard Will in the back of his mind scoffing about what an unnecessary waste of money it would be. He would broach the subject again at the end of their stay and see if the younger man was more willing to make the purchase of a summer vacation home then.

“There sure are a lot of canned fruits and jam in this kitchen…” A muffled voice called, bare feet shuffling near. “You had better have some of these until I can find you something else to settle your stomach.” Packaging crinkled. “Open up.”

Creaking an eye open, Hannibal found a saltine cracker waving in front of his face with Will crouched down beside him, looking up expectantly. He glanced at the cracker then at blue eyes then at the cracker again, nose tilting up in the air a fraction of an inch. His stomach roiled at the very thought of eating. And surely there had to be something more suitable than— The cracker was jammed into his mouth, teeth clinking shut by force. It was quite salty. And also very stale.

“Aghh, you are so stubborn sometimes!” Will huffed, getting to his feet and shoving the package against a slumped chest. “I am going to take Winston for a walk and see if we can rustle up a few groceries in town. In the mean time, try not to pass out like the fragile little flower you are and eat those.”

Hannibal tried to move from the chair. He really did. He had every intention of tackling the younger man into the nearest wall to remind him that he was absolutely neither of those things. It was going to take a lot more than some crackers, which were not even buttered for flavor, to get out of a sound verbal lashing. But every single muscle, all at the same time, rebelled against him and refused to cooperate. The end result was him growling pitifully after the younger man retreating out the front door and remaining where he was, unable to insist on doing the grocery shopping and horrified at what might be brought home instead. He tossed the captain’s hat onto a coffee table. Rustling open plastic, the older man crunched unhappily on crackers and glowered at suitcases by the front door before closing eyes and drifting off to sleep.

 

*

“Geez, Hannibal…” Light danced off wind chimes swaying in the breeze. “When I said eat some I didn’t mean all of them.” Rough fingers pried crumpled packaging from a hand, low laughter brushing across a forehead. “I guess Winston and I are just going to have to go sailing without you from now on, huh?”

The older man groaned, shifting stiff muscles against a chair and grumbled, “You…are…insufferable.”

“Ah there you are,” Will replied, kneeling between knees with a rosy smile, a large brown paper bag hanging in the crook of one arm and a case of questionable glass beer bottles in the other. “Think you can make it to the kitchen without falling flat on your ass? Or should I sit these down?”

Crimson eyes followed a suntanned mop of curls rounding a corner. “Rude…”

Winston poked a head through the door propped open with a small rock, glanced around, and barreled back out into the sunshine. Pushing away from the safety of the chair, Hannibal was pleased to find he could manage to walk in a straight line again, even if it was in an unbearable shuffle of nearly tripping over his own two feet. He had been drunk once, maybe twice, in his entire life and he could honestly say that both of those times were far more pleasant than the disembodied sensation he was currently experiencing. He used to be much more resilient in his youth, barely phased by physical injury, yet one simple sailboat later and here he was. He grumbled under his breath that he was not ageing, just tired, and weathered by the harrowing journey to shore. He heaved into another chair placed beside a tiny table, gazing around at quaint cherry cabinets carved in grapevines and plopped his chin on crossed forearms, silently threatening to go back to sleep if the younger man even thought of passing off hard cider ale as a drinkable substance.

A robin’s egg blue package of fresh crackers tipped onto the ceramic counter, boasting in swirling script to be baked in olive oil and sprinkled in fresh cracked black peppercorns. He made a mute sound of appreciation. Will glanced at him, head shaking, before pulling out a plastic fizzing bottle with a Christmas green and red label of ginger ale. A tall glass of champagne colored liquid, without even a single ice cube in it, was pushed his direction with an arrangement of crackers shaken out in a chipped bowl.

“You cannot actually expect me to consume this,” Hannibal noted, eyeing the glass suspiciously before slipping a cracker into his mouth.

“I can…” Will cracked open a glass bottle, leaning lazily against the counter before taking a long swig. “And I do.”

He watched as remaining contents of groceries, whatever horrors they might be, were slid into a fridge inside the paper bag. If there was even a single bag of those artery clogging orange puffs Will called Cheetos in that fridge, Hannibal was marching him right back to whatever five and dime excuse for a store they came from and having them returned immediately. Or it could be worse. He cringed. They might be some form of hotdogs wrapped in bacon passed off as an all American meal. Or those tiny containers slotted off to compartmentalize bits of red sauce, pepperoni, and crumbly bread he had seen in an obscene deli counter once, entitled: Lunchables Pizza. He had practically wrestled it out of the younger man’s curious hands and thrown it across the counter. He had suffered through an eight minute discourse on why Will was never allowed to simply order a pizza and how rude it had been for Hannibal to scold a mother for feeding “poly-saturated swill” to her child.

A curving bottle tipped in his direction to point at the glass. “You’ll do it if you ever want to eat without the idea of vomiting ever again. Drink it. I’m telling you, you’ll feel better.”

“I adamantly refuse.”

“Suit yourself.” Will shrugged, brushing passed him with bottle in hand and down a hall, calling, “I’ll just have to take a soothing hot bath in this olympic sized garden tub all by myself then.”

For about twenty seconds, Hannibal glared at the bubbly liquid and it winked back at him mockingly. He drained the contents, coughing on the rush of fizz, and ambled towards the sounds of swishing water. He pushed the second door on the left open. Amber colored glass perched on the edge of a porcelain tub rumbling to life with small water jets. A rumpled shirt was balled up beside feet. Will was balanced against the sink, eyes screwed shut, and clutching his leg hovering above a tiled floor. The older man crossed the room quickly, hands curving around a shuddering waist, and lifting to place him on the countertop. Head tipping back against a mirror, Will let him place a bare foot against his chest and roll denim up a calf to examine his ankle. A hiss left lips when he touched red swollen skin, glancing up for an explanation.

“Twisted it in a rut on the way back. It’s nothing,” The younger man insisted, wincing as light pressure prodded flesh. “I’ll be fine.”

“You would like me to believe twisting a rolled ankle you have barely allowed to heal is ‘nothing?’ To what end?” Hannibal peeled off jeans and boxers down legs, guiding the younger man into steaming water. He rolled up a small towel and placed it behind a head. “To ease my conscience? Or prove you are well enough to care for me even in the midst of suffering?”

Weary blue eyes eased open, ring clicking against an edge. “I would like to remind you of all the conversations we have had just like this in the last few weeks before you start being all judgmental.”

Rummaging around in the cabinet, Hannibal pulled out a glass jar of salts and unscrewed the lid, inhaling a scent of lavender before tipping a generous amount into the tub. He dropped clothes next to the ones on the floor before climbing in across from the younger man, lowering into soothing water jets and easing aching shoulders against them. He placed his palm over a wet hand before handing the beer across the rippling body of water. As long as he didn’t have to drink it, he suspected it would be all right. He would replace it with a fine decanter of whiskey later. Will took the bottle with a wry smile of indulgence, stretching out and tucking toes beside thighs, sipping quietly. Scooping up a handful of salts, the older man began to lightly massage the bruised ankle, running fingertips soothingly up a calf every time a leg twitched or the younger man pulled for release.

“Might you consider doing something for me, Will?” Hannibal asked softly, turning a wrist over and tracing gentle circles into it with a thumb.

“Hmm…” Will took in a deep breath and released it, struggling to sit up, limp curls dripping down the side of his neck. “Sure. What do you need?”

“Firstly, would you be so kind as not to gamble with my very life in pursuit of your high risks thrills?”

A corner of a lip ticked. “I’ll consider it. And the other thing?”

The older man bent forward, tugging on a hand. Will scooted closer, knees bent and ankles hooked in a sitting position, waiting for instruction. Hannibal cupped a firm hand around a head, pressing into the seam of warm lips and prying them open with a wet tongue. He took a bottle from loosening fingers, setting it on the floor, intent on drawing out any remaining argument with a breathless kiss. Sighing against him, the younger man crumpled against a chest when released, twisting to the side to allow arms to envelope and stroke down skin.

“Thank you, dear one…” Hannibal murmured, drifting a chin across curls. “I would like to be able to care for you this week. While I am grateful for your poor bedside manner while tending to my every need, you also are in dire need of rest.”

“Didn’t agree to that,” Will mumbled, nestling closer, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, lashes drifting over eyes. “Don’t need to rest.” He yawned, fingers splaying out across a bicep. “Not tired. Just…comfortable.”

“Mmhm…” Curls looped around playful fingers.

“Feels…nice…”

“Mmm.” The older man shifted slightly, gathering the body between arms and knees, closing eyes to settle into floral scents wafting through steam. “Go to sleep or I will have to revisit the terms of your punishment.”

A cheek brushed across skin. “Yeah yeah…super scary cannibal…threatening puns…afraid of a little water…got it.”

Kissing the top of a head, Hannibal couldn’t help but smile at the residual smugness gathering inside a sleepy grumble. If the strength of his body was going to dwindle and the threat of his teeth wane, and Will remained by his side throughout it all with sharp quips and tender smiles, then he might acquiesce to the idea of growing old as long as they were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super salty (no pun intended) grumbly Hannibal, haha. And does anyone else remember Lunchables? Those things were horrible for you!


	128. Chapter 128

For nearly a week, Will drifted in state of endless dreaming, one moment giving way to the next. Time unraveled in ebbs of sensation with every passing day. Each morning he woke to the cleansing stream of rain running down the roof, pattering against a windowsill letting in a cool damp breeze through a screen. Sweet fragrance of wildflowers rustled a cocoon of cotton sheets. He felt skin and silken hair pressed against him. Dampened earth and high notes of rosemary clung to fingertips buried in the garden only moments ago. They slowly traced contours of his body, following a path dipping over his shoulder to his waist then down his thigh, awakening each nerve ending in band of white gold until he stirred. Teeth grazed the column of his neck. Tongue and mouth pressed silent words into his skin. Sometimes words foreign and low brushed across his ear. Each sensation achingly tender forms of worship. His eyes often slipped open to grey light, tangled words breathing out in a light gasp to a hum of pleasure before coming in a tight grip or wet mouth. Hannibal would flatten him to the tiny bed in a slick glide of searching hands and hips before drawing his mouth open in a sweet, slow rhythm of lips. His heart never failing to falter in the moments maroon eyes gazed down, commanding palms and mouth lulling him back to sleep until well into the afternoon.

In consciousness, he was told to rest, to allow himself to be cared for in a series of elegantly prepared meals brought to him in bed at all hours. In sleep, his subconscious painted him along the shores of Louisiana at high tide for hours at a time, rain pouring down in a rush of ocean salt against his upturned face. He felt uneasy there. Uncertain. As if he was searching for something to quell the lonely nights and haunting dreams. Will remained until threading fingers pulled him back with reverent caress and soft prayer. He shuddered beneath intonations of the unspoken, without being able to explain a shift inside his heart, a light patter whispering what he knew inside his mind. This was different somehow. Something had quietly changed. He felt it in his bones like a shiver of a winter chill. With every lingering glance and touch, an overwhelming ache washed over him, until the expanse of skin draped over his form trembled. Then he saw it, a glimmer in eyes, briefly flickering when he sighed those three words against lips and he had nearly stopped breathing. He realized what he was feeling. Hannibal loved him. He knew, of course, he knew. They had said it in greater words. They had showed it in teeth and blood. But Will _felt_ it like a knife twisting in his chest, to find last walls remaining between them resting in war torn rubble at their feet. He crumbled with it, holding close to tenderness he never thought he deserved, let alone knew he needed. And god if didn’t need Hannibal in first rays of morning light to hold him and to rest his weary head against in the fleeting sunset after, when all was calm and quiet, when only they existed.

“Stay,” Will murmured into lips, tongue sweeping out to trap a drawling growl against his teeth, calves sliding up hips rolling against him. “Stay with me.”

Silver hair brushed against the curve of his neck. “On your stomach please.”

Hannibal blanketed a spine, curling fingers together above their heads as he caressed kisses along the fringe of darkened shadows at the nape of a neck. Will pushed his shoulder into teeth as skin broke, arms jerking underneath heavy biceps. Breath burned his face buried in a pillow. He shuddered as hands guided his wrists to a tarnished metal frame, cuffs clicking around them as a forearm slipped underneath his navel. Rain soaked hair trailed after a mouth welding kisses over each vertebrae, droplets pooling in divots of his lower back. He listened to sheets rustling as the older man moved further still. A palm slid between his thighs, knee nudging legs until they fell open. The younger man moaned as a tongue swept lightly between cheeks. He tried to rise to knees, firmly pushed down before caress gentled once more. Floor boards creaked as Hannibal got on his knees, pulling him to the edge of the bed, arms stretched taut against the frame. A cold tip of a nose traced a swell of flesh before a tongue slipped into muscle stretched by long fingers minutes before.

“Oh Hannibal…” Will released breathless moans of his name, trying to wriggle hips against the tongue spearing him open with unhurried strokes. “God, you feel so good.”

Appreciative rumbles vibrated against him. His toes curled, knees kneading against a mattress as a finger joined a swirling tongue, rubbing his prostrate in firm sweeps. Gripping a creaking frame, Will tried to grind hips forward to seek friction, stomach sticky from a leaking cock. He whimpered when hands held him place, tentative strokes making every inch of him throb against a constant building pressure. He buried a pitiful whine into a downy pillow, longing for the sensation of being filled to return. He gasped as nails criss crossed his back. Fingers tugged at his hair to free his mouth. Hannibal craned his head to suck bite marks down a neck, grinding a thick cock draped in fine fabric against an ass to the metronome of panting fluttering against his ear, shallow and quick.

Lips kissed the skin behind an ear. “How divine you taste in the morning, Will.”

“Mmm…” Blue eye slid open as weight lifted from the mattress, limbs tucked carefully beneath sheets. “If I am so divine, why aren’t you doing anything about it? And why…” Will rolled up on his side, arms nearly breaking from the restraints around his wrists, and glared at the addition of more clothing and not less. “…are you dressing?”

A tipping smile appeared over shoulders draped in moonlight navy ticked in grey plaid. “Did I not forewarn of you of impending consequences, Will?”

“Oh.” Hot breath lingered on a pink tongue nipped between teeth. “You have got to be kidding me.” The younger man glanced at cuffs and then a tie knotting neatly into place at a throat. “Exactly how many more ways can I express _I want you_ , Hannibal, for you to understand?”

“Yes…” A bobbing cock draped in handsome outlines of sheets hitched as crimson gaze lingered on it. “…that is fairly evident given the state you are in.”

Will yanked on handcuffs, glowering as Hannibal rolled him back onto his stomach, palming a generous handful of his ass and purred into his ear, “Why don’t you lie here for a few hours and give some serious thought to your most recent decisions? And give grave consideration to the words: reckless boy.”

“Hannibal, I swear to God if—“ His threats fell on deaf errors.

Teeth flashed in another disarming smile. “I am afraid I have some errands to attend to. I will take Winston out to leave you in peace.” His thin silver burner phone flopped down on the pillow beside him. “I have taken the liberty of setting up the voice activation on your cell. You may call if you need me.”

“Wait!” The younger man howled, catching a glimpse of plaid gliding out the door, shoes tapping down a hall. “Are you—you’re not seriously going to leave me like this!” His shouts rose above a rattling the bed frame. “Hannibal. Hannibal! Hann—“

The front door ground shut.

Burying his face in pillows, Will thumped his head against them while interchangeably cursing and snapping teeth in frustrated snarls. Of course. Of course he would feel lulled into a state of complete relaxation, thinking his punishment had been forgiven or temporarily forgotten, before Hannibal would strike. He should have known better. And now he was cuffed to a bed, biting into a pillow for other reasons than to stifle screams of pleasure, and currently immobilized to seek any kind of relief from an unbearable ache between his legs caused by an hour of nimble fingers and rimming. The perfect plan really. If only he had been the one to think of it.

 _Painful sexual frustration courtesy of Doctor Hannibal Lecter, PHD_. He snorted. _Idiot should have just gotten a doctoral degree in that instead of psychiatry._

Will managed a restless sleep for at least two hours. Burning fantasies of Hannibal spread out on their dining room table as he was buried balls deep into him jolted him awake with a hiss. Pre-come pooled against his navel. His arms ached. Sheets felt rough on his skin, cloying and too hot as he tried to kick them off. Now he was pissed, lonely, and wanted to fuck.

Jamming his chin into a pillow, he cast a sideways glare at a gleaming phone and growled, “Call, Hannibal.”

“I’m sorry,” A robotic voice chirped happily. “I did not recognize that name. Who would you like me to call?”

“Call…” He squeezed eyes shut, teeth gritting. “Hannibal Lecter.”

“I’m sorry. I did not—

Blue eyes snapped open. “Oh you smug son of a bitch.” Will tilted his head towards the phone, lips curling up in a snarling smirk. “Call Doctor Lecter.”

“One moment please.” A dial tone sounded briefly, cheery voice announcing, “Calling Doctor Lecter.”

He hated him. That had to be it. He had just crossed wires along the way and bitter resentment turned to lust turned to love.

Will grew more agitated as the phone rang. And rang. And rang, rubbing wrists raw as he tried to escape cuffs, picturing all the ways he would take Hannibal by surprise when he got home if he did. He could practically feel a fistful of hair in his hands, bruised skin beneath his teeth, and the rug burns that would last for weeks on knees other than his own. He wanted him sore and begging. But first he had to answer the goddamn phone.

Static clicked, exotic accent crackling against the speaker. “Hello, Will. Are you having a nice rest?”

“Where the fuck are you?” He snarled down at a blank screen.

He felt the older man smiling by the way his tone lightened, knowing his head was slightly tilted at an angle, blinking lazily. “Geographically? Or at this moment in time?”

He was going to kill him. Or kiss him. Or fuck him. God, who gave license for a voice to sound that sweetly teasing and irrationally maddening all at the same time?

“ _Either_. Take your pick.”

“You sound very tense, dear one. Is everything well?”

“Did you just—“

“A moment please.”

Will stared at the phone, mouth hanging open by a slack jaw and nearly screamed. Was he being put on hold? If the doctor still had a secretary, she would surely be taking his name and number by now, or blasting terrible elevator music. Hannibal had to have a sincere desire to be covered in bruises or a death wish. Because he did not just hear a hand slip over the receiver and tell him, after leaving him like this, to wait a moment.

“Yes, darling, very good.”

His head snapped up at the lavishing tone and  sweet endearment, skin flushing hot, and muscles coiling. “Who the fuck did you just call darling, Hannibal? You might as tell me now so I know who I am going to fucking kill besides you!”

“Mmhmm…” Fabric rustled against the receiver as if Hannibal was balancing it between chin and shoulder to keep his hands free. “My fiancé is also very sensitive to certain chemical attributes. I endeavor to provide him with only the best in every possible way.”

Will struggled to get closer to the phone as if he could press into the warmth of hands, word ringing in his ears and flipping his stomach in fluttering somersaults. Light laughter had him nuzzling an edge of the pillow. No, he was definitely going to kiss that man before any acts of murder were committed. He might even accept whatever ridiculous high priced cologne was being bought first.

“How are these? The leather seems supple enough, but are they comfortable for long durations of time?

Jesus Christ, was Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter actually perusing a…

“Are you…” His mouth went dry, cock jerking in a tight line.

No, couldn’t be.

“Ah, I see. And these are of a higher caliber and quality?”

It was a physical impossibility.

A throaty whisper knotted on his tongue. “Where… are you?”

Time and space would surely be torn apart.

“And this one there? What are you thoughts on its unusual design?”

Will barely realized cuffs were biting into his wrists, straining to get closer, listening intently to the rise and fall of a voice with bated breath.

“It sounds like your boyfriend is a charming young man. Given his accolades and your professional opinion, I am intrigued. Honestly, I had no idea that was even a possibility. Would it make an appropriate wedding gift?”

He practically jumped when the rumbling voice addressed him in hushed tones.

“Are you still there, dearest?”

“Yeah…” His voice warbled out in a husky whisper.

“Did you know there is a company in Switzerland that is capable of creating premium sex toys to specific measurements and specifications of the intended user?”

Oh god. He was.

Will face planted on the floor, heart seizing up, choking on his own tongue. Or he would have had he not been attached to the damn bed frame. The choking part was very real. He was sputtering and coughing on heat flooding his cheeks pink and spreading down his chest. In a cinematic loop, he saw Hannibal running hands across expensive silks in a posh mood lit store, the kind where nothing bore a price tag and if you needed to ask, it was most likely an obscene amount of money. He had shadowed the older man in plenty of upscale tailors and enough pretentious farmer’s markets to know exactly how he might look examining a glass case full of sex toys, leather cuffs, and things that would make him blush from head to toe. And admittedly had. When he explored in the privacy of his own home out of curiosity in Wolf Trap. And once again when Molly had dragged him into a garden variety adult store on vacation for lingerie. He had lingered too long at a display, hands shoved in pockets, side eyeing a black petal ribbed vibrator and found his mind drifting to how it might feel inside him. If it was better than a fumbling search of fingers. If it might feel like…

Hannibal called out to him. “Will? Will? I am going to have to hang up on you for a moment. I’ll call you from the car.”

The phone clicked off.

“Fuuuck...” The younger man groaned, slumping to the bed.

In the absence of a voice, his mind immediately took hold of the wheel and began steering him down a dangerous path, which only ended with him muffling helpless panting. He ground his cock against the mattress. He was trying to remember the last time he was this desperate and grew harder at the flickering memories of endless fellatio.

Will scrabbled towards the phone, hitting a flashing green button with his nose before snapping, “ _What?_ ”

“’What’ is not an appropriate way to greet someone. Particularly not the man you claim to love.”

There it was. That lilt of an easy smile.

"I am considering revoking that privilege!"

“It sounds like your tension has risen to pivotal frustration, Will. Is there anything I might be able to do to help?”

“Oh, I think we are beyond help, Hannibal. You are the reason I am in this mess in case you had forgotten.”

Packages crinkled into the back seat. “How careless of me to forget then?”

“Where the hell are you? And when in Christ’s name are you coming home!”

Leather wisped. A car door rattled shut. Keys clicked an engine to life.

“Hannibal!” Will shouted, certain for a moment he had been put on hold again before his voice echoed over car speakers.

“Is it all you have been able to concentrate on since I left you?” Hannibal asked in a gravely growl. “If you might be allowed to come in my hand or perhaps in my mouth?”

“Please don’t.” He assumed his muffled plea was lost to downy feathers.

“You’ll have to be more specific if there is something I am doing you wish for me to stop.” A pause crackled. “Would you like me to continue?”

“What did you buy?” Will demanded crossly, scooting up on the bed to relax arms, trying to think about anything except how sheets were dragging across a tight cock.

“A few necessities to tide us over while we are here. Several of those include…” A pause filled the space between them. “Organic lubricant. A pristine pair of leather cuffs. And a rather interesting looking vibrator recommended to me by a rather sweet pink haired girl behind the counter. She regaled me with several tales about how much her boyfriend appreciated it. I also acquired a business card for the company she spoke of.”

“Jesus…” He pressed the words into a bite along his wrist, eyes closing, wishing it was the older man.

“I, however, did not share with her how I would like to fuck you open with it until you screamed in between preparations for risotto.”

“ _Christ_!” Yanking violently on the bed frame, Will struggled into an unsteady kneeling position, trying to wrench his hands through bars to thrust into a tight grip.

“Do you think a cabernet sauvignon might pair nicely with earthy undertones of our meal?”

“Hannibal, I don’t give a fuck about your wine choices!” He swore louder, fingertips barely brushing precome staining a thick head. “I just need to—”

“Lie down, Will.” Leather gloves gripped a wheel. “Lie down! You will cause yourself injury.”

A bed frame creaked as he flopped back down on the mattress, rolling hips shamelessly against sheets, groaning.

“Though I would prefer you practice patience, I am content with listening to the symphony you are creating for me as well.”

“ _Talk_.” The younger man ordered harshly, sweat beading against his chest the more he struggled.

“I am not sure I need to speak for you to remember in perfect detail how hot my tongue was buried inside you…” He heard Hannibal swallow. “Or how you taste of the ocean when I lick up your thigh to the swollen head of your cock.”

Fabric shifted over leather and Will wondered if the older man was spreading his legs or palming his cock. He clung to thin brass bars, rutting faster, hard breathing giving way to moans. He was close. If he could just…

“How loudly you moan my name on all fours as I pull your hair and fuck you hard the way you like. Now stay where you are!”

Brakes screeched still. An engine cut. A door shuddered open on an interior wall.

“God, I fucking need you! Please, Hannibal.”

Dress shoes pounded across hardwood. Something clattered in the kitchen. A curse followed by a low warning growl.

His voice pitched higher. “Hannibal!”

“Oh Will…” Bags crumpled to the floor, breath hitching.

Hannibal yanked off handcuffs, throwing them across the room, fracturing a mirror in their wake. He flipped Will onto his back, gazing at pink cheeks dripping in tears and sweat. The younger man yanked a final demand on a pale blue tie before collapsing. Gloved hands gripped his thighs, wrapping them around a waist. He moaned into fine wool, bucking up as the older man rolled onto his back, hands firmly guiding hips and cock in a rough grind against a pelvic bone. Red eyes glowed, fingers digging into flesh. Will cried out a moment later, struggling to breathe, come striped across a fine suit and arms came gently around a body twitching with aftershocks.

“I…” The younger man struggled to break free, giving up, grumbling, “…really fucking hate loving you sometimes.”

Lips tenderly traced forming bruises on his wrists. “My sincerest apologies for having been away for more time than I expected…”

Will rolled his eyes, shaking beneath the slightest touch and huffed, “Kiss me, you stubborn ass, before I change my mind.”

Hannibal maneuvered them onto their sides facing each other, running leather clad fingers down a neck and staring at him with a grave expression. He was holding red wrists as if they might break. They didn’t hurt that much. Just stung a little. But to hell with saying anything if he was offering to kiss them better. Will knew if he waited the older man would continue to stare, as if he was powerless to move, or the world itself might come to an end. Christ, he really did love him. And if they didn't kill each other first, Will suspected Hannibal might always love him and it hurt more than it should. He really shouldn’t find it this endearing to bring the most terrifying man of their time to his knees with a single glance or petulant reprimand.

The younger man kissed lips lightly over and over, running thumbs down woolen lapels before curling close and whispering, “Welcome home, Hannibal.”

He would just have to hurt then, until he knew how to see and understand all he needed was there beside him. And Hannibal wasn't going anywhere. He was right there. In waking dreams or blissful consciousness. Maybe he always had been. 

“It is always pleasure to return home knowing you are waiting for me, William.” Hannibal breathed, as if life itself had returned to his lungs, exhale sending ripples through a tender gaze. “Would you like to open your gifts? Or shall I present them to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forecasts of shameless make up smut in the very, very near future.


	129. Chapter 129

A little to the left. A minuscule nudge to the right. A turn of a packaged corner. Hannibal stared down at the arrangement of parcels spread out across the end of the bed and continued to adjust them one by one, nails fidgeted at the inner curve of his palm anxiously as he waited for the appraisal of dusky blue to take in his humble offering. This continued for several minutes until fingers caught his wrist and a low chuckle pressed to the sensitive underside.

“Your obsessive compulsive attention to detail is beginning to show,” Will noted, tipping over onto his stomach, one leg swinging in the air, and holding tight to the hand wrapped around a long rectangular box.

Hannibal pressed his lips in a perturbed slant, loosening the tie at his throat and began stripping out of the top half of stained clothing, grumbling under breath, “I appreciate a well aligned aesthetic.”

Tissue paper crinkled open. Lids from tiny boxes shimmed off to the side.

“You are making it very difficult to concentrate, Hannibal.”

“Am I?” The older man glanced over his shoulder, slipping the clasp open on his watch and sitting it carefully in a dresser drawer.

Will hummed a low note of disapproval, wrenching eyes away from branded flesh and returned to half opened parcels to examine their contents. His fingers tapped across a glass jar with a knowing smile before sitting it on the nightstand. He turned over a glazed blue bottle of massage oil, popping the cork and allowing a scent of rich amber free. It was placed next to its predecessor. He pawed through the rest of an ivory bag of various scrubs, shampoo, and pale colored soaps all delicately wrapped and labeled in handwritten script. He peeled the lid off a rectangular box, touching dark tones of silk and linen boxers. His index finger fondly traced scrawling white calligraphy stitched to the chest of a midnight blue silk robe of W.L. There was a matching crimson one beneath inscribed with H.L.

“Monograms?” The younger man looked up, fingers playing across raised embroidery fondly. “Possessive much?”

“Hopeful,” Hannibal answered mildly, setting aside his garments before sweeping away the opened packages and moving them to a neat stack across a muted floral settee. “I also sent your measurements to a tailor I found to my liking and procured you several new articles of clothing.”

“Are they also stitched with my initials?” Will quipped, growling a little as the robes were taken away. “Do you just make up numbers and hope they work out with the end product?”

“I never guess. Initially it was a matter of studying the grace of your form beneath stitching in sweeping calculation. The drape did nothing to justify your figure. I felt honor bound to remedy the situation.”

Blue eyes strayed from his bare chest towards a single dark matte bag remaining on the mattress. “Was that a jab at my wardrobe…or me?”

“The latter would be considered blasphemy.” Hannibal stooped, delicately cradling a long garment bag in his arms and crossing to the tiny wicker closet, pulling open the door. “You are not to open this one here.”

“Well, thanks. Now that’s all I’m going to be able to think about.”

“Will, I am being perfectly serious.” The garment bag was tucked with precision in the back of the closet, out of sight, farthest out of reach. “This is not for you to view in anyway.”

Jostling up to knees, the younger man snagged fingers around the back of his belt and tugged him back into palms sliding down the front of his thighs. “Does a peek count?”

“Will.”

“Alright, alright,” Will grumbled, flopping back on the bed with a pout before turning over. “Off limits. Understood.”

The older man stared at the pert ass presented, forcing himself to sit on an edge of the mattress instead of tracking a tongue across it, digging his thumb into a tense calf grazing his waist. “…Thank you.”

A hand snaked its way toward the last bag. “This look…interesting.”

Hannibal shifted knees together to constrict a heavy thrum pressing to his inner thigh, keeping a careful eye on hands running over a box and then toying with velvet lined leather cuffs. The younger man rustled to his back once more, cuffs swinging on a hooked finger and grinned.

The older man stifled a groan as knees drew up, keeping eyes trained on a pinking face instead of wandering. “Is something on your mind?”

“I’m sorry. I am still coming to terms with the reality of the prim and proper doctor jaunting about in a sex shop.”

“Do you imagine it was my first time?” He asked, slipping a hand further up, stroking where he knew imprints of his teeth rested.

“No.” Will replied slowly, voice dipping husky with heat, pressing wrists together and displaying them across the flat of his stomach. “I don’t. Actually.”

With the back of his hand, the older man pushed between knees. They fell apart. He tugged cuffs over wrists, testing how lose they were with a slip of his tongue. A little gasp eked out as he bent his mouth to a rosy nipple, grazing teeth around it. A single tug had an entire chest lifting, vibrating with moans.

Fingertips traced from sternum to navel, maroon gaze darkening as skin shivered. “I find your willingness very…inspiring.”

“I’d like to see these on you.” Nails and leather grazed soft hair on his chest, fingers working a belt buckle on trousers free. “Your hands behind your back.”

Hannibal took in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly, rising and reached for the box with one knee firmly placed between thighs. “I will give the image due consideration during preparations for dinner. And I must allow the wine a moment to breathe. However, I would like to get a feel for how this operates first.”

Tugging apart a black looped ribbon, he reached in and pulled out a silk casing resting in a velvet lined box, tugging slowly on strings to part them. He felt Will rolling shoulders into the mattress, anticipation billowing across his chest in a flush of heat. He tugged his gaze away from a pink tongue flicking across dry lips and revealed a thin silver metal vibrator, hooked in a pleasing curve leading up to a rounded tip. Will looked away as Hannibal leaned across him, purposefully rubbing his knee lightly against balls as he tugged a glass jar from the nightstand and set it on the mattress. He studied a thickening cock with interest. Pink skin was turning a ruddy color of pomegranate, glistening in a fine sheen of sweat. He wanted to press his mouth to an ear and ask if the younger man’s lurid display was purely in the moment or if his mind had visited the scenario before.

Unscrewing a lid, Hannibal pressed the toy into bound hands and dipped his fingers to coat them in a slick substance. He ran them up thighs, swirling a perineum as legs lifted, parting, and rough heels pressed over his hipbones. Will tipped his head back in search of breath each time fingers skirted cheeks, thighs bunching, grip tightening around the sleek vibrator. He nearly jumped when it buzzed to life with a press of fingers. The older man swallowed a chuckle and slid fingers into a tight hole, heat squeezing as Will jammed knees into his ribcage and lifted hips for a deeper stretch.

“Ahh…”

He added another finger, jaw clenching as he watched the younger man drag a rounded tip around the outline of his cock, jerking each time vibration lingered.

“Ah, please don’t stop this time.” Will widened his legs with addition of a third finger, groaning as it swirled against his prostrate. “Or I…am not fucking you for a week.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal’s voice shook out in a low rush, fingers sliding out and slicking a metal length. “Do you imagine I might be able to fuck you with this if I am to be denied? Do you believe you would still be able to deny me if I did so?”

They both knew the answer to that particular question. It was a futile kind of game.

Will sucked in a deep breath, biting his bottom lip as a cool tip teased him open. Heels shifted slightly against sheets as it was pushed in a bit. Blue eyes closed. Hands tangled against the older man’s knees, tugging at trousers. Hannibal watched heat slide down a chest, creeping towards a navel, guiding the vibrator in and out in shallow thrusts, before searching for the spot his fingers touched moments before. Reedy breaths unfurled into low moans, thighs tensing, fluid trickled down a twitching cock.

“Nnn, Hannibal…” Will shuddered on another down stroke, covering his face with palms, breathlessly hoarse, “Whatever you want. Just promise to—oh— fuck me.”

“Patience.” Hannibal twisted the vibrator once more to watch hips lift off the bed, slick liquid trickling between thighs before pressing him back to the bed. He clicked the vibrations to a single higher setting, kissing a knee and rose. “Give that a moment.”

Sweeping up a matte black remote, the older man forced himself to step out in the hall and away from the overwhelming scent of sweat, sex, and the underlying hints that only belonged to Will. He slipped the tiny contraption into a trouser pocket, shuffling back down the hall to the kitchen. He toed out of dress shoes along the way, gathering up a slate paper bag from the counter and righted a bottle of cabernet, checking to make sure it hadn’t fractured from its rough landing. His cock stirred at the notes of a creaking bed frame. He swallowed thick air billowing up from his lungs to concentrate at the task at hand, and not the task he longed to focus on with hands and mouth. He gathered porcini mushrooms that had rolled into the sink from their thin paper bag and lay them out one by one. He clicked the button in his pocket, ragged breaths answering from the bedroom. He smiled. He did always appreciate a good investment. He picked up fresh sprigs of parsley and laid it on a wooden chopping block, setting a wide chef knife beside it. He clicked the button again. Whines echoed from the bedroom. He growled down at a package of walnuts, righting them forcefully. What was he doing in the kitchen again? He felt like some kind of dinner was supposed to be prepared. He picked up a crystal decanter, uncorking the wine and pouring it into its new vessel to air. His hip bumped into counter, jangling the remote in his pocket. He nearly dropped the wine bottle as a hoarse groan reached a near scream.

“Fucking Christ! Nnnn…H-h-hann.”

Hannibal slammed down the wine bottle with a curse of his own, tripped over the rug, and fumbled for the remote in his pocket. He scrambled to lower the vibration setting, punching the button as he veered down the hall. He all but leapt over the metal frame of the bed to get to Will, back arched off the mattress, writhing and twisting, nearing release. He pulled out the vibrator and held the circle button till it shut off, tossing it away, a half strangled protest leaving bloodied lips. He unhooked leather cuffs and discarded them somewhere along the floor. The younger man was shaking from head to toe, curls stuck to a damp forehead, nail tracks fading from a rippling stomach covered in fluid. He wanted to lave his tongue there. One touch. One taste. He merely had to say a single word and he knew the sound of his voice alone would make Will come. But he wanted him to only find release from him. Only him.

Standing, Hannibal pointed to an edge of the mattress and commanded in a low growl, “Kneel.”

“Hannibal…” Knees jerked as they tried to peel away from the mattress, a whimper replying, “I don’t…think I can move.”

“Are you disobeying?” The older man slid off his belt, dangling it one hand and popping open a trouser button in the other, fly whining down.

Will shook his head, wide eyes bright and stormy. “N-no.”

“Here. Now.” Linen boxers joined trousers on the floor.

The younger man winced, gathering up onto boneless limbs and crawled across the bed unsteadily, resting a damp cheek into an outstretched palm until it cupped, stroking gently. A sigh warmed his thigh. A belt wound to the floor in a hiss. 

“How do you feel?”

It wasn’t a question he needed to ask. Will was sensitive enough to his touch as it was. With a single glance, he could see textured skin rising underneath a ghost of fingers trailing down a spine but not touching. He was still shaking, elbows and knees buckling, gripping the mattress to keep from collapsing, to present himself willingly.

A nose trailed in a thicket of curls, breath hot. “I need to come.”

Will looked up, flicking out a tongue to tease a thick head. Pink bowed lips parted before easing around a swollen red rock, drawing out a coarse groan. Hannibal eased fingers into curls, clenching, allowing the younger man to set the pace, leisurely suckling his head and tonguing at its slit. Unbidden moans left his lips every time blue eyes strayed to his searching for approval, asking for touch, tongue teasing circles before licking up. He leaned into nails digging into his thighs, rolling hips forward, hums vibrating from base to tip. He tugged gently on hair, his cock popping out of bitten lips.

“I thought…” A tongue chased after pre-come. “Am I not allowed to have you?”

“I would like to have you, Will,” Hannibal answered thickly, salt and sweat filling his mouth as he drew the question off of lips. “It has been long enough. How would you like me?”

“Hard.” A hammering pulse drummed against his thumb, fingertips swirling lube around his cock. “Fast.”

“I think you have spent quite enough time on your knees and feet recently, don’t you?”

Reaching down, Hannibal hoisted Will up from the bed, palms digging into an ass and turned to press him against the window framed by pale floral crème wallpaper. A cool breeze seeped around thighs, heat fogging glass. Forearms latched around his neck and squeezed, torso trembling.

Heels dug into his lower back, legs quivering at his hips, whisper fluttering against his ear. “ _Please_.”

“Quiet…” He replied softly, placing their mouths together to silence.

Adjusting his grip, Hannibal guided the line of his cock against a slick hole and pushed in the tip slowly, savoring a tight welcoming sheath. He cradled the back of Will’s head with his left hand, right hand sliding to a thigh, swiveling hips to ease the tip in and out, gasps breathed and then bitten into his chest. He thrust forward, sinking in slowly, leaning back to catch the flickering image of an open mouth and dark lashes fluttering over eyes. The younger man was always earth shattering lovely, but lost in pleasure, rapture flushing cheeks, an utter marvel to behold. He buried deep, suspending them there, arms clinging to his shoulders and listened to ragged breath caressing his neck and a rumble of thunder outside.

“H-hann—“

“Shh…” He touched lips to a neck to soothe. 

Holding close, Hannibal began to move in an unhurried roll of hips, light and gentle, lost in the sensation of hot skin pressing back and palms gripping at his shoulders, arms, moving down his spine. He crumbled into the feeling of curls nuzzling against his chest and soft needy pleas kissed over and over above his heart.

His breath radiated against an ear, “How beautiful you are, Will.”

A tiny noise answered, hands and heels tugging to press near, carefully listening to the sounds he was making with his voice and the ones he was unable to speak in the form of rushing blood in his heart. Hannibal had been drowning in the words and sensations for nearly a week, filling his mouth and gaze with every inch of the younger man within reach. Hushed whispers of skin flowed beneath their breathing. He quickened the pace, grip tightening, kissing across a throat, cheeks, and lips. He kissed Will, deep and achingly soft, trembling beneath breath rushing between them. He released a mouth, tucking a head against his chest, and locked both hands around hips, window pane ratting louder.

Hannibal gazed at the dim reflection in the glass, lithe and perfect body wrapped around him, breaking apart and pressed damp eyes into a sharp shoulder. Will was perfect. Perfect and he was his. His to care for. His to wake in light touch. His to hold in sleep. His. Breath came out harsh, palm braced against the window in a fog, rattling threatening to crack the window.

“I love you. I love you.” Curling toes dug into his back, ankles locking, as Will wrapped arms tight around his neck, whispering into his ear, kissing the side of his cheek. “Christ, I love you so much.”

A sharp cry was muffled against his throat, knees shaking around his ribs. The older man’s thrust became more erratic, blinking away a rush of tears, drowning in tiny, tender words nuzzled against his cheek.

“W-will—“

His arms snapped tight around a torso, spilling inside tight heat, cock pulsing, hands and legs shaking as Will nestled closer, rocking hips gently down and riding him through a wave of blinding white. He inhaled sharply, lips searching after a glisten of tears staining his face. He held the younger man there, trapped between the rain washed world and the safety of his arms, the only place he could promise shelter and protection.

A cold nose prodded his damp cheek. “Did you slip up earlier?”

The older man made an incoherent reply of annoyance at being disturbed.

“You called me your fiancé.”

“Did I?” His voice pitched to a growl, forearm caging around a waist to keep a body from wriggling free.

He wanted to say it over and over. Until he could form the word husband repeatedly in casual conversation.

“Is that how you refer to me to other people when I’m not around?” A playful chuckle pressed against his hair.

“I do not converse with many other individuals beside you, Will.”

“Did you…” Fingertips stopped stroking his hair, pausing. “…mean to say it?”

“I form my words with considerable care.”

“ _Hannibal_.”

“It was my intention to give life to the word. You are mine, Will.” Drawing back slightly, Hannibal searched blinking eyes, darting from one place to the next. “How did it make you feel?”

“Jesus.” Will buried his face, fingers latching onto silvery strands. “Like this has been the best week of my entire miserable life before you. And it isn’t real. Terrified. Worried…it will end. That you won’t want me like this one day. Won't...want me me in anyway.”

“In the entirety of my life…”

Finger by finger, knee by knee, arm by arm, Hannibal entangled them and placed Will gingerly to his feet, chest and hips hovering over a smaller frame against the wall, close enough to feel the solid outline of his presence. He moved closer to keep him still, from bolting, shivering from lack of connection. He swept curls away, kissing brows, cheeks, and lips lightly. He wrapped palms around wrists, stroking a flighty pulse to a relaxing thrum.

“You have been my sole desire, Will. If there is a day when I can no longer physically sustain you, then I will count the constellations of your skin with my mouth and offer daily worship of your beauty.”

Will winced, fists curled against his chest, eyes lowered.

“Until then…”

Hannibal dropped to his knees and licked up wet lines, finding a mark on an inner thigh, and giving it life in a tug of kneading lips and teeth. His claim. Always his.

“H-h-hann…” Hands tugged on his hair, laughter bleeding out. “I need a break. A glass of water at the least. Unless you want me unconscious for the rest of the evening?”

Growling with a mouthful of skin, the older man nipped just to punctuate how much he did not approve of the plan mentioned. A yelp filled the room. He smirked into a livid mark, rocking back onto heels and gracefully deposited himself into a wooden chair near the door to wait, legs crossed, fingers tapping.

“You may bring two glasses of water for us both,” He said evenly, gaze trailing over silk settling around a pliant frame, belt unknotted and swinging around hips, draping  over a dark apex of thighs and soft cock. “Then I have every intention of continuing. And I would not want you to become dehydrated.”

“And you say I’m insatiable…” Will batted away a hand slipping through silken folds, trailing down his thighs, smiling. “Water? Or your pretentious selection of wine?”

“Water. I prefer you lucid. Unless you are willing to black out from pleasure?”

“Very funny.”

Bare feet padded down the hall. They came to an abrupt stop. Swiveled. And turned back. 

“Hannibal, _darling_ …would you care to explain to me why there is a half conscious man tied up in our kitchen, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This can mean only one of two things haha. <3 Get married already guys so we can just call it what it is.


	130. Chapter 130

Hannibal returned in far more clothes than he wore a moment before, charcoal grey silk pajama bottoms clinging to strong damp calves and thighs. Mineral water tipped precariously inside two flute glasses perched in long fingers. Will averted his gaze from glistening water nestled in a shadow of curls across a bare chest, trailing down a scarred torso and disappearing beneath a waistband. He buried his head in a towel, shaking it fervently around wet hair to dry and in a feeble attempt to refocus his attention on more important issues. More pressing issues. Ones that resulted in him having far more questions than answers, which kept getting delayed by, well, other _pressing_ matters.

 

_Will caged Hannibal into a corner in the tiny shower he had tried to slink away to escape answering questions moments before. The older man had either lost his ability to speak somewhere between here and the bedroom or he was trying very hard to avoid replying. Given that the younger man had been doing most of the muffled screaming in the hours proceeding, he had a strong feeling it was the latter._

_“Was he here the entire time we uh…?”_

_Heat radiated between them and Will tried to think about anything but the circumstances of phantom palm prints resurrected by a curl of steam across glass, positions and rolls quite reversed when the older man had been behind him the day before._

_“I could not very well leave him in the trunk of the car.” Fair lashes blinked lazily over maroon eyes warmed by the proximity of their bodies. “He would have asphyxiated.”_

_“Oh for Christ sake.”_

_The younger man attempted to focus on what should have been unnerving smirk, but found he would rather linger on the idea of what the mouth curling up was capable of or count delicious bite marks blooming down a torso shifting against him. Why had he lumbered in here and pinned Hannibal again? Oh right. The man._

_“ Why is he here?” _

_The drugged, presumably kidnapped man, now taking up residence in their kitchen. An idea he should find more troubling. And a lot less…arousing? And a lot easier to concentrate on if hands weren’t wandering down his thighs and kneading his ass._

_“And what…” Will snagged fingers in silver hair drifting near his hips where Hannibal was skirting a wet red tip of a tongue over his scar. “…what are you doing?”_

_The older man looked up from where he was, bent at the waist, and hands curled around hips. “Familiarizing my palette with your taste. I thought that would have been perfectly obvious.”_

_He tugged on hair again, gritting teeth as tongue trailed further down. “You can’t just fuck your way out of giving me an—“_

_A flat edge of a tongue dragged from base to tip, cock jerking back to life._

_“—ahh answer.”_

_“Was I not direct enough for your liking?” Hannibal growled, crouching down on the balls of his feet, and steadying himself with thumbs and forefingers digging into tensing thighs, gazing up with half lidded eyes. “I would like to suck your cock, Will.”_

_“Jesus… I meant…I meant about…”_

_For about nine perilous and fragmenting seconds, Will tried to redirect the blood rushing towards his cock back to his brain, certain he was struggling to form cohesive thought and sentence structure to…something. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate with Hannibal on his knees anyway?_

_“Oh fuck it.”_

 

Will pitched the towel over a brass knob of the bed, reassembling his features into the best scowl one could manage when sore, sated, and dragging around a body insisting he sleep for the next forty eight hours to recover. He found it very difficult to be angry with the man whose clever tongue had dragged a third orgasm out of him in less than two minutes. The older man looked so smug on his entrance, all smiling teeth and doting service, peaked hips ridiculously pronounced beneath silk. He was going to lean forward and leave bite marks above each one, that is if it wasn’t going to leave shattered glass all over the floor. Then they would be stranded in the middle island of their bed and he suspected that is secretly just what Hannibal wanted.

“What the hell is this?” The younger man growled before nearly adding and _don’t you dare try to distract me again._

Hannibal settled beside him on the bed, pushing the flute glass into his hand and running the other down the thigh nearest to him, pressing their knees together with a cloyingly innocent and sweet smile. Neither of which suited him and gave the younger man the intense urge to bite it off until they were slick with blood.

“You requested hydration a moment ago did you not? I suggest you drink it. You are looking…”

Fingers tensed around a wiry glass stem when lips brushed across Will’s, tongue slipping in and stealing a sigh off his own, incessant in keeping his mouth busy and brain preoccupied.

“…rather parched.”

“I…” Putting a good foot of distance between them, the younger man threw back his water in a single gulp before stealing the other one, glaring over its gold rimmed edge. “Don’t make me ask again or I am going to throw this water in your face.”

“Ah. You meant the man and not the water…” Hannibal drawled, putting a good show of feigning ignorance before sweeping his glass of water delicately away and sipping on it. “That would be Marcus. He will be our main course for dinner this week.”

The corner of his mouth was twitching in a suppressed smile. Oh yes, he was enjoying this.

_Wait, did he just say dinner? And god, how did he manage to peel open my robe in the last millisecond without me noticing?_

“I’m sorry, did you just—no, never mind.” Will dragged a hand over his face, fiercely knotting the belt on his robe and caught a flicker of a smile. “When I said… You know what, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know. I just don’t.” He sighed. “So who is Marcus and why is he our guest of honor?”

Draining water from frail glass, Hannibal sat it with a tap on the nightstand before rising, dim shadows filling his eyes before turning and walking down the hall. He was keeping something from him. Or trying to keep him out. Neither was an acceptable option in his mind.

“Hannibal—“ Will called after him with a confused glance, giving chase before snaring an arm around a waist and pinning him once more in the hall. “No one said you were dismissed. We are not done having our conversation.”

He felt hot breath warming his mouth, crimson gaze sliding down his face to the space between their hips once more and an index finger toying with the knotted silk belt. The younger man closed his eyes, a quick turn of his head shaking away lingering thoughts and reoccurring dreams.

“Are we not?” Hannibal asked, voice dipping rough, hand sliding down the curve of his spine.

“ _No_.” He snapped, glowering down as gentle stroking turned to blunt edged nails slipping in to touch skin. “I’ll _tell_ you when I’m done with you, Hannibal.”

A red tongue darted out and pressed above a quickening pulse. “Will you?”

The next few minutes were a blur of struggle. Hands tearing at silken folds. Mouths hot and bruising. Teeth claiming skin. Fingers yanking on strands of hair. Growls turned to snarls turned to heated moans.

Will came to his senses with Hannibal bent over an edge of a tapestry embroidered sofa, spit slicked hand around a thick cock, whispering, “Mind your manners. We have a guest. Keep quiet.”

He had absolutely no recollection of how they got to this point. Not that he was complaining. The view was absolutely sublime. Biceps stretched, arms bent, white knuckled hands gripping a carved wooden back as Hannibal braced in a tremble of muscles arcing his back, pushing into thighs pressing into his. Ragged panting filled the room. Will ran a hand gently across quivering shoulder blades and down thighs, tightening his grip, and speeding up until the older man was biting down on his tongue to keep silent, head hanging.  

“I’ve missed you…” The younger man breathed across a silver hairline, pressing a tender kiss into the back of a neck. “I’ve missed this.”

He hadn’t realized how much he had needed this. This part of who they were before. The heated verbal exchange of foreplay. The rough give and take tiptoeing across lines of lust and violence. The shocking gentleness and caring prevailing in the aftermath of their destruction. Before he had broken. Before Hannibal had been too afraid touching might shatter him completely. And he had been too afraid to discover if he was right.

Lips pressed to red tipped ear, kissing a jaw with a light nip. “Will you come for me? Let me hear you?”

In a rough jerk of hips, Hannibal came with a guttural moan, back arching, and gripping the hand surrounding his cock as Will kissed his shoulder, as they worked him through the heat in a slide of fingers. When breathing slowed to an even pace, a red tongue licked his hand clean, flushed face turning to nuzzle against the younger man’s chest and neck in whispers hushed, until they collapsed for a half an hour in each other’s arms.

When they had moved to the kitchen, Will had abandoned his post after having chopped all the necessary ingredients, distraction in the form of the older man drawing him in, palms resting above a beating heart. He worked a delicate path from shoulders and arms with lips, tonguing across textured flesh of a brand. He wanted to run his hands across skin, warm and smooth, beneath calloused fingertips and kiss after each ghosted trail simply to memorize each hitch of breath.

“I love how you taste…” Damp curls trailed over a divot of a waist.

“Will, if I am not allowed to tend the stove our faro and porcini risotto will surely suffer a quick demise of burning to a crisp.” A cast iron skillet rattled against the stovetop in an unsteady grip.

“Mm. Cook fast?”

To save himself or the food, or possibly both, Hannibal wrapped arms around a smaller waist and hoisted Will up onto the counter, keeping them out of reach of the other. The younger man shivered as fingertips slid temporarily beneath the robe, tugging corners together to cover temptation of thighs. A full glass of wine was placed into his hands to keep him busy, mouth and hands entertained. For now. Wine at the ready in case the threat of running out came upon them. Skilled attention went back to sautéing chopped walnuts and slivers of mushrooms. Will gave grave consideration to teasing and distracting further just to see what surface or position he might end up in or on next, except he was in fact starving. His stomach turned traitor and rumbled loudly. He blushed and looked away from a glance of maroon eyes.

Flicking a gaze to the other side of the room, Will sipped wine and studied consciousness returning to the man strapped to the chair with rope in a twitch of fingers. There wasn’t much to see. The back of a slumped head contained a full head of wiry black curls. His skin was olive toned, covered in hideous pseudo-tribal tattoos covering arms bound behind his back. Dark washed denim, the kind some paid to buy pre-ripped, hung on stocky thighs and a white v-neck t-shirt stretched over bulky muscles. An empty leather holster was strapped to his side. He squinted at what appeared to be a crinkled manila folder sitting on the small table behind him and shifted to get down to retrieve it. Hands caught around his waist, thighs pushed apart, and he glanced back to find Hannibal had maneuvered between them.

The older man was balancing a silver spoon in one hand filled with risotto, one hand cupped beneath it, and was blowing gently on rising steam. “Won’t you tell me if it is seasoned to your liking, Will?”

Quirking a brow at the sudden interest in his opinion, the younger man tugged on the front of a white apron and opened his mouth to be fed. If he was going to be distracted then he might as well wait it out. He watched an adam’s apple bob as his lips formed around the spoon and dragged off risotto, smiling as he chewed, catching a glimpse of a hand tense on the counter’s edge. He always wondered what it was that Hannibal found so captivating when watching him eat. Was it satisfaction in providing for his sustenance alone? Or the sensuality in secretly knowing exactly who he was consuming to heighten the experience? He would have asked, but he loved the soft smile rippling across the older man’s mouth as he wrapped legs playfully around his waist and ate every spoonful provided. Risotto occasionally disappeared into Hannibal’s mouth, which he watched with equal parts interest and desire between sips of wine. He rested his cheek against a bare chest, eyes drifting closed when a hand cupped the back of his head and began looping through curls.

“I had forgotten how much I thoroughly enjoy providing for you, Will.” Lips touched the side of his temple before drifting through hair.

The younger man stifled a laugh against a collarbone, heart stirring. “And I forgot how much less you complain when you are capable and well enough to do so.”

He bounced on the counter as fingers found their way to sensitive sides, digging in and tickling till he was nearly kicking against a stomach, laughing and twisting in an attempt to scamper down the hall. He managed wriggle to his feet, turning in arms and slowing as he stared at the stranger sitting tense and upright in the chair. He stilled, allowing arms to encircle and wrap around his shoulders.

Hannibal bent his face to the curve of a neck and asked quietly, “What if you do not appreciate the reasons for his presence? What if this is not what you truly want?”

“What I truly want is to know why the hell he is here.” Will turned his face slightly, looking up into muddied autumn eyes, brows drawing low. “So tell me. Then I’ll tell you if I like it or not.”

Sighing, Hannibal dragged open an empty drawer where utensils once were, digging around, and pulled out a neatly folded paper. It was handed over, tense arms leaning on elbows in an attempt to appear relaxed. The paper rustled as it was opened, creases segmenting a splashy tabloid heading with a blown up pixilated photograph of a man in thick sunglasses, hand held up to the camera to block its view. A wispy blonde in fire engine red lipstick and a skintight dress lurked behind him. A small blurry circular photograph was placed in the upper right corner featuring a woman with equally large plastic sunglasses, a wide brimmed hat, and a neat coil of auburn curls tucked against a neck hiding strands of thick pearls. The gaudy three inch headline read:

 

_Infamous Stock Broker Claims God Rights Sinful Ways, Mistress Escort Tells All  
Center: Luca Arbello, Upper Right: Vivian Arbello_

Will thumbed through a few more pages, ink smudging his fingertips before he set it aside and gave the older man a level look. “This tells me nothing except there does in fact exist worse written articles considered legitimate journalism than the ones penned by Tattle Crime and people actually pay good money to read them.”

“According to the most recent articles, Luca Arbello turned to the guidance of God to show him the error of his ways. He now presides as a prominent magistrate in Copenhagen as of three months ago.” The older man gestured to the muted photo featured on the front page, adjusting his posture slightly. “He is more often than not plastered on fronts of various tabloids under a constant cloud of speculation that he continues his tasteless pursuits of extra-marital activities with high class escorts.”

The younger man sucked in an impatient breath to keep from cutting him off and saying he had gathered as much from the blaring bold headline. That is what they were for right? Seedy cliff notes of the tawdry and banal? He thought better of it, and let him continue.

“However, what the papers shy away from writing about is his pretty mail order Russian bride.” Two fingers tapped against the footnote below the small circle photo of the woman in sunglasses. “Little information is known about her beyond several prominent photographs taken at charity functions. Though there is some rumor she has thick family ties to dubious individuals back in Moscow. Mister Arbello does not seem to mind the constant free publicity if the focus is solely on him. I asked Daniel to have one of his men dig into the unusual circumstances and it would appear the chief editors seem to be amendable to anonymous monthly cash deposits in their bank accounts to keep the misses from being front page worthy news.”

“While this is all fascinating…” Will tried not to bristle at the mention of the other man’s name, rolling instinctively away from a hand trying to search for his. “It’s not blackmail if everyone in the country already knows about this guy’s habits. Not exactly quality leverage, Hannibal.”

“The magistrate does not interest me beyond the purpose of processing our paperwork with the utmost discretion…” Maroon eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the shift between them, retreating back to his side of the galley kitchen. “His wife on the other hand.”

“You said she’s essentially a ghost.” The younger man stabbed down at the photo, irritation edging into his voice. The hair on his arms rose, uneasiness settling into his stomach. “What am I missing?”

“Our dear friend, Mister Finch…”

A gagged curse rose from the chair at the sound of his name. Both men looked at the struggling man, tensing. He was certainly awake now. Will suspected if he ripped off the cloth gag he would get the answers he was looking for a lot sooner than if they continued meandering down this path to an unknown destination. There was something about him, something clinging to the shadow of his figure on the floor, making him recoil at the very idea of touching him. He turned to find Hannibal flicking an index finger against a syringe before walking over and jabbing into a neck. Leather boots kicked out across the floor before stilling.

“Finch is Luca Arbello’s man for hire, responsible for the very life and safety of his wife around the clock. He is also privately funded beyond his duties as a bodyguard and is required to report back to Mister Arbello with photographic evidence.”

Hannibal paused, capping the syringe and shot him a fleeting look of concern, gnawing on the edge of his lip as if he was scrounging around for something else to say or plan another distraction. He pawed meticulously through the manila folder, extracting a select few. He looked at the floor, stretching a tense neck with a push of a palm, a handful of photographs tapping against his leg.

“I…am to understand he does not always watch. Sometimes he participates.”

“Could you be any more obtuse? What are we talking about, Hannibal?” Will snapped the photographs out of hands, rattling off whatever mundane scenarios came to his mind first. “She’s having an affair? Multiple affairs? Fucking the hired help? Prefers the company of women? What?”

_What is it that has you so worked up?_

Flipping through grainy photographs, the younger man was more bored than he was surprised to find Vivian Arbello in a variety of compromising positions with men of all shapes, colors, and sizes, with sometimes more than one at a time for company. All dull. All very typical. And none of which was helpful. To him. Or their predicament.

“Miss Vivian passes most of her lonely evenings at a nightclub owned by distant kin of the _Bratva,_ who are known for trafficking more than illicit substances through their venues.”

He discarded photographs that would have made better use of a cheap porn blog than answering his questions. He scattered several more featuring the woman bent over coffee tables and other surfaces, cocaine coating her nose.

"Her penchants include snorting powdered lines off marbled torsos and…”

Will looked up, arms crossed, tensing when he saw maroon eyes snap back to the floor then to the man and then away to some distant corner.

“What?” He asked slowly, pushing slightly away from the counter and into personal space. “What else?”

A corner of a mouth flinched. “Purchasing the company of young men and women.”

“How young?” Breath rushed out of the younger man’s lungs as if a fist had slammed into his stomach, sour acid churning in the minutes that ticked by in silence. He wrapped a hand roughly around a jaw, shoving a face up to force the older man to look at him, and growled, “How young.”

_Don’t say—_

“Young enough not to be of the age of consent,” Hannibal replied in a near inaudible whisper, wincing as nails clenched into bone, pain filling his eyes when they released and Will moved away. “Nor do they have much choice in the matter. A handful never to return at all.”

“Sex slaves you mean. So we’re going after a fucking pedophile, is that what you’re saying?”

A scream perched on his tongue, begging for release when only silence answered.

“Say it.”

A tremor of pleading and apology thickened a hoarse accent. “Gathering evidence to ensure our future. And if the magistrate’s bride happened to go missing after a night on the town, I suspect he might be more willing to broker a deal for her swift and safe return. And to ensure our silence.”

He knew how unfair it was to ask for the truth in all things and then recoil from the honesty laid out.

 “You want her alive?" His lungs burned. "And him? Are you serious?”

“She has to return living to her husband, Will, or the plan is null and void.” The older man touched his wrist lightly, waiting, light fading from eyes. “We would live under the threat of exposure for the rest of our lives without the appropriate leverage to silence respective parties.”

Will balled his hands into fists, cold seeping into his bones and shaking something dark loose, breath huffing out of flaring nostrils. His entire vision narrowed to the man hanging limply in the chair, having not yet seen his face, but already knowing he would be dead behind the eyes. His gaze shifted to the manila folder and he wrenched away from a hand trying to take his. He stormed over to the table, clawing open an envelope tucked inside it. Photographs flew through the air, scattering at his feet, tiling across the floor in hideous shades of black and white.

“C-c-christ!” The younger man choked on a howl of pain, doubling over. “Shit! Fuck! Why would you show me these? Jesus Christ. Why would you—“

Will stumbled back from the array, huddling arms around his torso, and fell back into an edge of the counter. He was going to be sick. He swallowed down a lurch of bile, sinking to the floor, back of his knuckles shoved into his mouth. He tried to look away from the frail bruised bodies of flat chested boys and girls alike, some barely in their teens, strewn across beds, floors, and furniture like pieces of battered decoration, the less willing bound with tear stained faces and screwed shut eyes. He made a small noise of pain, catching sight of the man in the chair and woman taking their pleasure in turns and tandem, rough fists splitting open pale lips and brows when it suited. He didn’t have to see their eyes to know they begged for death. All the cases he had ever seen rushed back to him. He clamped hands over his ears to blot out screams and cries, shaking, staring down at lifeless bodies discarded like trash in seedy alleys and unmarked ditches. He heard his own whimpers, a boy stashed in the back of a closet, teeth sinking into skin to keep quiet and hidden. The same sound emanating from him now, pitifully trembling and trying to scramble away.

Dropping to the floor, Hannibal began feverishly scooping the photographs up, stuffing them back into the envelope. “I am sorry, Will. I’m sorry. Please close your eyes.” 

When Will found his voice again it shook out in a hideous black snarl. “I want him gone!”

“Will—“ A palm cupped the side of his face.

“I want him out of here, Hannibal! _Now_!”

Lurching forward, Will weaved unsteadily out of the kitchen, breaking into a run. His heart pounded in his ears. He yanked on the front door, desperate to escape the static cries and empty gazes. He barreled down steps of the stoop, stumbling and gripped knees as another wave of nausea washed over him. Rain plastered against him. He groaned as his stomach dry heaved, doubled over as he waited for greenery to stop spinning. For the noise to stop. For it all to go quiet.

A light palm touched his back, shadowed pain easing out across his neck. “Will.”

Turning in arms, Will shoved forward and buried his face against Hannibal, drawn back under the shelter of a tiny white canvas awning. The older man sat on the step above, stroking hands through wet hair, knees squeezing reassuringly around the body curled against him in a steadying pressure. Pleading eyes and static dimmed in his mind, dulling to a distant roar. He felt skin stretched over his forearms alight with burning teeth marks from the past and eyes aching from images burned into his retina of things he would never be able to forget.

“Should I have kept the information to myself?” Fingers splayed across the back of his neck, thumb swirling over vertebrae, voice disappearing into the sound of rain. “Should I have…lied by omission to protect you?”

“No…” Will choked out and shook his head weakly against a waist, praying the trembling that had seized his body would subside. “Christ, I can’t…think about things like that anymore. I can’t…it hurts.”

“I was endeavoring to be honest with you as you requested. To ensure the necessary choices to be carried out were agreed upon together. That we would decide on a suitable course to mold our future,” Hannibal noted, gravel scraping across every word, pain and frustration sighing out. “I am sorry, Will. I never seem to waver in my ability to hurt you regardless of the path I choose.”

Fingers squeezed around a waist, weak noise replying, “Please. Don’t.”

_I’m not angry with you. They’re kids. Just kids._

“Do you see yourself in their eyes? The young boy living in a world without protection or counsel, silenced by violence seeking you out in the middle of the night?”

_Please don’t ask me that..._

Flinching, Will hunched on the step and jammed fists into stinging eyes, feeling the older man trying to stitch seeping raw emotions back inside. As if having him shift just of reach no longer hurt, pretending it might hurt less as time moved on instead of a gaping, gushing wound. As if the arms and body beckoning had not suffered waiting, had not once been covered in matching teeth marks of his own design, to soothe a poisonous ache.

_…when you know the answer._

“I see a thousand images of children beaten and abused, lost souls, wishing they hadn’t survived,” Will rasped out, latching onto a retreating hand and squeezed it with more force than he intended, to reassure in the only way he was capable. “And I see them trampled in ditches and torn apart in abandoned fields, violated and praying for it to be over, final plea answered in death.” He stared down at wildflowers winding their way through cracked stones leading away from where they sat like unmarked graves. “I hated promising justice to their broken families and rarely delivering any kind of solace. I hated looking…” A tremor of bitterness had his fingers curling into fists again. “They didn’t deserve that. Not like that.”

Fingers skittered up the back of his neck, tipping it to the side before Hannibal leaned down and placed a kiss against his cheek, whispering, “Do you believe you deserved it?”

Choking down a lingering cry, Will turned his head, wide blue eyes staring up into lines etched into a shadowed face as Hannibal looked at him silently, a single uplift of unblinking maroon pleading for forgiveness, promising protection, and begging him to believe the very world rested inside his soul. The younger man lifted his mouth and waited, running knuckles down the side of a neck, hoping his touch was imbued with tender answers to questions spoken and thought. His eyes drifted closed, calm settling over him with a brush of lips.

_I wonder sometimes if I deserve you._

“We should burn that place to the fucking ground with them in it and be done with it,” The younger man hissed, wrapping sturdy arms around his torso to be forcibly held, drawing knees to his chest.

“A police raid spurred by an anonymous tip might have more lasting results, if that is what you wish.”

“And her?” He spat out, upper lip twisting.

Hannibal hugged tighter, chuckle brushing across the nape of his neck. “I never specified she had to return all in one piece, William. Merely that she had to be alive. If you desire to bestow divine retribution, I will lay her at your very feet and await the Fate you have chosen for her.”

Will twisted around to look at him, a smile not quite reaching cavernous eyes, powerful muscles shifting around his body, a threat waiting to be wielded at his very command.

“I need to get out for awhile.” The younger man replied softly, kissing a sharp jaw. “Clear my head. Take a drive maybe.”

“Will you return for dinner?” Hannibal shifted uncomfortably, gaze flicking out towards the rain, head bowed in submission, shoulders slumping. “I will take care of the other matter shortly.”

Shuffling to his feet, Will held out an upturned palm and waited. “Come with me, Hannibal?”

_I need you to come with me. Just go. For a little while._

The older man tipped his head back, maroon eyes misting. “There is no place I would rather be than by your side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this doesn't bode well for any of those mentioned. It just doesn't. Let the pre-wedded bliss of murder and carnage begin!


	131. Chapter 131

Blanketed across the arc of a taut back, Hannibal tipped his face into a shoulder to shield from sheets of rain blowing sideways, digging knees into thighs and gripping a waist as Will leaned the Triumph motorcycle into another sharp turn. He tensed with each tick of the odometer rising with a throaty growl of the engine. He felt disquiet rising to the surface of skin radiating through thick layers as a heel of a boot clicked hard against the gearshift to speed down a winding road. Shrubs and trees flew passed in a quickening blur of red tail lights left in their wake, scenery morphing and giving way to canvas of color as it had for the last thirty minutes.

He pressed the firm line of his mouth into supple leather of an upturned collar to remain silent and breathed in pine muddied by something else. Fear? No. It felt like the younger man was running from something, but that wasn’t it. He nosed at the back of a neck, inhaling and holding the scent deep within his lungs. This was crackling heat of an all consuming fire. His gaze shifted to eyes darkened and narrowed, glinting at something in the distance. This was a perfectly controlled rage shifting inside structured flesh. He exhaled, cold shaking his bones. Was it directed at him or…?

“Pull over,” Hannibal uttered against the shell of an ear, pressing lightly into ribs to draw the younger man out of lost thoughts, studying hands tensing around leather grips. “Please, Will.”

A curt nod noted he had heard, tensed shoulders suggesting the request was less than agreeable.

Will steered them off the road onto a graveled path, balancing the motorcycle as Hannibal swung legs over it. The tip of a boot drew down a kickstand, fierce blue eyes watching from beneath a curtain of dripping curls, hunched over black and silver bars. Curious gaze tracked disjointed movement as the older man ducked underneath the shelter of a knotted cypress tree. He stared up at thick grey clouds roiling across the sky through framed branches spiraling upwards. He listened to leather shift against the motorcycle, reluctant to sit still, anxious to barrel forward. He almost expected to hear an engine disappear in the distance, taking the love of his life with it and stranding him, forced to find his way without him. Perhaps his charm had worn off. This reminder of the past was too much to bear. The wound too deep to mend. And Will was done with him. A brief trickle of fear suggested he might return to an empty home. Some twisted part of him agreed with it, as if his actions deserved no less than a messy severing of ties. Ugliness twisted his stomach knowing what he might, no not might, _would_ do if it were to come to pass.

_Would you rather put to your back what haunts you, Will?_

Boots crunched across the gravel and whispered lightly across damp earth. The younger man crouched to avoid a wet lash of branches, hands jammed between zipper teeth pockets, glancing up. Questions lingered in bright blue eyes, flickering between concern and masking roiling anger. Hannibal turned his face from a palm touching his cheek, backing into the trunk of a tree to escape sensations he knew left him powerless to speak or maintain the illusion of control. He struggled to breathe, pattering rain sliding down his mouth wrought in an agonized line, tasting skin he had covered in hymns mere hours ago. There were no veils now for him to hide behind or pretend he was anything except helpless, utterly ruined by knowing, being allowed to know, what he had ached for. There was no way back. Not for him. Not for either of them. Not alive anyway. They stared at each other, neither speaking, a widening cavern between them as both searched for words. How had they ever heard the other above a deafening roar of quiet? Had they ever truly listened and understood?

Empty maroon dragged up from the forest floor. “Why do you stay?”

“What?” A corner of the younger man’s mouth flinched away what would have been a shout.

“Why do you stay, Will?” Hannibal repeated, drawing to his full height and taking a step closer, voice rising to a threatening growl.

He prayed for some answer to affirm his fears. That words he had been drowning in were just that, empty and hollow and meaningless. That Will did not love him after all. That this was some misguided experiment or ill fated measure of therapy. He was not willing or able to accept him as fully as he had imagined. If he had been able to at all. The man stranded in their kitchen had to be proof of that. Proof they were ill suited for the other.

_You delight. I tolerate._

Will widened his stance, refusing to back away from a looming shadow falling over him with a jaunty tip of the chin. “What are you talking about?” He ground out, jaw clenched and muscle ticking to remain level.

“You have seen the darkest parts of me with light of your gaze and continued to look even when I could not bear to be seen…” Words scraped up the back of his throat, filling his mouth with blood and bile. “You claim to have embraced facets of my true nature society might consider appallingly unacceptable openly and without reservation.”

Glancing down at fingers bruising his shoulders, the younger man remained still and unaffected, face placid when he was shoved up against the tree. A hiss of breath his only sign of physical discomfort. Hands hung limply at his side, refusing to raise them to defend or fight off. Hannibal lunged forward, shoving thumbs below a chin and squeezed a frail trachea, waiting for anything except blind submission, unsure if he was giving up or merely settling for the familiar.

_What if this isn’t what you desire? A life with me?_

“You allowed a monster into your bed, one that has maimed and hunted you, and offered _mercy_? And why? Out of pity?” He choked on broken teeth, struggling to ease his grip, accusations billowing in lungs and burning bright. “Why? Tell me why, Will.”

_Have I misled you? Or have you misled me?_

“I have given you many things, Hannibal…” Will rested his head against rough bark, gazing down the uneven bridge of his nose, practically scoffing at the grip around his throat. “Pity has no place among them. And I would never offer you mercy.”

“Is mercy not a poorly woven disguise for kindness and feigned acceptance for that which is unforgivable?” His eyes stung, arms shaking, threatening to end them both.

Will inhaled slowly, letting out a breath, holding lightly to the hands around his throat, slotting fingers together, quiet. “What do you think love is?”

Hannibal released abruptly, stumbling away from phantom fingers buried in his chest and ripping out the beat of his heart, the air from his lungs, and spilling his life in a crimson tide at their feet. He struggled as Will stepped forward, hands and feet kicking out, violent embrace crushing him inside arms. A weak noise left his lips as knees buckled. He shuddered as the younger man fell with him, refusing release, flinching when a mouth tenderly coasted across his forehead instead of cutting him open with a blunt saw. Tears streaked out of his eyes, shaking, trying to formulate the correct response. For something he had never known. For something he had once forgotten. Intangible thoughts and visions tangled, mingling in dull tones, tearing apart and settling behind his eyes. Had he ever truly known? The very question itself had eluded him. He had never understood its necessity beyond self preservation of a tailored suit or pitiful fear of being alone. He never feared his own company for eternity. He never needed. Until…

His gaze rose from a shadowed chin, shattered glass gathering and suspending in a broken whisper, “ _You_.”

_You are what love is._

Lips parted, streams of blue ebbing through a winding forest. “Hannibal…”

“A mere word uttered from your lips would break me. Why have you not broken me? Changed and molded me to the man you desire? The one you need?” The older man broke eye contact, hiding behind a fleshy shield of fingers, wiping furiously at tears. “The one you deserve.”

“Because none of it fucking matters!” Will shouted and shook him roughly by the shoulders, clawing at a face and neck until he had shoved Hannibal against his chest, arms shaking around him. “None of it matters. _You_ matter. To me. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. I wouldn’t…” He jerked as fingers yanked leather zippers free, ripping open the jacket, and nails raked down his back, heat scorching their touching torsos, hands pressing his over a wild racing heart. “And I wouldn’t lie to you when I say, _you_ are what love is to me, Hannibal, and all the fucked up bits that entails.”

“W-will…” A timid hand stretched out, trembling.

“I am not done talking!” Will rocked back on his heels, framing a face in unsteady hand and pushed at silver strands harshly slung across black rimmed eyes, softening tone and touch. “And I can’t break you because when you walked into my life, I was half dead and fading fast…” Blue eyes blinked back tears. “…hoping by some miracle to go to sleep and never wake up again. Begging someone to just put me out of my fucking misery. But then… Then there was you. You have pieced me together time and time again.” The younger man craned his neck forward, peering through thick lashes, until Hannibal found himself mirrored in cresting waves, pure and beautiful. “When I look in your eyes, I never see that broken man staring back. I see strength, yours and mine, and I am not terrified of living or dying even, however that might come to be. I have you. I have a home.”

“I brought horror into our home and invited it to stay,” He replied weakly, running the pad of a thumb across damp lips. “It is not the life you deserve.”

“And you get to decide what I deserve? What we deserve?” Will jerked up to feet, glaring down with vast black night filling his gaze, fists swinging dangerously at his side. “You think I give more of a fuck about that man’s worthless life than I do yours? Or ours?” Hands curled in the lapels of his leather jacket and hauled him upright, roughly dragging him forward, a harsh mouth hissing against his ear. “You’re wrong. You hear me? You’re wrong. If that _thing_ sitting in our kitchen is what we need to even have a home, to be together, then you don’t think I would do whatever was necessary to achieve it? What right do you have to tell me you deserve less than utter acceptance and love!” Teeth ground together. “If we are parsing out judgment and conditions, then I might as well hear you say I don’t need you. I don’t deserve you.”

_Never._

His lungs ached for breath again, fingers coiling around hips, dark gaze swinging up. An ache reverberated through his body, need hammering against his pulse and sending a hot rush of blood through veins. He needed Will. To have him. Stripped. Bare. Flesh scraped raw by bark or covered in damp soil. In his arms. Or on his knees. However Will would allow him to show how deeply he understood, to be forgiven his doubt and fleeting transgression.

A flick of a wrist hauled him through underbrush and branches. “Come on.”

His eyes flicked to the slick road, frozen in place. “Will.”

Will reached forward, twisting a fistful of jersey, lip curling into a snarl. “Get on the fucking bike, Hannibal.”

He muffled a groan when he slid in behind the younger man, squeal of tires sending him lurching forward and clutching at thighs flexing around sleek metal. His nails followed rough seams of jeans up inner thighs. He slipped a palm beneath a wet t-shirt plastered to skin, enveloped in heat, torturing a dusky bud of a nipple between forefinger and thumb. Will coiled, leaning hard on the bike, slamming through gears, engine revving loud as they slid through a muddied patch. His entire body thrummed with an answering ache, knees jammed around a leather body, warring between a desire to fight or fuck. Hannibal wasn’t entirely certain which he was leaning towards when he was shackled by the wrist and thrown forcefully into the kitchen, catching himself on a counter edge and glancing back.

Soaking wet, Will hurled a leather jacket to a forming puddle on the floor, panting hard, chest heaving and fingers flexing into fists, and growled out, “You want proof is that it? Empirical evidence? That I won't run from you? From this? Because a ring, a pledge, my word was simply not enough?”

He opened his mouth to speak, emptiness bubbling out.

“You need him for anything else? Speak up!”

Hannibal made a strangled noise of recognition, head shaking, unable to tear away his gaze from thin material outlining a flat stomach and chest in exquisite wet blotches. He wanted to crumble underneath harsh lines of a mouth.

A pearl handled hunting knife snapped open. “Good.”

Hannibal caught a flash of a kitchen knife out of the corner of his eye, gaze darting to the counter to find one missing from the wood block. How careless. He opened his mouth to warn just as Will was leaning over the back of the chair, blade caressing down a limp neck. Blazing hazel eyes snapped open. The chair knocked over. Rope uncoiled on the floor. The man in the chair released a demonic howl, hurtling forward in a scrape of boots, blade slashing out in short sweeps. The older man leapt back, tip slicing open flesh across his cheek, hand searching blindly behind him for something to defend.

“You little fucking prick,” A dark snarl filled the kitchen.

A blur of a hand lashed out, latching onto inky black strands. Will dragged the man back by roots of hair, teeth bared, a fist ramming into the soft spot above a kidney, choked curses falling out. The kitchen knife skidded across tile and spun underneath the stove. The younger man slammed a muddied boot into the back of a knee. The man crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, head suspended by hair hanging in a white knuckled hand. Hannibal gripped the counter for support, skin flushing, mouth hanging open to search for oxygen being sucked from the room. He was unable to speak. To move. To think.

“He is _not_ yours to mark. You’ll look at me when I’m talking to you,” Will hissed, hauling on hair until hazel eyes darted to the side, wide and flashing with fear. “Beg for your pathetic life. Beg for forgiveness. Go on. I’ll wait.”

Palms and feet squeaked across the tile floor as they scrambled to escape, easily reeled back to knees. “P-please don’t kill me. S-show mercy.”

Stormy blue eyes rose slightly to meet Hannibal’s, falling into deep fathomless deeps of roiling dark. “I forgive how God forgives.”

A palm clamped into hair. A knife flashed, sinking into a jugular and ripping. Gurgled screams filled the air. Blood gushed out a ragged wound, glittering red waterfall spilling down a seizing chest and rushing out across the floor. Arterial spray speckled across Hannibal’s face, hot, wet, and trickling to his open mouth. Will was staring at him, slightly hunched over with a body in one hand and blood dripping down a knife in the other. He dropped both and stalked across the kitchen, snatching a cheek in his blood slicked hand, singed smoke trailing over the gash on his face.

“Does it hurt?”

_To need you? Yes._

Hannibal stared at the mouth moving, unable to comprehend the words coming out, struggling to breathe and focus on more than red spattered skin. How it might taste on his tongue. How it would feel beneath his hands. How Will might lap at the wound on his cheek before winding hands in his hair and forcing his mouth or body to wherever he desired.

“I just asked if you wanted me to jam a blunt needle into your skin to stitch up the gash and you are looking at me as though you are picking my bones out of your teeth.”

A mouth choking on blood faded on the floor beside their feet. Swallowing hard, the older man shook his head, trailing fingers down shadows caressing a face, staring at a mouth for permission to kiss.

“Have you really forgotten what a willing participate I am when it comes to maiming and killing to protect you?” Will skirted a thumb across the wound and brought it to his lips, gesturing to photographs spilled across counters and the floor. “Is this what we need to do? To start our life together?”

He managed a throaty croak. “…Yes.”

“Fine. Then it’s what we do.” Will spun away, chucking the hunting knife to the table and yanked on dead weight sprawled in a pool of blood. “Here or in the bathtub?” An aggrieved growl whistled through teeth. “Pay attention, Hannibal. We either carve him up here or—“

“I…” He pointed weakly towards the bathroom, gaping as the younger man dragged the body down the hall by a limp wrist, bloody trail smearing across floorboards.

Well. They were most certainly going to have to purchase the house now. Or find a very unaffordable and very off the book kind of cleaners.

Stepping precariously through a pool of blood, Hannibal stooped and settled a mostly stain free leather jacket across the back of a chair. He peeled out of his own, setting it aside to join the other as he kicked off dress shoes. He tiptoed down the hall, trying to remember how to move his lips and tongue to form verbal communication. He paused at the door, watching as the body was dumped into the tub and a rumpled sheet fluttered over it. A considerate gesture for a brute who deserved to be torn apart by wild wolves, living remains a feast for carrion in flight for miles around.

“W-will…?”

The younger man slumped on an edge of the tub, head resting in the palm of his hand, reply terse. “What?” He winced, head shaking and glanced over, mouthing an apology, eyes tired. “I mean. Yes. What is it?” He sighed, shuffling to aching feet and kicked boots off. “There’s not a priest or another kind of officiate lying around nearby is there? Because it’s going to be very difficult to explain to a man of the cloth why he should marry two individuals who have taken him hostage and recently killed a man.”

Toying with the hem of t-shirt, Hannibal struggled to maintain his gaze on blue eyes looking back, sagging weakly against the frame of the door in defeat, mouth wavering in ripples of the unspoken: _I love you. I love you. Please. Forgive me._

“You’re killing me, angel…” Will padded over, wrapping him into a tight embrace and squeezed until he stopped shaking, holding tight long after it subsided. “I know. I love you too.” He crumpled against a lighter frame, exhaling trapped breath. “You are going to have to learn to deal with it or accept it, Hannibal. I’m not going anywhere. Take whatever it is you need from me to understand I am here for who you are, not who you think I want. Just you. As you are.” A thumb tapped at his spine. “It’s not pity. I just really fucking love you.”

Untangling, Will turned away and swiped away a scatter of tears, waving hands over the draped sheet. “Now what are we doing with…this? I assume you want parts of him at the very least. Organs? Limbs? …What?”

“Might you consider resting?” Hannibal offered softly, touching a lower back, coming to stand behind him. “I am capable of taking care of it.”

A stubborn smirk tossed over a shoulder. “Funny.”

“There is not a single part of him worthy of touching you.” The older man tugged him to the sink, hot water spitting in the sink, and scrubbed hands clean with his own, soap turning pink. “How would you feel about a lesson in anatomy instead?”

“Euphemism?” Lips tipped in the mirrored reflection.

He answered a smile with a kiss on a cheek. “Legitimate education.”

Hannibal returned to the bathroom with a clean chair from the living room and leather roll in tow, unfurling it across tile to reveal a set of manicured surgical tools. He peeled back the sheet, a clinical sweep of scissors snagging open a shirt and unveiling an ink blotted chest. He sat, snapping latex gloves on, feeling a hand come to rest on the tall back of the chair as the younger man watched closely.

He tugged on a wrist, pointing to space between his thighs. “Sit here please.”

Will sidled shyly forward, nestling into the spot and noted airily, “A little crowded.” He donned a pair of matching gloves, squirming when arms came around him, a scalpel balanced in a right palm. “You’re not going to quiz me are you?”

“Not at all.” Silver hair trailed across a golden cheek, chin tucked over a shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“In all things with you? Always.”

“As a general rule of thumb, organs are at their best when harvested quickly and efficiently after death.”

“Or while they’re still alive?” Will quipped, twirling the scalpel between forefinger and thumb, nearly humming as an arm curled around his waist to hold.

“Yes.” Hannibal tapped an eighth of an inch above the clavicle, knees jostling them forward on the chair. “Press here above the sternum to create a single cut till the bone stops. Then follow the tracks below ribs to form a kind of y shape.”

The younger man barely nicked the skin, testing the weight and sharpness, creating a thin line of beaded red.

“A bit more pressure.”

He bore down on the blade, catching it on bone.

“Not too much,” The older man chided gently, adjusting the grip and angle with a guiding forefinger. “You wouldn't want to nick the organs or it will spoil the meat. Delicate but firm.” He stroked up a wrist, smiling as Will created a lovely cut and then another. “Perfect.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw cheeks pink with pleasure, melting in response to praise. He was a natural. He guided the hand to slice through muscle and sinew, parting each layer, until a chest cavity was exposed enough for further exploration. Setting the scalpel aside, Hannibal cupped his hand around the other and eased both in, residual body warmth wrapping around them.

“Oh…”

“Here.” He nosed against a tensing neck, stroking gentle patterns at the crease of a waist. “Do you feel the liver there?” He shifted their grip around fatty tissue, moving slightly to the right. “The pancreas.” He leaned forward to brush across a shuddering organ. “This is a lobe of the lung beneath your fingertips.”

Will began laughing, bright and clear, forehead falling against an edge of the tub, face flushed and eyes closed.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” He shook his head vigorously, still laughing. “Just wondering when this became perfectly normal. I’m not sure if I should be this invested in digging around another person’s organs or appalled by…how fascinated I am? I mean, would this be considered a first rate date with you?”

Hannibal chased after flushed skin disappearing beneath a wet scooped neckline, murmuring, “How do you feel now?”

“Oh god…” Will froze, hand cupping a heart. “It’s still beating.”

“Even if the human brain starves of oxygen and residual organs shut down, the heart will often continue to beat independently on residual strength. People do not often realize the human heart is not controlled by the brain. The beat is a mere electrical impulse of the sinoatrial node causing the heart to contract.”

Tipping his face to the side, lips nearly brushing, Will whispered, “Is this how your heart would feel in my palm?”

“You are always welcome to make the discovery on your own, dear one. Though I suspect you know the answer already...”

They both shivered in unison. White fluttered back over the body, red seeping through. Quietly they cleaned up once more, standing side by side, toes a fraction away from touching. They jostled against each other in the hall, parting quickly, and waited for the other to enter the bedroom. Hannibal caught an arm around a waist, flattening the younger man against his chest, fingertips skirting underneath flimsy jersey and lifting. He wanted nothing between them. To be near. To be close.

“You will catch your death of chill…” The older man noted, dropping the t-shirt to the floor and lifting his arms above his head.

“I sometimes wonder if you abuse your role as a doctor by making up excuses to undress me…” Will replied wryly, catching thumbs under a hem and pulling wet material free, mechanically slipping open buttons and zippers until jeans and trousers joined the puddle on the floor.

He swept the younger man off feet and placed him tenderly across the bed, fingertips creating a long sweep from knees to thighs to rosy cheeks. He was shivering from head to toe, sheets clinging to skin, raking wet curls from his forehead, forearms searching for a place to rest before slinging across his torso in an unabashed display of attempted modesty. He was beautiful, always beautiful. Pinning wrists to the mattress, the older man bent his head and laved his tongue across a nipple, until it warmed, tugging slightly with teeth.

Breath rushed out in an ache. “No, angel, I don’t think I can—“

“Was I not given permission to take what I need?” Hannibal inclined his head, gazing up in eyes, softness bleeding across them. “What if I need you, Will? What if I need you for the rest of my life? Would I be allowed to earn you? Deserve you?”

Tears filled ocean blue. Will caught hands around his neck and kissed him, lost to the rhythm of pushing shared oxygen between their lungs, the feel of their hearts echoing against each other, and lulled by hands seeking comfort of skin. Here he heard clearly the replies to his unanswered questions in a shudder of limbs and cries. Here he knew this was a different form, a winding path, where every equation was solved in two words with the same meaning, _Will._ Hannibal left a bloom of teeth above a heart, stroking damp cheeks before rolling them into a cocoon of pillows and warmth.

“How do you feel about the garden?” The older man inquired softly, whisking a cloud of blankets over them.

A hand twitched at his neck. “Hm?”

“He would provide vital nutrients to the soil if we placed the body there.”

“Whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy.” Will nestled closer, blanketed over a chest, hands threaded in graying strands and murmured drowsily, half in dreams already, “Just let me sleep first, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying. You're crying. Obviously. These two fools. 
> 
> Mood Music: Shifting x Now, Now


	132. Chapter 132

Lead by the hand at a quickened pace through the streets of Copenhagen, Will scuffed along in tow with a slanted scowl as he tried to keep up with the older man’s long and steady strides of a predator loping across a cement terrain. When throngs of pedestrians flowed around them, he was tugged to the front, nudged forward by hands at his waist as if he might possibly get lost or meander off distracted by shiny lights or tall buildings. It had happened once. And there was a terrier. What else was he supposed to do but give chase? He knew there was distinct possibility he would be on his deathbed before it was let go. Not that he had any idea where they were going even if he wanted to lead. That information seemed to be more difficult to pry off tight lips than government secrets.

Hannibal kept checking the time on his watch as if they were going to be late for their own dinner party or miss the window of opportunity to claim their prize. They were here for a specific reason. Or rather a specific someone. This was not a vacation. And it was certainly not a date. Particularly after an eight hour car drive of classical music when the older man had acquiesced to Will driving the last two hours to music of his choosing before being mechanically tossed into a hotel shower, told to take a nap, and then dressed. Hannibal had barely spoken more than three sentences since they arrived, lost in concentration and running over unknown scenarios in his head. He knew he ought to focus and stop grumbling, even if he would have preferred to stroll through the city hand in hand and murmur how the fierce face staring straight ahead softened in lamplight.

Who was he kidding? He was going to complain until he got an answer.

“Yes, but what I don’t understand and you have yet to clarify is…” Will trotted up beside the older man, tugging on the hand holding his as if he could drag out the answer to the same question, worded a bit differently, that he had been asking for the last five blocks. “Are we going to an actual nightclub or not? Because the last one we went to together in Marseilles did not require _this_ kind of a dress code.”

 _This_ was emphasized by an over dramatic sweep of a hand down the younger man’s overtly pristine front of a starched white dress shirt, black satin lapel tuxedo jacket, and a perfect bow tie cutting off his air supply. His fingertips ended at a neat blind hem of tailored trousers and gleaming dress shoes. He had never been more uncomfortable and self conscious in his life, convinced that every single person casting a glance in their direction was agreeing with his mental ranting about how absurd he looked. Why else would they be staring? He glanced at the older man and sighed. Long silver hair tucked behind ears, double breasted tuxedo draping pleasingly across his form, and the cuff links Will had given him winking on French cuffs. He looked as though he had stepped off the film set of a gorgeous black and white Hollywood movie.

_Oh. Right. That’s why._

Beside Hannibal he must have appeared exceptionally shabby, uncomfortable, and out of place. It was truly a feat for him to feel more than one of those things at a time and be able to distinguish each one.

Placing a hand against his cheek, Hannibal took him in with a lingering gaze of firelight, a small approving smile playing across his mouth, pride filling his voice. “You look very handsome, Will.”

He was fairly certain he would believe any thing, follow Hannibal anywhere, when he sounded like that. In love and proud to have him on his arm.

The younger man stared shyly at the dress shoe he was scuffing over the concrete, toes curling. “If I find out—Wait, is that a palace!“ He looked up and around him at the chime of a clock tower ringing in a cool night breeze, suddenly taking in his surroundings and letting out a groan. “Nooo, why are you doing this to me!”

Beyond a crowd of well dressed individuals glittering in sequins and fine suits, a monolith of a brick structure surrounded by looming balustrades and covered in hundreds of arched white windows rose up from color draining from the sky. Four corners of a pointed roof and high ceilings boxed in a rising bell tower at its center. Bows drawing across strings drifted through a glow of heavy doors with stiff looking security guards standing adjacent to a red velvet rope.

“If I were to say yes…” Hannibal placed the pad of his thumb on a chin, drawing Will’s wonder filled eyes back to him and smiled. “Would you agree to be my prince charming for the entire evening?”

Will felt heat gathering in his cheeks. Skin brightening when the older man dipped close, a hand on his hip a bit lower than what was considered proper. A blush sparked fire running from cheeks down his neck and prickled his chest when Hannibal kissed him softly, fingers wound in his curls, and mouth lingering on his after. He jammed hands furiously into his pockets and stared hard at the ground, thankful for the night, grateful not a single soul would be able to tell he had stopped breathing except the older man. He suspected he was used to it. Or had a crash cart at the ready. Though undoubtedly would prefer more mouth to mouth to resurrect him.

“Christiansborg Castle is home to many fine government officiates including the Danish Parliament and Prime Minister. Occasionally the gates are opened and it is transformed to host events of the elite and wealthy. We happen to be both. And having a handsome boy on the arm of a count has its appeal of possible charitable donations and notoriety.”

“You can keep spinning pretty words, Hannibal, but I am _not_ going in there.” Will crossed his arms stubbornly, anxiety creeping into the pit of his stomach. “And knowing you, you will expect a sweeping grand gesture of a show and you _know_ I have two left feet.” He looked around and stomped over to an intricately welded bench. “I’ll wait—“ He plopped down with a huff. “—right here.”

_Oh for the love of Christ._

Hannibal got down on one knee, running a smooth palm across his cheek and dragging the blush farther down his torso, silken tone shredding his insides to ribbons. “Dearest, it took quite a bit of time and money to secure us tickets to this gala. We need not stay long. And it would please me greatly for you to join me.” A palm upturned. “May I have the honor?”

He took the hand, glaring. “I’m not dancing. I’m not—”

Had Will the physical ability to melt into a puddle of embarrassment or sag into the corner like a piece of furniture, he would have done so about ten times already. First when Hannibal had led him into the ball on his arm, beaming when they were announced as _the honorable Count Bergstrom and his husband, Mister Bergstrom,_ which he knew was ringing in the man’s mind palace as, _the dashingly handsome Count (and did you hear he is a doctor?) Lecter and his, wants for nothing, sexually precocious, well kept lover Mister Lecter._ He had shot him dagger worthy glares of: _presumptuous much?_ One look back in his direction melted his resolve to be furious, inwardly groaning, because he adored what a love sick fool Hannibal was sometimes. _  
_

He trailed after, watching Hannibal flit about the room, naturally oozing charm, laughter, and giving out easy smiles. He kept a low grade jealously in check until a wiry waiter placed a slim glass of bubbly in his hand. The second time was when Will may have had four glasses of champagne too many, because he was sure he was sweating through his suit, and marched over to a little tart in an emerald silk gown dripping in jewels and told, well, growled: _keep your mitts off my husband,_ dragging an all too pleased fiancé away.

The third was when he realized drunk kidnapping, even if in an attempt to claim said fiance, had landed them smack in the middle of dozens of couples waltzing. The other seven moments in time were preceded with graceful turns around a black and white marbled tile floor. He suspected it was beautiful if they ever stopped spinning for him long enough to look at it.

“Why is it I say one thing and end up doing the other?” Will mumbled under his breath.

_No, I don't want a psychiatrist. Oh look a psychiatrist. No, I would like to kiss you. Oh okay, what I meant was date Doctor Lecter. I really didn't kill Abigail. Welcome to prison. I think I would like to kill the good doctor with my hands. What I meant was...I think I would like fuck him. Did I say that out loud? In my head. Great. Hey, let's not go over this cliff and just kiss already. Oh well. Here we go._

Was forced waltzing a crime? And was there a stiff punishment? And how did the law feel about waltzing without explicit consent? Particularly if the other party was a bit tipsy and the elaborately woven tapestries of queens and kings strewn about the room were beginning to shift out of focus. He was far too aware of heat of a hand in his and a respectful palm pressed against his lower back guiding them around the floor. He spent a great deal of time trying to make it appear as if he wasn’t looking at his feet. Or blatantly staring at thin ruddy lips. He knew better than to drink at social events.

“Are you unraveled by my infamous charm?” Hannibal asked, curved mouth pressed against his ear in a low whisper.

He nearly jumped. “ _No_.”

A thumb drifted across their entwined fingers. “By the marbled aesthetic of my form?”

Blue eyes rolled. “Not at all.”

“You take great pleasure in having my hands on you then?” The older man purred, fingers digging into a love bite near the base of a spine, casting a wanton smile his direction.

“Hannibal Lecter, are you—“

Will gasped as Hannibal flourished the abrupt end of a waltz by nearly breaking him in half with a low dip. He blinked rapidly, trying to assemble the image of the older man mouthing _beautiful_ with the accompaniment of applause. His skin was literally on fire. This was it. He was going to spontaneously combust. His eyes darted around. Where the hell was that stealthy little waiter and why was he absconding with an entire tray of champagne in the hour of his greatest need? Fine. No champagne. The nearest exit would do. He was fairly certain he could make his feet walk in a semblance of a straight line without too much disaster. He bolted. He got about five inches before an arm encircled his waist and spun him into a fast paced fox trot. He gave up all pride and pretense of social etiquette, dropping his head squarely on a shoulder and groaning. Dancing did not require him to actually look at anyone did it?

“Do you feel that?” Fingertips swirled at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer.

The younger man snorted, answer muffled. “I am not getting on my knees in this thousand dollar tux. You can forget it.”

_Though...given the right circumstances...I could be persuaded._

Laughter rumbled out of the chest he was pressed against, suggestion earning him a faint swivel of hips. “The sensation beneath _your feet_ , William.” A hum touched his forehead. “Though I am curious to know what brought up such a quick association?”

Since Will was apparently only capable of focusing on one task a time, he stopped to glower up at a bright smile, blatantly ignoring how he was crumbling on the inside. The man was impossible. He should have signed his soul away years ago and been done with it.

_Focus. Focus. Focus. But god, he's so handsome._

He shifted focus to his toes, wiggling them in shoes. There was something. Not quite a sound. Muffled and incomplete tone drowned out by strings of violins and chatter of the surrounding crowd. He knew this. It was a feeling. A sensation. Like the presence of an old friend. He squinted as if it would heighten his senses.

“Is that…?”

Vibration of a drowned out bass trembled under the soles of his shoes.

The older man took him in arms again, steering them elegantly with every whirl and turn, closer and closer to the edge of the room, voice low. “La Roux is not a nightclub in the standard sense. It has no brick and mortar location. It appears wherever its most notorious clientele happen to be gathering for sake of convenience and anonymity.”

Will shook his head, glancing about to make sure no one had overheard them. “Clever if it wasn’t so vulgar. How do we get in?”

Maroon eyes lifted to a shadowed hallway, armed guard blending into the doorway at the far end. A red satin card appeared in two long fingers emblazoned with a metallic gold crest from a tuxedo pocket.

“After you?”

 

* * *

Breath radiated hot on his neck, the younger man close on Hannibal’s heels and pressing in as they descended into a cacophony of a thumping bass and smoke. He led Will down a narrow spiral staircase and into a room submerged in darkness smeared with a red haze of sconce lighting. A scantily clad amazon in a thin veil of lingerie glided over, proffered gin and tonics in hand. He shook his head curtly, pushing the one slim fingers were curling around away and shot the younger man a stern look he hoped conveyed _it may not be safe_. A head ducked out of embarrassment or understanding. Difficult to ascertain in the gloom. He politely thanked the hostess and drew them further into the room, observing men and women flocking to earthly delights—members of Parliament, CEOs of corporations, and typical young blood flashing a millionaire status in a roll of bills—each reveling in the seduction of curiosity, of seeing and being seen.

A sleek black marble bar sectioned off the left side of the room, covered in droplets dripping down drinks abandoned for bare legs and strong arms. A thin nervous man was cordoned off against a pillar with a lithe dark skinned boy closing in, leather and chain criss crossing down a tattooed torso, peeling thick glasses from his nose. Topless girls were strewn across a rigged stage, bodies contorting and writhing close to crisp bills held out. They eased through rows of plush furniture littered in pillows and bodies. Thin black mesh netting draped over various scenes in the middle of creation between strangers and clients, drawing in participates for the spectator sport of true voyeurism. Dozens of half lidded eyes taking in fellatio and orgasms wrung out skillfully by the hour. Fingers tightened around his wrist as moans chased after them. Red velvet draped over rails of a private area overlooking a sea of bodies moving in a sweep of dim light and throbbing sound.

“There. Our mark.”

Hannibal turned and tugged a half intrigued, half terrified, boy into the protection of his arms. It was not solely for safety. Though his chief priority was to protect Will at all costs, regardless of his own well being, the idea always at the forefront of his mind. This gesture was meant as a warning. A threat. He had sensed eyes on them the moment they had entered the room, moue of lips and ravenous gaze stalking after what was his. Wide blue eyes gazed back. A bow tie had been lost somewhere along the way, curls wild around a clean shaven face, and three buttons of a dress shirt popped open to reveal a sheen of sweat. Will swayed slightly in the embrace with a flirtatious smile, judgment muddled by champagne, and moved closer to show parts of his anatomy remained interested in their physical proximity. He was the very portrait of Baroque hedonism and if Hannibal didn’t look away he was going to drag him into the privacy of the nearest room. Or coat check. Or broom closet. He had no interest in sharing, visually or otherwise. And one of them truly needed to remain in control and focused.

“What’d ya say?” Will slurred, nuzzling at his cheek and tracking fingertips down his waist.

That was interesting. Handsy after a bit of alcohol. He would have to make a mental note.

The older man took a deep breath to restrain himself and forced hands into trousers pockets. “The woman, third from the left, above us. Might I introduce you to Misses Arbello.”

Lounging between a pair of nearly identical dark haired twin boys wearing only their olive skin, manicured nails were stroking idly at necks craning to whisper into diamond studded ears. Wolf lips painted red left prints on a martini glass. Black dupioni silk angled low on an ample breasts and hugged above curving legs accented in razor sharp stiletto heels. Ivory skin glistened in trails of glitter left by fingertips. Pale grey eyes trailed the room in search of a more interesting distraction.

“I _wouldratherbe_ introduced to you, Doc-tor Lec-ter…” His attention darted to a mouth caressing the edge of a starched collar, breath stuttering out when he was yanked forward by plackets of his shirt, Will pressing into the curve of his ear and managed a semi-comprehensible whisper between laughter, “You are a bad…wait, terrible criminal. Terrible. _Howdyou_ not get caught again?”

He drew away slightly, gazing down at cheeks rosy with liquid courage, uncertain if he should be clinically concerned or interested with a complete lack of professionalism.

“And stop staring. Gonna get us caught. And I…really hated prison. Lonely. You weren't there.” Lips trembled in a pitiful confession before turning up in a grand smile, head tipping up as if to see a physical visual manifestation emanating from speakers. “Come on. Blend in. Not your kinda dance, right? Noise? Right? Loud? No class?”

“Why is it you consistently assume I was not also a youth in search of self exploration at one point?” Hannibal murmured, vaguely certain he was experiencing an out of body hallucination as he was dragged into a crowd of bodies.

Elbows jostled his sides and back. Feet trampled his. He nearly snapped a neck of someone tracing a hand across the younger man’s shoulder and face. A few well placed glares and growls had couples moving out and away from them, wary enough to give them space to stand comfortably. As comfortable as one might imagine stranded in a desert of bodies having simultaneous seizures under the guise of dance. He would have been utterly appalled if he wasn’t so distracted by how uncharacteristically social Will was being, all smiles and laughs, head bobbing to sound and in time with others smiling back, having silent conversation. He refused to call it music. All the tension had melted from the body and turned the normally pent up boy into a languid sensation of fluidity.

Hannibal took a step to the side to be out of the way, a broad sweep of his hand indicating the floor was quite literally open, his, and relinquished freedom out of sheer curiosity. Will pointed to the petite pixie of a girl who had approached him a moment before in question. The older man had to make a formulated decision in his brain to allow it to send an electrical impulse to the muscles in his neck and shoulder to nod consent. Teeth clenched in his skull, forcing a reassuring smile to say, _I promise to not to break every bone in her body and yours if you touch her. It is far too crowded. Too public. And I prefer privacy to enjoy my work._ The response he received was a gorgeous flash of pearly whites and light hearted laughs. For a millisecond, his eyes narrowed before he nearly suffocated from lungs refusing to pump oxygen to his brain.

Wrapping hands around a needle thin waist, Will tugged the girl close, front to back, stance widening, an erotic unhurried twist of hips swiveling them to the floor in a near crouch. They swayed up as one, without touching the other, hips guiding the other in a rhythm of a deep baseline pounding through floorboards beneath feet. He tried to unravel the mechanics, but the truth was Hannibal a hard time not appearing to blatantly stare at the younger man’s perfect and well tailored ass, flat stomach, and hips, writhing in ways he was ninety nine percent sure had been, up until this point, physically impossible. Except that he was. And perhaps it was beyond his control to look anywhere else.

The pair shuffled to and fro in quick turns of footwork, stalking each other in a tight circle, palms hovering over arms and legs as if in control the other’s limbs. The girl rolled hips, knees swaying to drop to the floor, arcing, and grinning when the younger man laughed and spun her around. He was utterly fascinated, undone by how easy Will had melted into interaction. The girl spun on a high top sneaker, laughing, shimmying a slight chest forward in challenge. She braced, stomach rolling, arms splayed to the side for balance and dipped backwards at a forty five degree angle, suspended in air without assistance. The younger man laughed harder, hands pressed against his head in disbelief, clapping when puppet strings tugged her upright, sidling over to where the older man had turned to stone, predatory gaze falling to hips. A single fingertip freed him from the spell.

“Tell me…” Hannibal crushed Will to him, thumbs shoving in below a ribcage, snarling against a damp mouth, “Why is I am just discovering this particular talent of yours now?”

“I’m sorry, which talent is that?” A pink tongue darted across a smirk.

The absolute insolence. He seemed to have nearly sobered up after a single dance.

_Burns a lot of calories, and quickens the metabolism, Hannibal. Aren't you a doctor?_

His fingers curled violently into belt loops, threatening to tear them loose as the younger man ground into trousers tented by a thick ache between his legs. He stood rigid, memorized by hands drifting dangerously down his lower back, latching onto thighs, as cock and hips rolled into him with each ripple of a stomach. Swiveling in his arms, Will guided a lithe body down his front, dipping to the floor, pressing an ass into him on the way up.

“Like this…” Fingernails trailed down the side of his neck as the younger man tipped his head to look up, red staining cheeks, tongue glistening on upturned lips. “I know you _can_ move your hips, Doctor. I’ve seen them in action, remember.”

Palm on the front of a throat to pin in place, Hannibal thrust hips forward, lost in a slow burning rhythm, skin shivering against him and growled, “Blush for me once more and I will have you here on this floor. Mind your manners, my heedless remarkable boy, and answer the question.”

“If by talent…” The younger man snorted, eyes rolling, coasting a palm over the hand latched onto his thigh. “…you mean forced to blend in to uncomfortable social situations, which gave me crippling anxiety, to avoid being a pariah in college then sure. I found a lot of alcohol tended to help. Or cause a lot of trouble.” Crinkled blue eyes lifted to the corners, winking. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m far too old to get into the positions I used to.”

He bit down on the lobe of an ear as punishment. “What kind of trouble followed in your youth?”

“Oh, well, see…I had an unnerving tendency to dance with and kiss anyone who asked when I was drunk. Really drunk. Which occasionally led to other things. And those anyones sometimes had boyfriends.”

“Did you find your mouth on many of their boyfriends?”

Lids dipping to half mast to cover murky blue, Will tilted, mouth hovering just above his, breath hot. “Just on you.”

The older man swirled fingers lightly underneath a parted shirt, giving consideration to following with his mouth. “I would have liked to have met you as a young man.”

“You would have taken advantage of my vulnerable state,” He laughed, shoving playfully at his chest to be released.

“Oh, I think you would have acquiesced to my request to have you,” Hannibal murmured, mouth drifting up the curve of a neck to an ear, listening hard to ragged breathing. “Begged to be taken with my tongue wrapped around your cock.”

Breath hitched. “I wouldn’t have lasted.”

“It would have hardly mattered.”

Fingers clenched around his waist, hips grinding forward as Will looked up, breathless, eyes straying to the nearest door. “…Can we?”

“I would love nothing more. However, we have work that requires our undivided attention.” Inhaling sharp, Hannibal parted them with great regret and tipped his gaze upwards, awareness filtering in, knowing they had drawn the interest of the correct parties. “Speaking of attention… you ought to introduce yourself.”

Miss Arbello was smiling, leaning over the balcony, beckoning them up to the secluded area. An invitation. All they needed to carry out the rest of the plan.

Will’s gaze flickered up and then away, teeth gritting out, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Be a gentleman and invite her up to our hotel room. I will make it quick and we can be on our way.” The older man thumbed down a tensed jaw, whispering, “When we have concluded our business, we might continue as we are now…”

The younger man took a menacing step forward, right hand tucked into a lovely threat of a fist. “Are you really throwing around the idea of using me as bait right now and expecting us to fuck after having said it?”

“I fear I am not her type, Will.” His mouth flinched.

“Is that why you asked me to shave?” Eyes widened, dress shoes stepping back.

Hannibal hated the look of disbelief and hurt flooding the gaze staring into his, knowing if he had asked before they both would have backed down after having made promises to the other. He was not enough of a man to prattle on about their future or breathe out, _We need this._ _This is the only way._

“It creates the appropriate aesthetic.”

Will sucked in a breath and held it, face darkening in harsh shadow, chest puffing out in a hiss of a curled lip, “And if I have to touch _her_? Kiss _her_? You are going to be okay with it as long as it suits the aesthetics?”

It was his turn to snarl. He closed eyes. If he took Will by the hand he would follow. They could leave this wretched place. They could go back to their home and be together.

_I don't need a sacrifice, do you?_

Would they ever truly belong to each other if they turned back now?

_I need him to know._

He had to let go. As he had done before. Would it truly be that easy? Or would he end up painting their hotel room with the woman’s blood and ruin their chances of all they had worked toward? They needed this. They needed her.

“I will attempt to exercise self control,” He ground out, hating every single word, the very idea, the thought alone.

It would kill him. If it did not kill her.

“I can’t do this…” The younger man whimpered, crumbling against his shoulder, head leaning in pitifully.

“Pretend you are seducing me, dear one.” He tried desperately to keep his voice from cracking, hoping it was covered by pounding noise, straightening and promised fiercely, “I will be near. Even if you do not see me.”

_For us?_

“Fine…” Will turned to go as if he was marching to his own death, head hanging.

Sighing the older man, pulled him to a stop and rolled his shoulders back, forcing his tone to become hard, cold, and commanding. “Strike me across the face.”

Narrowed eyes glanced back. “…Excuse me?”

“To make our quarrel look convincing. Simply—“

A palm slammed into his cheek, burning sting racing down his jaw and bleeding down his neck.

“Convincing enough for you?” Will snapped, shoulder jutting forward and hanging over him, all teeth, coiled and ready to strike.

“I… did not suggest you had to enjoy it,” Hannibal whispered, bent at the waist, cradling his face, the sting worse than any mortal wound, the look in stormy eyes shouting he would have to plead for forgiveness.

“Oh, did I not mention I’m pissed with you in real life?”

“I promise to find a way to thoroughly make it up to you later.” Maroon eyes lowered to the floor, hand curling around a hand and squeezing lightly. “Will?”

“No…” The younger man shook his head, blinking hard, mouth forced into a thin line. “You know I do. But I don’t want to say it to you right now.”

Straightening, Hannibal dragged eyes from a distant form blending into the crowd and melted into a corner to watch from afar. He snagged an ice cold whiskey off a tray and pressed it against his burning cheek to soothe the ache. The bruising would be minimal. The physical pain was easy enough to brush off. And he deserved it. His skin was crawling. He ached, deep and painful stabs, reverberating throughout his body from Will simply moving to another side of the room, without him, away from him, away from his arms. His gaze tipped up to see manicured nails running down the younger man’s face and he forced himself to watch, to look, to understand, to ingrain the sensation within his heart—loss.


	133. Chapter 133

Limbs moving entirely of their own accord, Will had a difficult time not glancing to the side or around him to look for Hannibal, needing to see him, to know where he was as he ascended a glowing staircase up to the private balcony. Mile long ivory legs shimmered as they shifted to the side to allow him to pass, a manicured hand extended and waiting for a kiss to charm them into conversation, or more likely into her bed. The younger man stitched on a haggard smile and placed his mouth against smooth knuckles, bending elegantly at the waist. Manicured nails trailed across his face and down his neck before pointing to a spot adjacent. Olive skinned boys slinked around it, balancing on an edge, eyeing the new comer warily. He was not nearly drunk enough for this. He smiled again, hoping this one looked gracious and enchanted, before folding onto the white couch beside Mrs. Arbello.

“Trouble in paradise?” The woman asked over a brimming rim of a fresh martini, stained in lipstick and broken English thickened in a drawl of glowing coals filling the hearths of Russia. “Your partner?” 

Forcing his lips to curve, he held in a sigh and forced his eyes to look into bluish grey ones, holding the gaze steady and remarked bitterly, “Soon to be ex-fiancé actually.”

He resisted a wince ticking in his jaw. He sounded like he meant it. Fury simmered underneath the thin layer of his warmed skin, forcing every muscle in his body to relax and move with ease instead of hurtling over the rail and choking the life out of Hannibal. Out of all the people to use him…

Dim eyes squinted, nails tapping on glass to draw his attention. _Shit, was I staring off into space?_

“I beg your pardon?” He rushed, draping an arm across the back of the couch and leaning in, pretending he hadn’t heard her over the music, their knees touching.

Lips brushed his ear. “What was it he did to earn such punishment?”

 _God, I used to be better at this._ Was it wrong to scrounge up murky images of interactions of Molly while trying to seduce a woman they were intent on kidnapping, with the man you had left her for? To be fair she had been far more forward than he had ever managed to date. 

Will tucked strands of hair behind her ears, tracking a finger across her cheek and let his gaze fall to a painted mouth. “He suggested sharing.”

Red lips parted slightly, a canine glinting. “Sharing?”

“A three way,” He replied, quiet enough she had to lean in to hear him.

“Ah…” Mrs. Arbello tipped the martini to her lips, smiling once more.

Drawing away, Will shrugged and draped a leg across his other one, balancing his jaw on two fingers, mirroring a stance he had seen Hannibal reserve for his most boring guests and glanced at the boys peering down at him. “I was offended by the suggestion.”

“Who with? This three way?”

Blue eyes ticked off to the side, wringing out another touch to a bare shoulder. “You.”

The woman dragged off two green olives between sharp teeth suggestively before setting an empty glass aside and motioning for another. “Once you figured out order, not so difficult. You might enjoy.”

Olive skinned boys rose from their perch, hand in hand, and slinked off to a tiny bar tucked in the corner of the balcony, glancing curiously over their shoulders and huddling together to whisper.

“I don’t play well with others.” He bristled, yanking his gaze away from naked skin and back to his intended victim.

His victim. Their victim. If he stayed focused...

A palm slid from knee to his inner thigh as the woman tipped close, breasts heaving out of a slinky dress and purred, “Would you like to play with me by yourself, Mister…?”

Taking a deep breath, Will scored a hand up the one latched onto him and trailed it down a bent neck, placing a kiss over a pulse in reply. “Liam.”

His stomach lurched at the sound of his alias, arms locking up. He couldn’t do this again.

“Liam?” Mrs. Arbello repeated, swirling the name in her mouth as if she was considering how he might taste.

She swooped two shot glasses away from outstretched hands without looking and offered one to him.

“No.” He was going to be sick and the pounding bass was not making his throbbing head hurt any less. “No thank you.”

The smile vanished and was replaced with a scowl. “Rude to refuse drink from beautiful woman.”

_Jesus, Graham, just take the fucking drink already. If it’s laced with anything, maybe you will get lucky and pass out before ever leaving this shit hole and continuing with this idiotic plan. This is his fault. His fault._

“Does the beautiful woman have a name?” Will let fingers linger on the ones wrapped around the glass, forcing his tone into a silky wisp as he tracked eyes from face to breasts to legs.

“Vivian Arbello,” She replied, relinquishing the glass with a curve of lips.

Will threw back the shot with conviction of man hoping it was a quarter vodka and remainder was rohypnol. What he would give to forget a few things right now. Liquid scorched his mouth and scraped down his throat, burning all the way down. He stifled a choke. Her hands were sliding up and down his thighs again. At least if he was inebriated or drugged he wouldn’t find it necessary to explain why he appeared interested but his flaccid cock was telling a different kind of story.

“Perhaps you like to play with my boys instead?” Vivian turned her gaze from between his legs to the boys leaning against the banister, knees touching each other, and snapped her fingers to bark out an order in Russian.

The smaller of the two boys skimmed hands tentatively up thighs, swirling at hips, bashful gaze darting from Will to his partner. Vivian snapped her fingers again, eyes narrowing as if to warn. The tallest caged the other against the rail, threading fingers in curls, and licked at sighing lips. Fingers indented skin. A left leg wrapped around a right thigh.

 _Jesus Christ…_ They couldn’t have been more than eighteen if that. He dropped his eyes to ivory curvy legs, skimming palms up them and lingering at a silky hemline, trying to ignore moans answering whimpers over his left shoulder. _If I can them away from her maybe…_

“I wouldn’t oppose a theatrical distraction,” Will mouthed against her cheek, tucking thumbs underneath silk and tracing. “Though I think you will be more than I can handle.”

Nails traced down his neck. “Might make your man jealous.”

Will leaned back, chin jutting up, motioning towards the door. “We have a hotel room just around the corner. If you don’t mind the possibility of being discovered that is.”

All he had to do was get them out of here right?

“I have no problem being watched. Have solution for that.”

With another snap of fingers, two bulky bodyguards appeared beside her in a flash, torn apart from the shadows they were surrounded in a second before. She murmured another command, handing a roll of bills to one guard. He disappeared and returned with two midnight blue silk robes. The  boys slipped robes on, knotting the other's belt, huddled close together and awaited further instruction.

A red mouth slanted up. “Shall we go?”

*

Fingers curling around a cold glass, Hannibal shoved his spine against the nearest wall to keep himself pinned in place, nostrils flaring. He was certain he heard glass fracturing before banging it down on the nearest table, whiskey sloshing over a thin edge and dripping to the floor. For the last ten minutes, he had kept careful watch on Will from a shadowed corner, mouth flinching every time he touched the woman or she touched him. The side of his face throbbed. In between those moments, he had fended off man and woman alike offering up drinks and promises in hopes to seek his company or ail his heart ache. He had nearly sunk his teeth into the wiry neck of a red head calling him a few choice names after having been refused. They needed to leave this place before he truly tore someone apart limb by limb. And what delightful carnage it would be. 

_Starting with the main course…_

Dark eyes swinging up to the balcony, he saw Will and the woman rising to their feet, trailed after by two smaller figures and shadowed by armed guards. He maneuvered slowly through the crowd, eyes locked on the younger man’s hand caressing a waist and hip, teeth grinding in his skull. He wanted Will by his side and in his arms more and more every second. He followed after a familiar husky laugh answering a trilling one in a dark hall. Six pairs of footfalls could be heard echoing eerily against marble as they rounded a corner. He moved silently, without a single sound, and caught a heavy door before it clattered shut and eased into night air damp from a recent storm.

He stalked after them through a narrow alley, ducking behind cars and flattening against the wall whenever bodyguards glanced and scanned the area for unwelcome guests. The thin boys sandwiched between them were skittish, eyes darting around, perhaps sensing his presence, or at least feeling they were being watched. He imagined out of the group, they had learned to be aware of the threat of danger before anyone else to warn themselves and each other. His throat tightened as they disappeared into a crowd, straightening and weaving through bustling bodies, neck craning to see over tops of heads. He spotted a mop of curls whisked away by a gold revolving door leading into a posh hotel. If he managed to keep it together for a while longer and not murder anyone in a fit of jealous rage, they would finally be able to put this night behind them. And that woman in the trunk. Where she belonged. If she were a rabies infested beast, Hannibal would have given consideration to not poking any holes in her boxed cage for her to breathe. 

How many times would he have to remind himself and Will they needed her alive before the night was through?

Hannibal smiled grimly at a bellhop tipping his hat in greeting, flowing into the hotel behind a group of tourists and weaved this way and that to get a glimpse of Will. Two straight backed guards, hands folded, stood in front of closing elevator doors. A flash of wide blue eyes disappeared behind ringlets. He stifled a snarl, gaze darting to the stairwell. He was going to have to run. He had been looking forward to barreling up hundreds of stairs with nothing except visions of using organs as decorative garland on his mind.

 

* * *

“Don’t mind them. For protection.”

Will glanced behind them in the crowded lobby, looking at the guards and then beyond them, hoping it wasn't obvious he was in search of someone else. _Come on, Hannibal…_

“My man went missing a week ago and has not yet replied to texts on urgent matters.” The woman punched a glowing button the elevator, sea grey eyes sliding to the side to view his reaction. “My husband insisted. You don’t mind I’m married?”

_I wish my soon to be husband insisted on protecting me instead of slitting my wrists and throwing me into a tank of sharks while encouraging me to swim._

He tried to look amused at the thought of his own death and laughed. “I find the idea of your husband intriguing.”

_And useful. And necessary. And altogether distasteful. Like you._

Vivian laughed, tugging him into an open elevator and crooked a finger for the boys to follow, holding up a palm to her guards. “You take next one.” She waved over a myriad of buttons. “Room?”

“Fifteen-oh-eight,” Will answered between clenched teeth.

His jaw was truly starting to ache from smiling. _Where the fuck are you, Hannibal?_

With a flash of a light and a ding, the elevator doors slid shut on two scowling men threatening to use their loaded side arms on him with glittering eyes. He glanced at the boys huddled in the corner, silently embracing and eyeing him balefully as if to ask what his intentions were. He wanted to tell them not to worry. He wanted to reassure them. How was he supposed to do that when his stomach was twisting into knots, his palms were sweating, and he was a minute away from blacking out from an anxiety attack shuddering quietly in his lungs?

Forceful hands shoved the younger man into a corner, knocking a startled gasp out of him as Mrs. Arbello rolled her hips against him and cupped a hand around his cock, red lips parting around flashing teeth.

“Big for such a small man.”

“Get that a lot,” Will muttered, ducking his head to her shoulder to keep his face angled away from a blinking camera.

“You not like touch?” Fingers squeezed him into half hard semblance of interest. “Or not like women?”

He was going to kill Hannibal. Gut him with a hunting knife and string him up like a piñata with all twenty three feet of small intestine for this. Two pairs of dark eyes were trained on them. Clearly those two weren’t buying it. He was going to have to make this believable or he would probably end up being groped by Mrs. Arbello’s husband in some tavern all over again to kidnap him instead. He didn’t want to kiss her. He didn’t want to touch her. He didn’t want to taste or feel where her mouth had been.

When his eyes closed and he crushed his lips against her, all he could see were flashing images of grainy photographs of dead children and abused playthings strewn across countless rooms. He sank his fingernails in to her waist and shoved her against the wall, hoping the rail bruised her back, and flinched when she moaned against him for more.

“I prefer privacy for what I enjoy,” Will growled, longing for the cold metal of a hunting knife pressed into his palm and warmth of blood spilling across his face.

“This…” She smiled and he wanted to vomit. “I understand.”

The elevator dinged. Doors slid open. They exited down the hall hand in hand, boys shuffling behind them. Will fumbled for the key card jammed into his inner tuxedo jacket pocket, plastering a smile on his face, and nodded at guards waiting for them outside the door.

_That was quick…_

They sidled up beside the door and it buzzed open as the key card slipped into a slot.

“Stay here,” Vivian ordered to the guards, beckoning to the boys in tow and shooed them into the room.

Booming voices answered in unison. “Yes, ma’am.”

Stiletto heels bounced against a plush carpet as manicured nails raked down a couch and she shot a sharp glance towards the boys. “You may sit here. Entertain yourselves.”

The smallest boy curled up into the larger ones lap, nestling a head against a shoulder, and closed his eyes. A comforting arm moved around shoulders, violet eyes down cast. From a single glance, Will could tell the boy was shivering. Not from cold. Fear. Fear what was to be asked of them. Fear what was to be done to them.

He tossed the key card on a dresser, glancing eerily around the room. What was he expecting? Dress shoes sticking out from underneath drapes of curtains? A hand shooting out from under the bed and dragging him underneath it? Those kinds of things only happened in his nightmares. He swallowed a bitter laugh. He was rather hoping this was one of them. A neat tray of tiny liquors dotted across its surface beckoned to him.

_Where are you, Hannibal?_

“Would you like a—“

Vivian threw him against the bed and pounced, loosed curls falling over shoulders as she bent and worked buttons free, practically tearing the dress shirt open. “You like it rough, Liam?” Sharpened nails scratched down his torso. “Does your strong man throw you around like rag doll? Tell you what to do?” Free fingers worked his trousers loose and grabbed his cock, stroking up. “Is he good at this?”

He jerked, cursing, hands fisted around sheets. “Oh—“

_To hell with this plan._

He closed his eyes and tried not to scream out his misery, imagining it was Hannibal slicking fingers around his cock but that only made him furious he was put into this position in the first place. He tried to feign interest as a mouth moaned against his ear, with memories of Molly bathed in morning sunlight, thin silk straps slipped loose around her shoulders and a slip clung to hips when she rode him gently awake as if she might hurt him. That made everything more confusing. At least she never asked him to pretend to fuck someone.

Which seemed more and more a likely outcome with each passing second.

_Take your fucking time why don’t you, Doctor Lecter. I was hoping to have my skin ripped open bit by bit._

Images of crime scenes crowded into his head and all went dark. He was going to throw himself over the balcony over looking the city and paint the sidewalk red with his shattered remains. His hands moved to her neck, eyeing a hammering pulse. Or he could crush her trachea. Break her wrists. Hurt her like she had hurt those boys. How she had hurt so many others. He might enjoy her after all. Just not in the way she suggested.

“Yeah…” Will flipped the woman onto her back, thumbs digging in above the hollow of her clavicle. “Like that.”

A scuffle drew his attention away from the throat and towards the door. Will opened his eyes as a mouth bit against his chest, breath knocking out of lungs. Shadows peeled away from a darkened corner, gathering into shape, and glided silently into the room. A pair of red glowing eyes peered out from the darkness.

“Hello, Will.”

 

*

In all his years, Hannibal had never once willing relied on mundane weapons such as knives or guns when taking down an opponent to add to necessary ingredients for a dinner party. He had always considered it the easy way out, for them and for him. God, or at least some deity or another, had given him a pair of perfectly good strong hands for a reason. He preferred to feel life draining out a body, pressed against a bare palm. Or sensations of bones snapping accompanied with brittle symphony. Killing someone with anything else seemed appallingly rude and unrefined. There had to be an exception. Especially given there were now two men bleeding out on ornamental carpet in a hotel hallway. He hadn’t even enjoyed it. He mentally noted to jot down an addendum to that particular rule: _except in the given circumstances of :insert all things regarding Will Graham here: or if you have finished running up fifteen flights of stairs and are simply exhausted, and wish to exert little to no effort further._

Audible moans and a squeaking bed could be heard through the walls. He latched a curved blade and tucked it away into a trouser pocket. It seemed dangerous to leave it in his hand, let alone open and ready to use. Stepping over cooling bodies, Hannibal let himself into the room and closed a door quietly behind him, snarls trying to claw their way out of his lungs. Will was currently straddling their target, wiggled part way of her dress, hands caressing a throat and was bent over her as if to kiss. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a capped syringe filled with one part sedative and one part LSD.

_You cannot kill Will. You love and adore him. And it is entirely your fault someone else is sinking their teeth into him at this very moment._

The older man stepped from shadows, waving to two startled boys on a couch and then greeted in a dark rumble, “Hello, Will.”

Mrs. Arbello tossed tresses over a shoulder, propped up on elbows, not at all alarmed to see him. “Have you come to join us?”

He wondered if he had the younger man to thank for that.

Will on the other hand was struck somewhere between terror and rage flashing across his features in dark lines and glittering eyes.

“Plenty of room.” The woman patted the bed beside them, snaking fingers down a lean chest. “If you convince your little one to share. Unless you would enjoy their company instead? Quite skilled.”

The young men straightened, sitting up as a hand waved at them to pay attention.

Hannibal released a low laugh twisting in his stomach, sitting on an edge of the bed and drew a palm down pale skin of a face, resting it over a neck, before locking his gaze with a blue one. “I believe we have all we need.”

Muddy dilated pupils widened.

Springing into action, Will pinned the smaller body below, shoving wrists against the bed and locked flailing legs between knees. Hannibal yanked off the cap with his teeth, spitting it out on a paisley bedspread, and jammed the needle into a neck. He crushed a hand striking the younger man across the face, twisting it back and into his lap. He thought about how easily it would break. Their ragged breathing filled the room, shoulders jostling against each other, until the woman stopped struggling and went quiet.

“Will, are you…” Hannibal traced fingers down a tired face where a bruise was forming across his cheek.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Will hissed, stormy blue eyes crackling as he jerked away. “What took you so fucking long!”

The older man sucked in a breath and held it, darkening words twisting out. “Have you ever raced up fifteen flights of stairs, my dear?”

“Has the Chesapeake Ripper ever had to almost fuck one of his victims to lure them into a trap?” Teeth snapped his direction, tuxedo jacket stripped down shoulders and hurled to the floor.

“If you would calm down a—“

“Don’t you tell me to calm down!” 

Soft whimpers drew their attention away from each other, chests heaving and fists clenched at their side. The two boys curled closer to one another, the larger of the two clamping hands over ears to drown out the sound of them screaming, dark eyes glinting upwards.

“Jesus Christ, you’re scaring them…” Will breathed out, shame flushing across his face. “Give me your jacket.” Glittering eyes swept his way, hand out stretched. “Give me your goddamn jacket, Hannibal.”

Hannibal bit back a sharp reply and wiped a bloodied hand on his trousers, peeling the jacket off and handing it over cautiously. The younger man yanked it away, rifling through pockets, and pulled out a neatly folded set of bills tucked in a silver money clip. He stooped, picking up his jacket, and offered both to the one glowering up at them threateningly.

“Here…”

Dark eyes slid from the money, to the man offering it, and then fell on a mop of messy curls shielded in his hands. The taller one murmured something, swiping away the money and tucking it into a robe pocket. He tugged at slim arms and legs, easing silk away from shoulders and following it with thin lips, gazing up at Will as he went, awaiting approval.

“No, no!” Will protested, flushing pink, and waved hands frantically.

The boys exchanged a look before untangling and placed themselves on their knees, nimble fingers pulling at buttons and zippers. Hannibal took a step forward, red seeping into his vision, warning breath trapped in his lungs.

“No!” The younger man tripped backwards, landing in a heap beside the bed with arms held up defensively. “No, you don’t have to do that any more!” He scrambled up, knotting loose robe belts and draped tuxedo jackets over small shoulders, wide eyes eyeing him cautiously. “You are safe. Just. Sit here. Uh…” He held up a single finger. “One minute, understand?”

Pressing close together, the young men murmured a low conversation, admiring jackets on each other’s forms but keeping a close watch on Will and Hannibal. 

The younger man yanked open the door. “Christ!” He dragged in the two dead bodies, cursing and slammed the door shut. “Really? Had to make a mess didn’t you?”

Hannibal refused to answer, helping Will undress the guards once he understood what he was doing. They offered clothes to the boys, miming gestures for them to dress and turned their backs to offer privacy.

“Do you know what they’re saying?” The younger man asked tersely, fiercely buttoning his shirt and scowling at patterns in the rug.

Teeth clenching, Hannibal stared up missing paint on the ceiling. “I am afraid I am not fluent in Russian.”

A timid hand tapped them both on the shoulder.

Will turned, face softening into a smile, and took the money clip and placed it in the tallest boy’s trouser pocket. They were practically swimming in drapes of fabric three sizes too voluminous for them. Hannibal wanted to whisper he was proud of him, to press the words into his mouth, and disappear into fierce eyes. 

“Go,” The younger man said softly, pointing towards the door. 

The boys glanced at each other confused.

“Go.” He urged again, nudging them from the room. “You’re free.”

Hannibal scrounged up a rough Russian translation for free in his head and grunted it, jaw jerking towards the door. The young men stopped, hand in hand, and glanced back, wide eyes brimming with tears. They smiled. And this time its warmth touched their eyes before they vanished out the door, a flicker of hope trailing after.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Will darted towards the bathroom with a palm pressed over his mouth, a sickly shade of ocean. Hannibal winced, gaze darting to the unconscious woman on the bed and trudged after, twirling the knife idly in his pocket. The younger man was braced over the sink, splashing water on his face and swishing complimentary mouthwash, eyes screwed shut. He placed a hand on a hunched spine to soothe, trailing it towards a belt. He had meant the gesture as a comfort. He saw hands where his should have been. A mouth marking what was only his to touch. Pangs of jealousy trembled in his fingertips and latched onto a belt, yanking. 

Blue eyes widened in the mirror, breath hissing out. “No—“

Hannibal flattened Will against the interior wall, thumbs digging in under a jaw and fingers splayed around a delicate throat. He kissed him hard, prying open rigid lips with his tongue, delving into heat to drink off the taste of another and replace it with his own. He tore at a dress shirt, covering a mark with a scrape of his teeth, sucking until it was red and bruising.

“T-take me,” The younger man stuttered out, hands twined in his hair, hips grinding against him.

“I will strip every single part of her from you in time, Will…” Hannibal promised in a low snarl, biting at lips. “For now we must go.”

A crisp ivory envelope was tossed on the bed in scrawling script: _Mister Arbello._

 

*

Arms crossed over a chest, Will glowered out at a dark countryside of unlit roads, twisting and turning restlessly in his leather chair as he played out events of the night in his mind like a horrible B movie stuck on endless loop. The only satisfying ending was slamming the lid of a trunk over an unconscious body. And that had only lasted a few seconds. The problem with instant gratification was how mundanely and annoyingly fleeting it was. Every stream or body of water they passed, he almost blurted out for them to stop so he could hurl himself into it and drown. At least then he would no longer consciously suffer reeking of hideous blossoming irises and vanilla. He swore he still felt her nails and hands on him, itching beneath his skin.

Releasing an aggravated hiss, Will stripped out of the dress shirt and pitched it into the backseat, glowering at the older man’s form veiled in darkness. “I didn’t know where you were.”

A pause stretched between them, a hand slipping across the gearshift. “Watching over you as a I promised.”

He sounded so sure of himself. So damn sure.

“And if it had gone farther than that?” The younger man pushed, balling hands into his lap to keep them from striking out. “Was I just supposed to play along?”

“It didn’t.” A firm monotone answered.

The corners of his mouth flinched.

“It could have!” Will shouted, slamming a fist against the dashboard, arms shaking. “Maybe I would have enjoyed it! You seemed pretty content with the whole situation. Did you just want to watch?”

Breath hissed out of teeth. “Are you baiting me?”

“Is that supposed to be one of your clever puns? Or are you just being an absolute dick?”

“It might be advisable for us to have this discussion at a later time,” Hannibal growled, cracking his neck with a roll of his skull and glowering into the distance of beaming headlights.

“There you go running away from our problems again,” Will muttered under his breath, raising his voice to an accusatory threat. “Do you have an issue with commitment? Or just me?”

Fingers clenched on the wheel. “Is there a point you are building up to or may I ask we drive in silence?”

“Maybe we should call the whole thing off and be done with it!”

Will clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to stuff words back in, hoping to choke on them to put him out of his misery. This entire night was some kind of bad joke and he just wanted it to be over. He was exhausted. He wanted a shower. He wanted to sleep in their bed and forget any of this ever happened. He hunched in the leather seat, kicking off shoes, and drew knees up his chest. He banged his forehead against them, muttering incoherent formulas of apology and pleading.

“If…” He heard the older man swallow, leather creaking, voice giving way to a quiet whisper, “…that is how you truly feel.”

“No, I didn’t—“ 

_I didn’t mean us._

“Take me home.”

After another excruciating hour of silence slid by, Will worked up the courage to speak again, wavering between forced gentleness he was struggling to wrap around hurt feelings.

“What you think you heard me say is not what I said,” He noted quietly, fiddling with knobs on the console until heat wisped out of vents. “I’m angry at you. We’re fighting. We’re not…” He curved arms around his waist, staring down at faint outlines of a ring on his finger. “Don’t think that. Please.”

“You do not wish to leave?” Hannibal asked wearily, slumped in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other propping up a heavy head.

Maybe it was the way it was said. How defeated the older man sounded. As if he was too tired to fight. Or if the fight itself wasn’t worth the effort. The rational side of his brain blared they were too tired to speak, too tired to even look at each other and remember why they were engaging in the venture in the first place. For each other.

“Not everything is about you!” Will snapped, glaring into dim eyes glancing over.

_I don’t want to anyone to touch me that isn’t you!_

“Don’t you ever ask me to do anything like that ever fucking again! And tell me you’re sorry! Can you do that?”

_Why can't you just say you want that too?_

Sighing, Hannibal steered the car onto a grass shoulder and put it into park. For a few moments he stared out into the night, silently considering transpired events and words ringing in his ears.

“Come,” The older man ordered, gesturing to the driver’s side.

Arms folded together. “ _No_.”

“Now.” Maroon eyes narrowed.

“You are going to have to learn to get used to hearing the word ‘no” sooner or later.” Will twisted in the chair, nose pointing out the passenger window. “Might as well start now.”

“It was not a request.” A burning mouth hissed against the back of his neck. “Would you prefer I drag you across the middle console by force?”

Spinning around, Will yanked off the seat belt, shoved against shoulders and clambered over thighs, purposefully digging knees into a waist and elbows into a stomach vindictively.

“There! Are you happy now? Jesus!”

Red eyes drifted up from his mouth to his eyes, snuffing out remaining light.

“N-no, Hannibal…” The younger man shivered, trying to shift free. “I didn’t—“

Will squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating teeth to bite off his petulance and wounding words, shoulders taut and bracing for impact. Fingertips swirled at the nape of his neck, running down his arms and cupping his hands together, placing them against lips. His eyelids fluttered open to find Hannibal's gaze lowered, mouth wavering in a mournful line of contrition against his skin. Maybe he hadn't been the only one hurting after all. 

“I am sorry, Will…” A dim whisper replied. “I will never ask it of you again.”

Bracing a hand on a headrest, Will kissed the older man gently, drinking in a sigh from his mouth and pushing in a hum of reassurance from his lungs in reply. He let patchouli fill his lungs, nestle in his blood and chase away the scent of another. Hannibal held onto his shoulders, trembling lessening as touch of fingertips and lips brushed it away, to show he was there. That he would stay. When they parted, Hannibal nudged him into the crook of his arm, positioning his legs over the middle console until Will stretched out, melting into the makeshift pillow.

“What if we get in a car crash?” He asked, eyes closing with no intention of reopening them.

Keys clicked an engine to life. “I will protect you.”

“You’re still sleeping on the couch,” Will huffed, tugging away a smile.

Fingertips swirled in his hair. “How may I further earn your forgiveness?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something. It wasn't...that bad. I'm just pissed you didn't ask me. You could have asked.”

A quiet understanding hummed out. "I will learn to ask in the future." 

“I want a date.” The younger man demanded, pinching a side to show how serious he was. “A real date. One that doesn’t involve kidnapping, corpses, sharp objects, or vehicle collisions. I expect you in a three thousand dollar suit asking Uncle Jack’s permission to court me. It better be good. And romantic as fuck or I am _not_ forgiving you.”

“Yes, dear one, as you desire.” He could hear a laugh edging into a grim voice, fingers tapping on dials. “Might I begin by offering to play the music you enjoy listening to?”

He snorted as _The National_ faded in through speakers. “You hate my music.”

“I do not enjoy all of it. However, I am fond of you…”

“You just don’t want to throw out your back on that lumpy excuse of a chaise.” He quipped, eyes rolling underneath lids, and turning his face into a chest.

He was always reminded how safe he felt with Hannibal’s heartbeat pressed into his skin, comforted by scents of coppery blood staining cotton.

“Do you think they’ll be okay? Those boys?”

“You showed them more kindness in a single moment than I believe they have experienced in all their lives, Will.” Hannibal placed a kiss on the top his head, squeezing a hand reaching for his. “Fleeting moments are sometimes all we can offer in way of faith and hope. Now go to sleep, dearest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't fool yourself, Hanni, we all know you are banished to the couch and Will is letting Winston sleep in the bed.
> 
> I apologize for the scattered forecast of chapters, everyone! I am in the midst of about six different projects and trying to juggle all of them all at once. 
> 
> Thank you for your lovely comments and beauty as always.


	134. Chapter 134

Shadows flickered across the living room to chase after dim hum of an air conditioner. Twittering birds scampered across windowsills in a skitter of freshly fallen rain clinging to wiry feet. Hannibal roused awake in twilight hours to find the younger man nestled between his body and floral tapestry of the chaise once more. This was the fourth night in a row Will had crawled under the covers with him after he thought he was asleep, sweat clinging to his t-shirt and forehead. Nightmares had followed them home from Copenhagen and returned to take up residence in dusty corners of a mind, released in agitated murmurs and twitching limbs. Running fingers through tousled curls spilling across his chest, the older man placed his mouth against the crown of a head gently to ward off any demons lurking inside. He had little else to offer aside from physical comfort after their altercation had earned him reservations on the chaise. He had asked on several occasions if they ought to talk about it only to receive two worded replies. Pained smiles turned to annoyance and ended in abrupt dismissal. Separate beds then closed doors followed.

 

_“You were crying out in your sleep…” Hannibal noted softly between sips of green tea._

_Will shifted uncomfortably on the countertop, legs ceasing to swing, and stared out the little window positioned over the sink. “I’m fine.”_

_“Do you not wish to discuss what is bothering you?” He played notes down a side of a ceramic mug, shifting a newspaper idly across the table. “Or simply not share aloud with the person, the very cause, of your distress?”_

_“You’re not the cause, Hannibal.” A mouth turned into a grim line, fingers tightening around a rosy cup._

_“A catalyst then?”_

_“I said I’m fine,” Will growled back, stormy eyes swinging over. “And you’re not my psychiatrist. Now drop it.”_

_Maroon eyes shifted to thighs tensing against closed cupboards, preparing to bolt. “Am I not allowed to show concern as your partner? Or will there never be a distinguishable difference for us?”_

_The floral mug banged against the countertop. His eyes followed after Will storming passed, shoulders squared, and slammed the front door behind him. Sighing, Hannibal went over to the kitchen sink and mopped up tea dribbling down the side of the counter. He watched a hunched figure briskly walk down to the beach, flopping down, and caging hands around knees to stare out at the sea. His eyes strayed from scenery to an adjacent wall beyond the small table. He knew the younger man felt the woman’s presence permeate the air, seeping into skin, and filling his mind with forgotten horrors. He knew better than to follow this time, cheek twinging with a fading bruise, unable to voice how the simple physical separation knotted tendons inside a struggling heart. He remained on the other side of glass and waited.  
_

 

“Wake up, dearest,” Hannibal murmured against a damp cheek, shifting to prop up on an elbow and caress a neck.

A cold nose wrinkled with a groan, brows scrunching. “No sun.” Will groaned and rolled closer into the back of the couch, burying a face in pillows. “Sleeping. Go away.”

Shaking his head, the older man slipped off the couch and pattered around the cottage to prepare for the day. He took a scalding shower, missing the sensations of a face pressed to him when he lathered shampoo in dark curls. Or soft sighs dragged free as he mapped out skin with lips. He dried off quickly with a towel, ivory dove button up and linen trousers sticking to damp skin. He arranged folded clothing inside a small bag before shuffling around the kitchen to pack a simple breakfast on top. He scooped out an arrangement of fresh lilies wrapped in brown paper parchment from the fridge, sweeping off dewdrops from thin petals with a thumb. He packed parcels into the back seat of the car, stuffing a tackle box on rubber floor mats and slinging a rusty pole next to it. Winston pranced around his feet, pushing a wet nose at his calves and waited for permission to climb in.

“If you insist,” Hannibal said with a smile, stepping aside and allowing the dog to clamber happily in, tail lashing against leather before settling on stretched out paws.

He returned to the living room to find the younger man had burrowed deeper in hopes of disappearing in a disguise of floral patterns, either to be left alone or forgotten. A lumpy outline of a body was concealed by a duvet dragged over a head, pillow plopped over an ear as if it alone was sufficient to block out any sound. Even breathing inhaled and exhaled inside a rising chest, knees tucked up to form a tight ball.

Hannibal tapped on a blossoming quilted camellia over a hip. “Shall I, the proverbial knight, awake you with a kiss?”

“Only if you want a black eye,” A muffled voice groused, twisting deeper into cushions. “Tired. Too early.”

Bundling up a rigid body inside the duvet, the older man carried Will to the car and arranged a cocoon of blankets in the passenger seat, strapping a belt around what felt like a shrug of shoulders. He glanced over at stray curls sticking out as he drove, leaning across and wheedling a hand inside the duvet until he found a limp hand to hold. He thumbed across a cool band of metal, not at all surprised when the body rustled a bit closer only to fall asleep again. The younger man had developed an unnerving habit of being able to sleep through just about anything since they had set sail, peacefully lulled by pitching waves and crackling lightening. He had practically been forced to violently shake him awake one evening he was convinced they were nearly capsizing. Will had laughed, rolled over, and went back to sleep with an indulgent smirk in the blink of an eye.

The car drove passed tiny umber farmhouses sprinkled across the lush countryside, woolen sheep and speckled cows milling over flat land in search of sustenance. A chipped wooden sign reading, _Nissum Ffjorde,_ rose up in the distance on the right. Hannibal steered them down a winding dusty road shaded in massive oaks and fir trees, slowing to wait for a stray parade of ducks to meander off the path and continue on their way. Winston whined at them from the back, nose pressed to the window in hopes they would return to play. Maneuvering around fallen logs and stray debris, they finally rolled to a stop on the top of a hill overlooking a stretch of sandy beach surrounded by forest, sparkling body of water spreading out.

Hannibal eased out of the car, staring after a blur of gold fur jumping to the front seat and bounding happily after a gathering of seagulls resting on sand. He looped a straw bag over his arm before piling Will, blankets and all, inside his arms and ambled unsteadily down to the shoreline where a lone seagull was squawking out its last stand with Winston on top of a boulder. He wrestled the bag free from his elbow, letting it drop to the sand. With a flick of his arms, he unfurled the duvet as if it was an oriental rug, a flail of arms and legs appearing in a quick roll to its edge. Will groaned out a curse, snagging a corner of the blanket and wrapped it over his head. The older man stretched out, hands behind his head, and stared up at cotton wisps painted across pastel sherbet lighting a dark skyline in a sun rise, attempting to suppress laughter shuddering against ribs.

Will wrestled to the left then to the right, stilling for a moment before pitching onto the flat of his back, an arm slung across eyes, groaning, “So bright. Turn the light off.”

Reaching into the bag, Hannibal tugged out a warm metal canister and unscrewed the lid before pouring piping hot coffee into it. He nudged at an elbow, tipping the container to his lips to hide a smile.

Muddied blue peeked out from squinting eyes, glancing around. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you its impolite to kidnap a man in his sleep?”

Looping hands under arms, Hannibal dragged Will between folded knees and propped him up against his chest, pushing curls from sleepy eyes and massaging a scalp. “Did I not provide ample warning?” He asked, stooping over and kissing a bottom lip gently until a frown melted away. “And is it considered kidnapping if the intention was romantic in nature? And in what fairy tales have you read, pray tell, did the intended hero end up with facial contusions?”

Slinging coffee into a mouth, Will grabbed hands and placed them back in his hair, nuzzling his face into a thigh, bumping a head against a stomach to make them continue stroking. “Mmm…”

Hannibal continued to play with hair, watching muscles and limbs relax as he wound each curl around an index finger simply to watch them spring back into place. He dug thumbs underneath a skull, prying away tension from tendons and vertebrae until the younger man was slack jawed and practically purring. He felt his own tension drift as Will rolled onto his back and looked up, hooking hands around the back of a neck, and blue drifted down planes of his face in search of something.

“Do you intend to prosecute me to the full extent of the law?” The older man asked, carding fingers through fallen silvery strands and reaching for a plastic container.

“Depends.” Will studied a white tart mousse lemon tart covered in sliced strawberries balanced in fingers warily, nipping off a piece and melting with it, eyes slipping closed. “Might be persuaded to cut you a deal.”

Smiling, Hannibal chewed thoughtfully on the halved dessert, trying to decipher a glimmer blinked away by long lashes. Was it forgiveness? Acceptance? With a quick push, Will flattened the older man on his back, wrists pinned above his head and grinned down. Breath fled his lungs as a pink mouth crowded close, kissing away a smudge of cream and licking open the seam of his mouth parting in a weak sigh. He hoped it conveyed how much he had missed him. How the separation of mere walls and doors had felt like miles had come between them. How he had doled out an appearance of respectful patience, forced to wait, to be invited back in instead of demanding to return to their bed, to Will. An apology at the ready perched on his lips, waiting to be asked for its delivery, to show he was worthy of being forgiven and allowed back into arms.

A warm palm wandered underneath popped buttons, nails whisking at grey on his chest, as Will smiled softly and whispered, “You look really nice, Hannibal.”

He straightened against shifting sand, pushing shoulders back, and stretched out to regain every inch of his height, cheeks heating slightly.

“If you were a bird you would be preening.” The younger man smirked, face softening and voice dropping painfully low in question. “Do I not say it enough? What a masterpiece you are?”

_If I were to say yes, would it pain me less to know you admire a crumbling facade?_

Turning his face away, Hannibal flexed bound wrists inside a hand, and rumbled out a reply, “I have packed your assortment of gear should you wish to observe a day of lazily awaiting the fish to come to you.” His voice caught as lips touched above bare skin stretched over his heart. “Why on earth you would not pursue them with a spear and be done with it is still beyond me.”

Corners of a mouth lifted, and then certain he was dreaming, a wink followed. “Guess I’ll be a fish then.”

In a flurry of movement, Will shucked out of a t-shirt and boxers in a matter of seconds, golden skin gleaming bright in early morning sun. Bunching calves pulled strong thighs crouched on the duvet. The younger man got to his feet, lifting arms over head, stretching and twisting this way and that, glancing over a shoulder once in awhile to ensure he was being watched with a shy flit of eyes. As if it was possible for Hannibal to breathe, let alone look away, trying to force his body to comply with demands to rise to knees and lave a tongue between marbled cheeks, until he was certain he was forgiven. Will was unabashed in lithe beauty he was unaware of possessing. Patroclus rising naked on the banks to beckon Achilles into murky waters to wash away blood of the slain, tears of the fallen, and give his soul to sea grey eyes in a touch of lips or be drowned in offering to the gods above. 

“Coming in?”

“I think…” Hannibal blinked once, hard, in hopes to untangle knotted words in his mouth and form an actual sentence, wincing as it came out a breathless stutter. “I will wait here if you don’t mind.”

“Still afraid of sharks?” Dimples dotted near a mouth.

A growl emanated out of a throat as Hannibal lifted from the duvet and reached out to stroke calves, to snare his intended. “Still willing to test my theory of throwing you into our vehicle with only your skin?”

Skipping out of his reach, Will laughed and sidled lazily down the shoreline, easing into waves bit by bit, shoulders shaking when Winston bolted passed him at a gallop and leapt after the lone seagull finally retreating. Hannibal pawed through the bag without looking, unable to tear his gaze away from flickering light bouncing across a torso as foaming sea caressed thighs drifting through their embrace and lapped at firm swells. He propped a sketchbook against his knees, dragging a charcoal pencil across its surface, intent on capturing lines of light and dark, knowing he would never be satisfied with being unable to map out the ethereal on paper. He ignored an ache between his legs, longing to trace fingers across skin, to hold close and listen to the unspoken. The younger man looked over his shoulder, chest deep in water, lifting curls off the back of his neck and smiled once more before diving under, a splash and kick of feet left in his wake.

_Will I ever truly gaze upon you without feeling the splintering of an aching chest? To understand you are mine? To realize you chose me._

Setting the sketchbook aside, Hannibal rolled trousers up below his knees and discarded shoes and socks. He began stalking along the shoreline with Winston trotting at his side, tongue lolling out in a smile. His eyes skimmed across a placid diamond green sea in search of teasing prey. He was about to dive in after when a rippling surface drew his attention. He caught a flash of a shoulder. A splash of glistening thighs. Hands scooping water to the side as Will rolled onto his back, face tipped to the side to find him, a water nymph floating effortlessly across a swaying surface.

“Aren’t you going to even try to reel me in?” The younger man called out, smile flickering underneath a splashing wave.

“I only pursue my prey when I have tired of waiting,” Hannibal noted, shielding a hand over his eyes to watch water pool between hips as strong legs lazily trailed after.

Hands stretched out to the side, sending a scatter of droplets sliding down a torso. “And how long will you wait?”

_Eternity._

“However long is necessary,” The older man answered, waves skimming across feet as he ambled after, hands thrust into pockets. “I will wait for your return to me.”

Gliding over to shallow depths, Will rose in a cascade of ocean water dripping down a chest, pooling in a navel, and clinging to legs carrying him closer in purposeful strides. He froze as an arm snaked around his waist, cold sliding down the crisp front of his shirt as the younger man pressed a mouth to his ear.

“Stop waiting and just come get me if it’s what you want.”

Pressing palms to shoulder blades, Hannibal bent Will back, trailing his mouth from an arced neck to a shivering chest, tongue flicking out to taste ocean mingling with skin. He caressed lips faintly over a dusky rose of a nipple, rewarded with fingers dragging him in. He swirled a tip of a tongue around it, light flicks drawing out gasps.

“Have you longed for me in my absence?” Hannibal mouthed across a hardened bud, gaze lifting to find Will staring down through slitted eyes.

Fingers tugged at his hair, lifting his mouth away. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes.” Glowing eyes drifted to sand, the older man giving consideration to the view from knees.

_I ache for the softness of your smile. Searching out your skin in midnight hours to drape over mine. I ache without you near, separated by broken consonants and sentiment trapped inside our lungs._

“Then that was kinda the idea, wasn’t it?”

Wriggling from his embrace, Will shuffled back to the duvet spread across the beach and picked through the bag until he found a rumpled red button up and a pair of jeans. Hannibal blanketed across a stooped spine, trailing hands between ocean kissed thighs and up biceps, whisking away the shirt, laughing quietly against a shoulder as a right hand tried to snatch it back.

He kissed the back of a neck, twisting an arm, and spinning Will to face him, shirt swaying in a salty breeze. “Allow me.”

The younger man crossed and uncrossed arms, face tipped to stare down the bridge of his nose beaded in water, as Hannibal slipped the shirt over shoulders. His fingers intentionally skittered across every inch of skin within reach, lingering at sensitive sides, drifting on thighs and pushing into a chest as buttons slipped closed. Will’s breath came out in a rush as he tugged on the front of a hemline to ease wrinkles, dragging knuckles up a half hard cock. The older man took a step back to admire crimson skimming thighs, dipping up to expose hips in a curved hem, and sloping down to reveal the beginnings of clefts. He imagined how he might lie on his back watching clouds drift by, fistfuls of fabric crushed in fingers, as Will rutted into his mouth, head thrown back, and unable to escape to another room, to shut him out behind another door. How skin would prickle with heat, how knees might tremble around his neck, and a plea for release would spring from lips.

Pink lips pursed, lashes blinking fiercely to maintain eye contact. “Why are you staring?”

“Am I no longer allowed…” Hannibal trailed his nose over an upturned collar to fill his lungs with Will, folding it neatly into place, before drawing back to catch a glimmer of lust in ocean blue. “…to take in the form of true magnificence?”

The older man ducked away from hands readying to latch to his hair, hiding a smile. Jeans roughed up thighs with an agitated hiss. He promptly placed a bouquet of lilies into arms.

“What… are these for?” Will flushed, gaze darting from the massive bouquet to playful maroon peering over delicate blossoms. “I am not going to have a sudden case of amnesia and forget there is an unwanted, drugged burden tethered to the radiator in the guest room you know.”

Plucking a tiny blossom from its stem with a snap, Hannibal tucked it behind an ear, whisking droplets from curls. “I thought they might please you.”

He would have liked to crush the lily into hair to drape its scent across skin, hands wrapped around a head, devour a quivering mouth.

Rose red blossomed bright. “Do you want to wake up one morning to find I’ve braided your obscenely long hair with wild clovers, Hannibal?”

“If you would like,” Hannibal replied with an easy smile, offering his arm gallantly and waited.

“Our stuff?” The younger man muffled out, attempting to scrub away furious blushes with a wrist.

They both glanced up to find Winston curled in the middle of the duvet, leg twitching in a pleasant dream, warmed by sunlight.

“Shall await our return.”

Brown paper crinkled inside a tight grip, rustling against bending knees. Every once in awhile Hannibal caught Will bending his nose to inhale sweet scent, flushing intensely when he realized he was being watched. They ambled along the shore, cool waves crashing lightly over their toes squishing in wet sand. They gazed out at a painted sky. They searched for shells buried in the sand. Their shoulders jostled against each other, eyes darting up to meet and move away as if nerves fluttered in their stomachs, uncertain if they were to ask permission to touch.

Fingertips pressed into a bicep. _May I hold your hand?_

 _If it would please you._ He caressed knuckles before they disappeared, aware of fingertips trailing down sensitive skin, circling his wrist before fingers threaded with his own.

Will wandered closer, resting his temple against a shoulder and breathed out lead weight from his lungs, “I needed this. To be…with you. Thank you.”

"If you had merely voiced the necessity, I would have taken you sooner." Framing a face with hands, Hannibal stepped close, kissing a brow. “Does this mean I may return from the chaise I was banished to?”

“We’ll see.” Lips wavered in an attempt not to smile as the younger man tugged him along by the wrist, leading them into waves.

“A word of advice, dear one…” He meandered after, nuzzling against a neck. “If it is intended as a punishment you really should not join me every evening.”

Blue eyes snapped over a shoulder. “It was… _cold_.”

“Then you ought to have turned off the air conditioning.”

“And you should have frozen and been forced to come to bed!”

“Ah was this your attempt at manipulation, while simultaneously hoping to get your way?”

Will scrunched his nose, shaking his head vigorously, wet hair scattering water all over a crisp dress shirt and amused taunt of a grin.

The older man glanced down at his no longer pristine front then back up to shaggy curls. “You are far more trouble than I had originally assessed upon meeting.”

A back hand sent a foaming wave crashing down and plastering cotton to a chest. Hannibal stared with an open mouth, snatching away the bouquet of lilies least they end up in a drenched puddle or floating out to sea.

“Oh, _I’m sorry_ ,” Will mumbled, eyes rolling. “Did I manage to get ocean water on the poor cannibal sulking on the beach?”

Red eyes narrowed.

“…Wait, oh hell!”

Hannibal delicately placed the bouquet by a series of boulders before sprinting down the beach after a retreating bounce of wild curls and occasional glances back from bright blue eyes.

“You’ll never take me alive!”

He followed airy sounds of laughter around a crumbling cliff, bare feet whisking away smaller disappearing footprints, heart fluttering as he drew closer. This was a chase he would never tire of. He found himself smiling as Will tried to run faster, breaking free for only a second longer, eyes widening when he glanced over and realized the older man was only a few feet behind him. Arm snagging around a waist, Hannibal hauled kicking feet effortlessly from sand and dragged them out into waves, rumbling laughter vibrating inside lungs. He hoisted hips up with palms and made a motion to throw the younger man in.

“Don’t you dare!” Will howled, sharp nose whipping up. “Or I am taking you down with me!”

“This is a cashmere linen blend, dearest,” Hannibal replied with a faint bit of interest, far more invested in a body writhing helplessly in his arms. “It would be utterly ruined. And you have dragged me off a cliff once already.”

“Then you understand my threat isn’t idle!”

Feigning for the safety of his clothing, now covered in wet sand and water, Hannibal lowered Will to his feet after lugging them both up to dry land. The younger man panted against him, hands slung around shoulders to keep steady, basking in his victory with a ruddy grin. An upturned face was flushed pink from exertion, curls haphazardly scattered and tousled in a light breeze. Blue eyes widened the longer he looked, silent, rush of emotions painting face, neck, and chest in an ombre of crimson. Throat clicking in a small noise of adoration, the older man touched their lips together and held hands pressed to him, squeezing lightly.

_How lovely you are. How willingly I would come to a beckoning knife in your hand and love in your eyes._

A chin tucked down to hide a face, muffling a weakened noise of distress. “Kind of like me, don’t you?”

“Far too much for my own good, mylimasis,” The older man confessed quietly, resting his cheek against the top of a head. “I suspect there is nothing to be done about it now.” He tugged them apart and pointed to a scattering of broken stones leading up the hillside. “This way.”

Wrapping an arm around a waist, Hannibal helped Will up a steep rocky siding and lead him through a thicket of wild berries, parting thorns with a brush of his arm.

The younger man shot him a suspicious glance. “If there’s a gingerbread house in here somewhere, I am going to have to decline your offer to go in…”

“Why would there be—“

A hand waved away the question. “Never mind.”

The younger man ducked under brambles and wandered a few feet, standing on tiptoes to get a glimpse of a clearing ahead. Hand in hand, Hannibal guided them under mangled underbrush and over wildflowers, and occasionally turned to lift bare feet over wide rain puddles. Each offer was met by an exasperated sigh and a shake of a head before allowing it, picking their way slowly to flat land.

Grey stone weathered smooth by rain, edges crumbling from fallen limbs, rose up to form three high scalloped arches overlooked by a single vaulted roof of a church. Light glinted off tattered remnants of stained glass clinging to once magnificent narrow windows. Thickets of green ivy climbed fleur de lis surrounded by etched spirals carved into its stone surface.

Will stopped in his tracks, dragging a hand wearily down his face and shook his head, voice low. “If there’s a human valentine, Hannibal, I am going to strap postage to it and mark it as ‘return to sender.’ Or better yet, I am going to send it to Jack.”

Nipping away a smile, Hannibal pried open the heavy wooden door ajar and swollen after years of being water logged. He extended a hand. Will yelped as a tiny brown rabbit hopped out, scampering across their feet, and glared at them for disturbing its afternoon nap.

“Perhaps you ought to wait here a moment while I check for intruders, dear one.”

Grumbling followed as Hannibal ducked into the church, whisking a fallen branch lightly in front of him to rustle up any other creatures lounging about in slumber. He kept a close eye out for any of the limbless and slithering variety. Harmless garden snakes to be sure except he was certain Will would not see it that way if one were to blink sweetly up at him around his ankles. It had been abandoned long enough for nature to find its way in and reclaim what rightfully belonged to the earth. Greenery and small shrubs sprung up throughout the structure where pews once had been, winding through an aisle, and climbing wrought iron. 

Sandwiched between columns, figures carved in stone relief depicted religious scenes and saints framed in a mimicking of theater boxes below high windows reaching up towards the ceiling. He looked up at a massive circular rose window above an abandoned altar and tried to picture how light would have streamed through it once, washing light across reverent faces, filtering prayers to the heavens. Tentative restoration and chasing away wildlife ought to return it to its natural beauty for a night or two. A snapping twig had his head turning.

“You really do have an unhealthy obsession with churches, you know?” Will ambled in and murmured, gazing up at a half caved ceiling giving way to a cloudless sky above splintered rafters littered in twine and birds nests. “I'm half convinced I'll walk into a room one day and find it plastered in news article clippings with a conspiracy of red string and tape. By the state of this one, it looks like the roof might collapse any minute. Do you mind if we are not inside when that happens?”

“Why ever would I allow God to take you from me, William, when I am close to receiving all I have longed for?”

A dark brow lifted skeptically. “Redemption? Salvation?”

He stretched out a hand, waiting in a whisper of light touching stained glass. “Are you the embodiment of the divine as well, Will?”

Hannibal was pleased when a palm slipped into his, cheek settling above his heart as Will gathered close, humming out an airy note as they swayed across crumbling stone. He played fondly with pure white petals miraculously remaining tucked behind an ear, brushing his mouth across a forehead with whispers of _divine_ clinging to each touch. Waves crashed steadily across a shore in the distance to mark the time of their shuffling feet. Filtering light from broken beams weaved to and fro branches to seek out their shadows.

This place felt more real to him than any in the world he had stood beneath, or walked through in the structures built inside his mind. It was more pure than the agonizing brushstrokes of the Sistine, more holy than gilded walls of the Norman Chapel. Here all faded, blurred and drifting, until only Will remained with him in this moment in time, cradled to his heart, breathing for them both.

“If I were to ensure of its sound structure…” Hannibal took in a steadying breath, tensing as he drew them to a stop. “Would you find it suitable to take our vows inside these walls? Beside the sea you long for? Underneath the stars guiding our souls together?”

“Oh…”

Will drew away, palms flattened on his chest, lashes drifting open over blue constellations, halo of flickering ruby and sapphire glistening off glass draped over skin in prayers of the forgotten. The older man vowed to seek penance in prayer on bended knee, offer sacrifice at the tip of a blade, if his deity might allow him to remain at his side. An index finger trailed hesitantly after light flowing across a brow, a cheek, a corner of a mouth, in search of glistens rising up to mirror mist gathering in his own eyes.

“Do you love me, Hannibal?” A shaking hand caught his, fingertips pressed to pink lips, a soft whisper easing out.

Fingertips tucked under a jaw, the older man brushed quiet, undying fealty across parting lips. “Yes, William.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am trying to get back into a regular routine of updates! Sorry for the wait, lovely readers! <3 
> 
> Until the Last Falling Star x Matthew Perrymann Jones
> 
> If there was a chance  
> That we could be lovers  
> I'd swim seven oceans  
> And keep going further  
> I'd hold my breath until  
> You slipped those words  
> That belong on your lips  
> So tell me the secret  
> Is there a way into your heart


	135. Chapter 135

Faint hints of mildew dusted across a red and white checkered vinyl mat neatly unfolded across scuffed planks of hardwood in the living room. The misplaced prisoner of times past no longer, freed from the back of a linen cabinet. Hymn of cicada rustling olive green wings filling knotted branches to escape summer heat filled the air. Two flute glasses perched at an angle in the right corner next to a blank black rectangular box. Four mismatched oval ceramic plates etched in ivy, grapevines, and indistinguishable chipped flowers were arranged in a half moon a few inches to the left. Delicate spoons tarnished with age rested at a forty five degree angle on each edge. Intricate cakes measuring no longer than a thumb wide or tall were placed exactly in the center of plates.

Crouched on an edge of the mat, Will mopped water off his brow and hair with a beige towel. Water from the spigot attached to the side of the cottage had been blissfully cold after a hard run down the beach, tasting of sweetened rainfall. He had intended to place black running shorts in the basket sitting on top of the washing machine as he wiggled into another pair of heather blue jersey. Then he had come barreling through the hall for a glass of water and was hopelessly distracted. The shorts were discarded in a crumpled pile somewhere in the vicinity of the grandfather clock and the front door. He tossed the towel blindly behind him in hopes it would find its way to the other. No such luck. It ended up hanging from a stained lampshade.

Here he was on two knees and a hand, inspecting the smallest desserts he had ever seen, questioning whether they were even real or figments of his sleep deprived imagination. The younger man squinted at immaculate miniatures of slivered chocolate, drizzled honey, and what he was almost certain were freshly picked miniature lilac pressed to icing. He inhaled. Cooling vanilla batter. Zest of lemon. Notes of fresh sliced fruits. Pungent almond and wisps of bittersweet. He was about ninety percent sure they were real. And edible. There was only one way to be certain.

Dress shoes clattered around the corner, swiveling, and came to an abrupt halt. “If you have taken a single bite out of those cakes, you will be severely reprimanded!”

Will held up hands in defense, scrambling quickly back from plates and pointed in direction of the desserts, not one accosted, his sole witnesses to a premeditated crime not yet committed. Fingers drummed against a bicep wrapped in a sienna brown v-neck t-shirt powdered in flour, undoubtedly approved to be worn in messy situations and borrowed from a deflated duffle bag. A bisque colored half apron swung in a right hand as Hannibal flicked narrowed eyes carefully over his creations to ensure not even a single crumb was out of place. With a curt nod, clearly satisfied with his silent interrogation, the older man folded an apron over the back of a wooden chair and bustled about gathering wet towels and clothing. He shot a disapproving look over his shoulder, walking down the hall and returned a few moments later arms free. Diligent swishing of a washing machine floated after.

“I was only gone for a few hours.” Will glanced at a plastic watch strapped to his wrist to make sure he hadn’t miscalculated, lost time, or altogether forgotten how to read minute and hour hands, and looked up into maroon eyes. “How on earth did you manage all of this?”

Lips twitched in a repressed smirk. “Using ones time efficiently is something I take great pride in.” Hannibal broke into a toothy grin, skin ruddy from oven heat, and stooped to place a kiss on a glowering face, offended by the insinuation. “I may have also started before you graced the world with your presence. The rosewater mousse cake needs to chill over night before being consumed. If you are able to exercise self control.”

Will positioned crossed legs in front of him, grumbling at checkered vinyl, “May have had something to do with your rather vigorous form of apology last night, in case you forgot.”

“It must have slipped my mind…” Knuckles playfully whisked at his frown as the older man sat beside him, arranging plates between them.

Ducking close, blue eyes widened and narrowed trying to understand how one might even see minuscule specks of dusted sugar and bits of berry without a magnifying glass. He wished he had brought his fly tying gear. It might actually be deemed useful instead of ‘contraptions you carry around in hopes of formulating new lures before being distracted by Winston.’

“You use like a sixteenth of each ingredient to make each one or what?” He was so close now his nose was nearly touching a quarter inch dollop of mousse. “They’re like…cakes for miniature villages.”

They were tiny impeccable works of art. How had they come into being in mere hours? Years? Was he sure he hadn’t meant years? And was Hannibal some kind of miniature dessert connoisseur in another lifetime?

Hannibal frowned, shooing him from his creations, dark gaze staring at them despondently, longingly, shoulders sagging. “Do you not like them?”

An inaudible tremble of despair crept into his tone. Utterly pitiful as if being asked to toss them into the trash and begin again.

“It is not quite noon. I suppose I might be able to start from scratch.”

_Wait. No!_

“No, no, angel—“ Will flailed helplessly, making erratic gestures with his hands to keep the older man in place as he tried to shuffle sadly back into the kitchen to labor intensive struggles. “They’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous! The attention to detail is…is...”

_Oh, for the love of-shut up already! Ruining it, Graham, ruining everything._

Clapping a hand over his face to hide from hope flickering in and out of crimson, the younger man began to laugh, chest aching and gasping for air. He was clearly not floundering. He knew the mere sight of Hannibal looking utterly devastated over dessert, knowing Will wouldn’t understand a word he said when he explained it, should not bring him to near hysterics. This was far too much. Far more than he deserved. He tried to whisk up images of absurd and pointless flattery from guests he had met briefly at dinner parties, unable to stop laughing long enough to take any of it seriously let alone try to repeat. He was hopeless. He pressed sugar powdered knuckles to his mouth, smiling against them. Slinging wet curls away, he made an ascent of kisses upwards beginning at a wrist, touching a shoulder, and sucking a light red mark against a neck.

“T-t-thank you. Thank you,” Will murmured into lips, brows high on his head, eyes dancing. “These are perfect.”

 Red gathered in cheeks as the older man gazed steadily, blossoming warmth in maroon eyes and a smile lifted lines of a mouth.

_God, he looks so fucking happy. Just a thank you? Really, that's all you...oh, yeah alright...a kiss, okay. You are so perfect._

“I just…wish you…”

He touched the back of his neck self-consciously. For most his life he had genuinely thought cake came out of a box, the ones stamped in san serif fonts and brightly colored pictures. And only three flavors existed in the world: vanilla, chocolate, and something called angel food confetti dot streaked in malted rainbow. Or hailed from day old plastic containers from grocery stores if his father remembered his birthday, a week or two later. Before he no longer remembered. When even Will was an after thought, until he was forgotten completely, at home, at school, and made a career of blending in effortlessly into wall flowers to be looked over.

”Isn’t this…” Will worried braided drawstrings on his shorts between fingers, gaze lowered, brows furrowed. “…a lot of trouble for someone who isn’t going to be able to appreciate it like you deserve? It’s not like we’ll be throwing a dinner party to celebrate. And I...” He winced. "...I want you to be happy. I'm not good at...at this? And I don't want you to think I'm not grateful. I am. But...I don't have the right words."

_Congratulations on fulfilling your life long dream of marrying a murderer, Will?_

_Oh Jack, won’t you try this gourmet dessert I can’t pronounce? It's delicious!_

_God, someone just tell me. Is it made from people?_

_Surprisingly no, Z!_

_We decided to go with a more vegetarian and people friendly menu on your account, Miss Lounds. Now, the main course on the other hand—or the other...foot? Leg?  
_

_Was that a pun, Doctor?_

_…No?_

_Hannibal, how intoxicated are you? I'm taking you home._

Will shuddered. God, how he did not want to suffer through an after party of any kind, with any of them. Not even in the theater of his mind. Drunk Hannibal on the other hand, or leg, or foot...

“And I believe you once told me I would starve in the middle of an ocean filled with prey as I make an abhorrent fisherman? I assure you…” Hannibal touched the side of his face, stroking worry lines with thumbs and offered a hint of a smile, eyes warm, voice soft. “You deserve far more than what I am able to lay before you. The content of my heart lies within yours, whenever you are near, I am at peace. The simplicity of your words have more meaning to me than any well crafted speeches. You, dear one, are worth much more.”

He gnawed at an inner corner of his cheek. It shouldn't hurt this much to be remembered. To be looked at. Forcing hands to rest on knees, Will glanced up to find Hannibal removing a velvet black champagne bottle from the box, sitting it beside glasses. He stared at a black crest label stamped in metallic gold script. _Dom Perignon Champagne Plentitude Deuxieme._ He watched foil peel from its slender neck to reveal a cork.

_Christ… How much…?_

His gaze rose to find the older man watching him carefully, swiveling in a metal screw and removed the cork with a pop. “What you deem ‘lavish expenditures’ is not your concern, Will,” An even tone advised, foam spilling over long fingers before bubbling into glasses. “I will gild your skin in yards of ember mulberry silk and hundreds of marquise diamonds if it brings me pleasure to do so.”

“You do realize I have already agreed to marry you, right?” The younger man lapped at rose colored foam in the curve of forefinger and thumb on Hannibal’s left hand, lingering underneath a dark gaze and a hitch of a snarl promising to claim. “Especially when you could adopt a puppy instead.”

A flute glass dropped into wandering hands in reply as the older man drained his glass, caught between dutifully presenting his labored arts or indulging another kind of pursuit.

Fizzing champagne disappeared between lips to keep pace. “Trying to get me plastered?”

Hannibal poured another set of drinks without bothering to look, non-plussed, waiting for proverbial inked pages to appear and explain the definition.

“ _Drunk_ , Hannibal, I’m accusing you of trying to take advantage of me. Again. And get me drunk. Christ, we need to work on your informal English.”

“Purely celebratory,” A reassuring tone purred out, fine brows rose, scooting another glass his direction. “And almost entirely for the purposes of cleansing the palate.”

“Oh almost, huh?” Will sipped the champagne slowly, rolling sugared liquid around his mouth with a tongue, attempting to keep a straight face. “Mmmhm…”

A plate with crackled ivy was placed front and center, presenting a cube of antique white covered in crumbled almonds and twists of frail dark chocolate, framed in hatched drizzles of sauce.

“Is it entirely possible for you to stop talking long enough for you to taste these?”

“Possible? Eeeh…” He shrugged with a lazy blink of eyes, hand flitting around aimlessly. “Probable, maybe. Feed me and we’ll find out.”

Silver strands fell into eyes, head shaking. “Infuriating. Impossible boy.”

Will nearly spit out his drink, choking down another laugh. “Charmed? I heard char—”

Blinking once, Hannibal jammed a teaspoonful of cake between lips and growled out, “Amaretto sabayon created from a heavy cream, heightened by sweetened almond liqueur, and accented by bitter chocolate sauce. Chilled until frozen and served immediately to guests. Guests who may soon end up on the menu if they do not behave.”

_In an entirely cannibal and non-sexual way? Well, that seems like an unnecessary reversal of roles, Doctor. What happened to licking my wounds clean?  
_

A nose scrunched in a quiet laugh. Obediently, the younger man mouthed off any remaining chocolate, sipping idly on champagne and tried to keep unruly corners of his lips in check. Another futile pursuit. He was incapable of not smiling when Hannibal looked cross and semi-forced to indulge. He was exceptionally patient, given sway to his whims. 

_And kind. And thoughtful..._

“Pistachio Jacone filled with blackberry whipped mousse.”

White marble smooth cylindrical dessert painted in wisps of faint pastel green joined the inner circle, placed neatly on a gold circle foil. Halved blackberries glistened in a floral arrangement, a single mint leaf at its center. Curling off a piece, Hannibal held up the spoon and Will opened his mouth, pulling off an earthy cream texture with hints of vanilla bean.

_And you made all of this for me? Are you sure?_

“The pistachio puree gives the surface a brushstroke of color, complimented by freshly picked wild berries. Which would you like to sample next?”

He pointed to the last plate on the right.

“Ah, an elder flower cake composed of a simple almond sponge batter, mixed with cordial extract of the elderberry, and sweetened with honey whip cream.”

Dainty garlands of queen anns lace and buds of elderberry surrounded a simple crisp brown crust dotted in dollops of cream and slivers of strawberries.

“In Victorian times…” The older man dabbed cream from a cheek, bringing it to his lips, before offering a spoonful of strawberries drizzled with honey. “It was believed lovers drinking from berry infused elixir of the Elder tree were to be married within a year.” Red lips unraveled into a smile. “It was also used to entice the Devil.”            

Blue eyes darted to a strawberry disappearing between sharp teeth. “Hmm…”

The last plate was set between them, chipped edges the only accent to a rather simple design. Light lilac waif squares, one balanced at an angle on top of the other, were covered in a thin layer of icing, corners patiently rounded. A single tiny bud of wild violets rested in its domed center.

Lifting it between forefinger and thumb, Hannibal offered it up and drawled pleasantly, like a summer sun caressed skin in the morning, as a bite was taken. “Our last confection is crystallized lilac petite squares, drizzled in a plain icing and filled with a vanilla pound cake center and drips of amaretto. Bits of crushed almond give it a hint of texture. Is it alright I plucked petals off a few of the violets you found on our walk back from the church?”

Will crunched on the last dessert, shyly gazing up between lashes and nodded, waiting for his turn or rather permission to speak.

“And your thoughts?”

_Just that it's a little difficult to hear you over my heart. Which is either slamming wildly about how much I love you or having an anxiety attack when you show...how much you love me._

Pangs in his heart rose to a near clamor. He admired the way a snagged tooth bit into a lip nervously, normally steady fingers fidgeting around plates and spoons, muscles stiffening the longer he took to reply. To appraise. To approve. He wanted to kiss him, to lunge across the picnic mat, tunnel hands in hair and show him how much it meant to him, how much Hannibal meant to him. He was everything. And what did he do to deserve it?

“I liked the second one.” Maroon eyes darted to the pistachio dessert and set it off to the left, nodding to the soft spoken reply. “And the other one there is my favorite. The one that’s going to make sure you appear at the altar. Or my bed. Whenever I want you. What—”

Hannibal flattened Will to the floor, knees trapping hips, smudging faint green and blackberry mousse over a third rib and followed it with his tongue.

“A-ah.”

Tipping a plate, lukewarm honey cream drizzled around a navel, hips lifting before they were shoved down. A rough tongue flicked beneath a waistband to touch a slit of a velvety head, dragging up, and lapping away any remains.

“H-hann…”

Tugging strands of hair from eyes, Hannibal rested between legs chaffing up and down his sides, tip of a tongue darting out to catch an amber drop off a bottom lip. “The elderberry seems a suitable choice for our ceremony, Will…” A rough reply eased out, embers glowing in rimmed black. “Very good. You were most helpful.”

Freeing held breath, Will nearly growled when the older man rolled away and whisked pieces of desserts to the fridge, shouting, “Was it necessary to make a Baskin Robins out of my torso to make a decision?”

Returning to lean in the doorway, Hannibal buried fingers in a damp towel, heat of eyes dragging from hips to an upside down bow of a mouth, replying, “How else was I to know which combination would compliment the palette of your skin without overwhelming your natural flavor? One can only hypothesize so much before running a litany of testing.”

“Am I ... thirty one flavors?” The younger man snorted, crawling to knees and moseying innocently over.

One blink. A second. A third. “I do not understand the implication of the question.”

“I can’t believe you never—of course you haven’t.” Shoulders shaking with laughter, he rested his forehead on a chest, continuing to wag his head back and forth, palms upturned in question. “Why do I bother going through stages of disbelief any more? I mean, you're the waltz around in my head doctor, just tell me.”

The older man looked like he was about ready to snap the dishtowel at him any second, joke and irony completely lost on his lovely, refined brain.

“How about this?” Will pressed in, running a path from collarbone to an ear, nipping gently at a lobe. “The next time we are in the States I will take you to a Baskin Robins where you can have as many scoops as you like and I’ll treat you to a movie at a drive in theater.” He turned his face up, biting into his lip, rolling hips lightly into a thigh. “And I promise we can make out in the backseat _if_ you are capable of suffering through the humiliation of pointing at ice cream you want.”

Tattered autumn leaves fell in eyes, limbs flinching one by one, echoing in a rustling whisper of, _next time._

“Hey…” Will cradled a fallen face turned from his, looking out into some room woven in a dusty corner, lost to him, stranded in moments. “Still having a hard time with the idea of me sticking around, huh?”

_There will be a next time. There will be other times. You have me now. I’m here. The rest doesn’t matter._

A crinkled envelope slipped from a back pocket and pressed between palms, holding lightly, waiting for light to return to the older man’s eyes.

“Here. This is what I picked up at the P.O. box and was going to give you before I was bombarded with wedding cake decisions and a very unconventional means of tasting.” He toyed with a powdery v-neckline, pressing a kiss where skin and cloth met, staring at their feet and muffled his voice in hopes to be heard over more than compliments to the chef or meandering approval of selections. “And angel? They were all good. Really. Each one was so beautiful. But they’ll never be as damn good as you.”

Will hoped he heard, unwrapped vowels and mismatched noises to understand, to listen and decipher: _You’re good to me. Perfect. Beautiful. They aren’t you. They were never you._ _And they don’t matter now. We’ll make our own memories. Just stay here with me.  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After extensive research of gourmet cakes, I need... all of them. I hope y'all are gonna start throwing wedding dreams at me soon, because I have plans in my brain, but I can always use more for inspiration. 
> 
> In Love With A View x Mojave 3
> 
> So I stood at the station  
> With a plan and a pocket of poems  
> Heroically tragic  
> Bearded and blind with obsession  
> I'm a car without hope  
> Too close to the ditch to go far 
> 
> Oh my heart  
> It just fell apart  
> And I wished I could show you  
> The same view  
> of you by the window and me  
> feeling fine


	136. Chapter 136

Will waited with stiff shoulders and locked knees to be pushed away, defining an intangible line between them, separated by walls and doors of their own creation. He pressed fingertips into shivering skin, hoping to soothe subtle quaking inside of bones and limbs. He wondered what the older man saw in his mind’s eye. If it was timelines of all their beginning and endings threaded in existence, playing out all that could have been or might still be. Did each one, no matter how blissful, fade to black with a roll of credits after a final scene of Hannibal standing alone, discarded or forgotten? As if it was the most fitting ending. As if he deserved so little.

_After everything… am I still your greatest fear?_

“Mister Arbello I presume?” Maroon eyes trailed from shadows to the letter pressed into palms, a hand snaking around a waist and reeled the younger man in.

“Yeah…” Will threaded hands in strands of hair falling over brows, sweeping them back. He let his head drop against a shoulder, tightening his grip around a torso until he was fairly certain the older man struggled to breathe. “Unless we have kidnapped someone else’s significant other and I wasn’t informed?”

Paper crinkled as the envelope slit open and fluttered to the floor.

Hannibal stroked idly at curls, tugging slightly until the younger man pressed flat against him and melted in, eyes flicking across scrawled font over a shoulder. A displeased note reached his lips. “Hm…”

“What is it?” Will murmured closing his eyes, trying to determine if was plausible to nap standing up inside of strong arms, forming arguments to coerce them back into the safety of their bed.

“An unintended consequence…” A reply rumbled against his ear. “It would seem our magistrate is quite content with the disappearance of his wife.”

Glazed blue creaked open, hand snatching away the letter. “Let me see that.”

Squinting at sloppy penmanship, the younger man tried to make out full sentences and only ended up with half formed words. He wondered if their legal documents would look like this, illegible with a hint of questioned forgery. A few inked cross hatchings stuck out at him: _willing to meet your demands, conditions of my own, marriage of convenience._ Some he ended up guessing and replacing with phrases to make sense of it all. Because _inclined to pay a tidy sum of pineapples_ didn’t exactly have the correct ring to it.

“So…” Fingers crushed edges of the letter, he asked between a grit of teeth, “What does this mean for us?”

This couldn’t be it. They had waited so long. To find one another. To survive each other. And now this, one minuscule detail, could prevent them from taking the next step.

The older man smiled, completely unaffected by the possibility of delay, certain of the outcome. “Shall we find out?”

Leading by the hand, Hannibal pushed open the door to the guest room. A head of disheveled flaxen curls jerked upright. Mascara and black kohl streaked red rimmed eyes, blood shot and twitching from withdraw. Small chain looped through the radiator, snaking around a wooden tray of discarded water, half eaten bread and minestrone soup, and latched tight to wrists chaffed pink. They had made a big show of purchasing three yards of chain at a local hardware store four cities over to build a swing set for imaginary children. The stocky woman behind the counter, enthralled by their story, had even given them a discount.

Crumpled water bottles were tossed at the foot of a small wooden panel television accented by dials and a metal antenna, static flickering across the screen. Two orange plastic buckets sat in opposite corners of the room, water brimming in one and spilling over to dribble across a sponge and bar of peach soap. It had taken three hours of back and forth arguing for Hannibal to calmly convince Will she needed the bare necessities to survive. That just because they were provided did not mean she deserved them. The younger man had threatened to break her neck and throw her into a ditch twice before they were through, insisting that was what she deserved. He caved when it was suggested the services of nimble fingers and clever tongue were available to put his anger to a more productive use, at any time, day or night. He may have pursued the option with more force and intensity than he had intended after agreeing.

In streaks of light filtering through boards nailed to a single window in the center of the room, unlit cigarette dangling from a cruel mouth, Vivian Arbello perched on a rumpled futon in her silken wrapped dress and scowled at them from a corner. She looked haggard, skin sagging under remnants of smeared glitter. Anger blazed in her eyes. She had learned screaming for help at the top of her lungs was just about as useless as it was irritating and only resulted in a sore throat. She didn’t fear them yet. But she would. Will would make sure of that.

“Remarkable the two of you have not been caught by police,” Vivian mumbled around a crumbled cigarette, staring at them down the bridge of her nose, waving a bound hand in their direction. “Noise complaints. You fuck like animals.”

“Sorry,” Will answered sarcastically, rolling his eyes and crossing arms. “Did we interrupt your afternoon soap operas?”

He shivered as a steadying palm rested on his shoulder before Hannibal brushed passed him and handed the letter over, tucked between two outstretched fingers. Will coiled tight, gaze flicking between them, always searching for the smallest sign of danger, even an implication of threat was enough for him to dispense the kind of justice he craved. Vivian glanced between them and the letter suspiciously, sitting up and tugging on chains to stretch out a hand.

“What’s this?” The woman asked, snatching the letter away and bringing it close to her face to decipher the text.

Prickling in his skin subsided when the older man stepped away and allowed himself to be pulled back into Will’s arms, hands possessively snaking across his torso.

“It would appear your husband would like a more _permanent_ kind of separation, Misses Arbello.”

“Isn’t willing to pay for you.” The corners of the younger man’s mouth twisted up in a smile. “Kind of ironic, right?”

Crumpling up the letter, Vivian snorted and tossed it onto the pile of water bottles, muttering under her breath. “Cheap bastard.” She plucked the lipstick stained cigarette from her mouth, snapping fingers. “A pen.”

Maybe he would side with the husband on this one. He was more than happy to provide a severing of ties. Head tipping to the side, Will stared at the bony wrist, imagining how a single twist would snap it delicately in two.

“Want money or not?”

An elbow nudged gently into his side. Hannibal smiled down at him, knowing precisely what he was he picturing at that very moment. He looked absolutely love struck, fond gaze brimming with pride. Rolling shoulders back, the younger man stalked out to the living room and rummaged through an antique white cabriole desk drawer. He plucked out a navy fountain pen trimmed in silver. He stalked to the guest room, towering over the woman, flipping the pen in neat circles with a twist of knuckles.

“Let me make this very clear, Misses Arbello…” Will tapped the edge of the pen on a nose with a flash of teeth, tracing it down a jugular. “You try anything with this and it’s going to end up in the side of your very lovely neck. And I am going to let you bleed out in the most slow and painful way imaginable.”

Chapped lips sneered. “I try to remember to behave.”

“Are you right or left handed?”

Nails latched into his wrists. “Left.” The woman yanked his arm forward, jamming an address into the canvas of his skin with jabs of the pen, ink smearing, dictating out loud. “Forward photograph and letter to this address. My cousin, Dmitri, will have talk with husband. Very persuasive. Make him understand.”

Red raked down his arm as Will pulled away, plucking the pen from slender fingers, and shoved passed the older man. He heard crinkling of a newspaper and a bulb snapping a photo in a flash of light. His nostrils flared, anxiety clawing at his throat. He peeled out of jersey bottoms, wiggling into a grey washed pair of denim and shoved arms into a tattered t-shirt, unraveling hem snagging on buttons and zippers. A door ground shut. He wanted to scrub off markings penned into his flesh, as if all the woman’s victims were now permanently blackened inside muscle and marrow.

Will snatched the photograph and crumpled letter from the older man without looking, barreling towards the front door. Fingers curled around the front of his throat, ribbed jersey tugged away and freezing him in place as a mouth drifted over exposed skin. He growled as fingertips slipped underneath cloth to trace up his chest. Hannibal pinned him against the front door, mouthing at the side of his jaw, thumbs tracing over a faded waistband. Letter and photograph were torn from his hand and pitched to the floor.

“We made an agreement, Will.”

“Take the left.” The younger man snapped, glowering over his shoulder. “What I want for dinner. She doesn’t fucking deserve to keep it.”

A tongue slicked across jagged teeth, lips parting in a heated breath as the older man stilled for a moment, chest shuddering in a rush of breath, before he dropped to knees.

 “Of course, dearest.” Hannibal turned him around to face him and nipped at a peak of a hipbone, glancing up, hunger dilating pupils. “Will you be gone for long?”

The younger man wasn’t sure if Hannibal was more interested in eating their guest or him at that very moment. His gaze slipped to an answering ache throbbing beneath a stretch of trousers, blood running hot.

“Few hours.” Will hissed in return, tunneling fingers in hair and widening his stance to lean back. “Need anything while I’m out?”

_An appropriate selection of wine? A bone saw perhaps?_

“Your safe return.” A mouth moved down a fly front, nosing at tented material, letter slipping out a back pocket and pushed into a hand. “A reply to mail if you would be so inclined.”

He turned the envelope over in his hands, holding it up to the light, barely making out flourishing script penned in the older man’s hand writing. “Agreeing to what?”

“His terms.”

“But you said—“

Will bucked hips into a tongue slipping inside his jeans and teasing at his head, darkened gaze meeting red eyes as Hannibal rose to his feet and rolled their throbbing lengths together.

“And sometimes plans must be amended when variables change.” The older man palmed his front, teeth snagging a bottom lip and sucking it red. “Do you not still favor the outcome of her…demise?”

A mouth flinched into a snarl. “You know the answer to that.”

“I have requested a sum of money for our services, the appropriate paperwork, and a meeting at a secure location.”

He found it infuriating how easy it was for the older man to carry on a full conversation, while stealing his breath and concentration with each deft stroke of fingertips.

“If he informs the police?”

“If he is willing to pay for the discreet disposal of his wife, Will, I imagine he might want to keep the information wholly to himself.” Hannibal leaned back, pupils blown wide, divot of a mouth lifting in a half smile of challenge. “I think we know how to come prepared in any case.”

“The others? Those kids?”

A thumb swiped blood off his lip. “Let me worry about these specific concerns, won’t you?”

Turning quickly on his heel, Hannibal left him glued to the front door, half hard and panting. A door opened and shut. Was there a clause or a loophole in that agreement he was not aware of?

“Now, Misses Arbello…” A honeyed voice was muffled by walls. “Would you prefer to be sitting or lying down for this operation?”

 

*

Sun warming his back, Will toed a kickstand free and swung off the motorcycle. He arced arms above his head in a languid stretch, freed from ink stains and heavy weight of a letter, now deposited in a mail slot a few hours away. He looked out at a peaceful sea of grass swaying idly around a blur of fur bounding towards him in greeting. Ocean water dripped from a wet snout, matting an underbelly as Winston danced around his legs and shook dry a few feet away.

The younger man scratched under a damp chin, grinning. “What no fish for me this time? Exactly which one of us is going to provide for dinner if you don’t, huh?” He motioned with his hand for the dog to lie down on the front stoop of the house. “Stay. Stay. Good boy. You can come in when you’ve dried off, okay?”

Winston responded with a lazy shrug, dark brown eyes flicking out to the house and then over to the shore, deciding if it was time to rest or play.

Pulling off grass stained boots and setting them in a corner next to the door, Will let the porch door bang behind him and called out, “What? No grand feast spread out in my honor when I come home?”

Sharp scents of garlic and sweetened honey filled the air. Dishes clattered in the other room, drawing him into the house. He felt slightly guilty for storming out, but more so at the idea of having another meal cooked for him. He found Hannibal stooped over the stove, whisking something boiling in a small sauce pan with his right hand and holding open the oven door to inspect with the other. A half apron was smudged with stains, tied neatly at a waist, tails draped around the taut curve of thighs. Will lingered in the door frame to enjoy the view, gaze whisking over buttons popped open on a crisp dress shirt to reveal shadowed curls on a chest, sleeves rolled up forearms sticking subtly to dampened skin. He could have ushered the dog inside, closed the door, and turned on the air conditioning to make it more comfortable. All of which would have required moving and snapping out of his reverie of observing the older man sweep through the kitchen in a cling of fabric.

Sensing his presence, Hannibal straightened with a smile and glided over with an empty flute glass in one hand and the chilled bottle of champagne from earlier in the other. “Welcome home, Will.” He kissed him lightly on the mouth, gesturing to contents simmering on a glowing burner. “It is not quite finished. I promise to dazzle you with a grand presentation to make up for my untimely preparations.”

The younger man swiped the bottle away with a wry grin and tipped it to his lips, fizzing cool slipping down his throat. “You could have waited…” He toyed an index finger down silvery curls on a chest, lifting eyes to display a crooked grin. “I would have been happy to help you make dinner. You spent enough time in the kitchen for one day, I think. How about I cook for us the rest of the week?”

Hannibal poured a glass of champagne for himself, peering over the rim before handing the bottle back, head shaking over how much he allowed the younger man to get away with. “I find you are far more of a distraction to the chef than a capable assistant.”

“I am perfectly capable,” Will replied incredulously, nose scrunching up, peering into a marinade bubbling in the pan. “And if anyone is distracting, it’s you in your tiny apron. Which I still think would look better if you just wore it and nothing else.”

The older man leaned over him, mouthing against his ear as he stirred liquid and turned down the heat. “Do you now?”

Setting the champagne bottle aside, Will crouched and peered into the window cut out of the stove, squinting to try and get a glimpse of what was cooking. A green timer clicked minutes and seconds away till completion. The oven door creaked open, light flickering on inside. Rolls of crisp banana leaves were nestled on a bed of brown rice, chopped tomato and minced shallots mixed in, swimming in honeyed marinade. Twine was tied into a neat bow over leaves. He glanced over a shoulder. The older man was watching him fiddle with the bow, sipping on rose colored liquid, and nodded permission. Twine unfurled. Leaves unfolded in a crackle. Steam bubbled up. Coated in an amber glaze, dripping in honey, slender slices of round meat were falling from bone browned and seared from flame. His heart slowed to a stop. His toes curls. Heat prickled across his skin once more and coiled in his stomach. He didn’t need to ask to know what it was. He didn’t need to walk to the other room to know Vivian Arbello was missing one of her arms.

His throat closed up, grip tightening on the ledge as the younger man eased the oven door closed, whisper rolling off a tongue. “You listened?”

Blood rushed from his face to between his legs, pooling thick and warm. He had only been this painfully turned on once more in his entire life and he and Hannibal hadn’t really been talking very much at the time, let alone turning their exchanged barbs of who tried to kill whom into a more pleasurable experience. He had been pissed they had ended up at Bedelia’s house, the last place he wanted to be, giving each other a turn of brutal silent treatment, while she interjected snipes at Will in between moments of breath. He had petulantly suggested he wouldn’t give her a leg to stand on much longer, threatening to leave if Hannibal didn’t find a way to shut her up. He would have never thought he would have listened, let alone given him what he wanted. A bone saw, near stabbing, and a dinner course later… and Will had made it through most of the meal, throbbing cock politely ignored by the older man, before excusing himself and jerked off in the bathroom.

_You have given her to me as I asked. Just like before. Will she taste as bitter sweet?_

“It is what you requested, is it not?”

The older man angled his head, raising a fair brow, curiously watching as Will took another step towards him and then another. What he would have given to crawl beneath the table and suck him off during that excruciating dinner instead, to listen to him sip on wine and idly chit chat with their ex-psychiatrist. Or bend over the chopping block to show how much he appreciated the romantic gesture with vocal screams, shaking the very walls of the house. There wouldn't have been enough wine in the world for Bedelia to down herself in after that. 

“Will you wither from hunger at this very moment without an appetizer?” Maroon eyes searched shadows veiling a face. “Or will you survive another twenty minutes?”

“Famished actually…” A tip of a pink tongue caught between teeth, mouth watering.

Tearing off a t-shirt, Will curled hands in crisp linen and shoved Hannibal against the kitchen counter, ache throbbing between thighs. He had no way to form words racing in his mind to tell the older man he might never be able to survive again without his particular form of care, both physically and in thoughtful gesture. He tore at buttons, scattering them across kitchen tile.

Breath hitched. “W-william, I need to—“

“I think I’ll start with dessert.” Apron strings violently loosened and detached.

How else would he express how exceptionally arousing it was to be taken care of so completely? Without parallel? Without even having to ask? Knowing Hannibal would give him whatever he needed or wanted, willingly and without forethought.

He stripped off a dress shirt, torn and fraying, pitching it to the floor and scraped teeth down a neck, veins throbbing beneath it. “T-there is honey c-crushed chili marinade in need of—“

“I don’t give a fuck,” Will growled against the shell of an ear, spinning the older man around and crushing palms to the counter beneath his. “Now shut up.”

Lips parted in a strangled moan as nails raked through hair, yanking a neck to the side and sucking a bruise above a hammering pulse. Salt flooded his mouth. Arms shook to keep still, gripping an edge until knuckles blanched. Will worked a leather belt free from trousers. It clattered to the floor. He fumbled with a button and zipper, wedging a knee between legs and pushing them apart. He snaked a hand between thighs and a cold counter, biting into skin as he cupped a burning cock and squeezed, relishing as shoulder blades jerked against his chest.

“One day I am going to have you…just like this…” Will nipped growls into flesh working from neck to shoulder, squeezing, and grinding his ache between taut cheeks. “Without asking. Fucking into you until you make a mess all over your pristine kitchen and you’re going to let me.” Texture shivered across arms as the younger man smiled against a cheek, whispering, “But not today.”

Releasing hips, Will snatched the crumpled apron from the floor and snapped it between hands like a garrote. The older man watched him out of the corner of hooded eyes, biting into a swollen bottom lip to stifle groans.

“Arms behind your back.”

Starting at biceps, the younger man carefully wove apron strings to and fro between arms, slipping fingers between skin to ease tension, to ensure a flow of circulation, before binding wrists in a loop of a bow. He admired his work of ladder knots, running a single fingertip down a spine to watch skin shiver. Will tugged out a chair at the dining room table, facing away, and took a seat before beckoning with a curl of fingertips. He waited staring at the far wall as if waiting to be served. A shuffle of feet scuffed across the floor until the older man appeared just within his peripheral.

The younger man glanced up into shadowed eyes, tongue wetting a slick line across a hint of a smile. “Awfully rude to keep me waiting, angel. Have a seat.”

Crooking a finger around a set of knots, Hannibal fell into his lap, trousers rolled scandalously low around hips. Will guided his hands up bound arms and curved around rigid shoulders, pushing on the front of a throat until a head fell back against him, chest rising and falling in quickened breaths. Rough skin of the Verger brand rubbed against his torso as the older man pressed back, seeking touch. Blunt edges of nails traced over a fine sheen of sweat clinging to a sternum, circling ribs, and lightly zig zagged across a fluttering stomach. He started at knees, slipping to inner thighs, and touched lightly up to a seam of trousers stretched tight. He pulled teasingly at a waistband, fingers skirting upwards to circle a nub of a nipple before rolling it in a twisting pinch.

“A-ah, Will, won’t you—“ Hannibal pitched his head back, legs twisting around his, and rotated hips against a thick line of a cock pushing into a thigh.

“No…” The younger man laved a line down a throat, stretching it farther to the side with a tug of fingers wound in silvery strands, admiring a spread of wet appearing on linen boxers. “I don’t think I will.”

Guiding the older man to feet, Will shimmied boxers and trousers down thick thighs to expose a dripping cock, admiring the way it twitched in balmy air. He carded nails up the back of legs, swirling inside inner thighs until they shook with the effort to stand.

“You deserve to be taken care of, Hannibal.”

He scooted forward on his chair to follow the path with the tip of his tongue, heat enveloping his face. Curled fists flexed inside knots. He spread open cheeks with a brush of thumbs, tongue circling a spot below a curve. He sucked skin between teeth, holding hips firmly in place as Hannibal released a curse, cock bobbing rigidly at a navel, begging to be touched. He gnawed at flesh until curses were moaned out, skin breaking, and staining teeth in a fine glitter of red. He tasted of copper and sin.

“You’re so fucking good to me. So good.” A dry mouth kissed down a right thigh, fingertips swirling lightly around a fluttering hole. “I’m going to take care of you.” Will draped across a quivering spine, catching the lobe of an ear between teeth and commanded roughly, “ _Chinati_.” (Bend over.)

Legs gave way and the younger man caught the body in his arms, smiling into cheeks flushing red. He had waited three months to refine garbled consonants into fluid Italian, praying for just this reaction. Will spread Hannibal face first across the tiny table and drew up his chair, legs scraping over tile. He shoved his left arm underneath hips to keep the older man from grinding forward, before seating himself comfortably between spread thighs. Hannibal was shaking from head to toe, grateful for the wooden surface as a tongue took another swipe up inner thighs, knees buckling.

 _“Ti piace questo?”  
_ (Do you like this?)

A rumbled groan vibrated the table as the younger man lightly tongued between cheeks, parting them and licking with the flat edge, increasing pressure. He laughed quietly when hips tried to unsuccessfully angle back to get him to slip inside. Each time he returned to teasing, stroking lightly, until rivets of sweat lingered at the small of a back and slid underneath knots. He had bought an entire skein of red silken twine at hardware store on a whim and knew at this moment it would look lovely stained against golden skin. Perhaps he wouldn't mind lying in knots after all. 

_“Perpiace!”_  
(Please.)

Choking groans broke into a hissing breath as Will peeled thighs from the table, slouched in the chair and gripped cheeks, fingertips digging into flesh. He speared a tight hole open with a wet tongue, shadow of a beard scratching skin raw. He tongued deeper, faster, until stuttered Italian broke into incomprehensible phrases and moans.

“Mmm, angel, you taste good.” Pink tongue trailed from balls to perineum to clenching hole. “Can I make you come from just this? Should we find out?”

Ragged breathing filled warm air, muscles flexing and bunching. He struggled to get knees up into the chair, trapping his thighs in, as Hannibal tried desperately to rock into each thrust, nails clawing at apron strings to break free. The table rocked against the wall. He growled, sucking and thrusting deeper, to meet each stroke. He tightened his grip, worried he, the table, chair, and the older man would end up in a crumpled heap on the floor in a minute. He was not about to wear bruises in vein. He would be damned if he wasn’t going to wring an orgasm out of him first.

A timer blared, piercing the air, startling them both.

“Timer’s going off…” Will sat back in a daze, voice a hoarse mumble, stroking delicately where nails had bitten into soft flesh, red and swollen. “You wanna get that?”

He supposed he ought to loosen knots and set Hannibal free.

Slumping into the table, legs shaking, on the verge of release, a violent mutter, foreign and guttural curled into wood.

“I’m sorry?”

Red eyes flew open, teeth snapping. “Let it burn, Will!”

“ _Christ_.” His cock jerked painfully hard.

_That’s… fucking beautiful. And ridiculously hot.  
_

Sucking in a choked breath, Will muscled Hannibal into the chair, then raced over to the stove to slam off the timer and yanked open the stove door. He pulled out the braised meat, allowing it to clatter unceremoniously to the counter. He could worry about having to pick out glass from their dinner later. Right now he had more important things to consider. He braced a hand on the back of a chair, catching lips and swirling a tongue between biting teeth, kissing until they were panting into the others mouth.

“What you do to me…” The younger man murmured against lips, slipping jeans open to show the older man how much he needed him, fingers ringing around a purple head, need pulsing. “I would love to feel how open you are. How wet. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Hannibal strained against bonds, tongue flicking out for a taste, low warning snaking out. “ _Release_ me and I will be obliged to remedy your situation as well as my own.”

Will clicked his tongue, disapproving. “Now, now, Doctor Lecter. Patience.”

Dropping to knees, Will wrestled with trousers and boxers to reach a slick cock, positioning a wet head against his lips. Blue eyes strayed up to a black gaze burning with commands and crumbling pleas. He could practically feel fingers twisting in his hair, yanking and pulling to position him where he wanted. He blinked lazily, tongue dipping into a slit, salty fluid spilling into his mouth. Control slipped with each second, forced to take only what was offered. A mouth twitched in the beginnings of a snarl.

With a smile, the younger man scooped velvety balls into his hand and plunged onto a cock, cheeks hollowed and sucking hard. He ignored pain shooting up his legs, balancing with hands on either side of thighs, and breathed harshly through his nose. Heels of dress shoes scraped at his hips, urging him faster. Balls tightened in his palm, sinking to the base before Hannibal came with a growl of his name, pulsing hot down the back of his throat. He drank him dry before sliding off, wiping a sweaty palm across his mouth.

 _“Ora mi sleghi per favore?”_ The older man slurred, head dropping back to stare blindly up at mismatched paint on the ceiling.  
(Will you untie me now?)

“Oh…” Will tipped unsteadily into a standing position, brushing a mouth across flushed skin racing from thighs down to knees disappearing underneath trousers. “Maybe after dinner. And another round of dessert.”

Fair lashes fluttered over glazed eyes, half asleep, groans easing from lungs.

“Didn’t you say there was a chilled rose cake in the fridge somewhere?” The younger man tottered forward, straddling the chair and hot thighs, and kissed a slack mouth, grinning. “I bet you would taste delicious covered in icing. And Hannibal?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you for dinner.” He smoothed damp silver strands behind ears and trailed kisses across a forehead. "It means a lot to me." 

Lips tipped into his neck, murmuring, “You are most welcome, William.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first question is, do I have an existing immune system? Answer...need more evidence.
> 
> My second question is, are we truly creeping toward the finale of this great journey? (908 pages later?! Plus too many words to account for!)
> 
> My third is a statement: I'm always sorry to keep you waiting! Because you guys are important to me! But will continue to keep to my Monday-Wednesday chapter update schedule. <3


	137. Chapter 137

Wiry thin chandeliers suspended from vaulted arches lining washed white walls trimmed in earthen bricks cast a hazy glow over mahogany pews, desolate and deserted in the midnight hours. Intricate stained glass windows were darkened with night, rattling in a light breeze. Hands clasped over the back of a pew to study a stone pulpit, elevated in a half twist of a spiral, worn Bible resting across its surface, depicting various saints trimmed in gold and draped in white carnations and red roses. Autumn sunlight eyes strayed to pure snow cloth metallic woven fibers meshing to form _Hallelujah_ across an altar. Two golden candelabras stood like sentient guardians on either side to protect drained vessels of holy water evaporating into a hushed atmosphere. Intricate spires and arches rose up from the floor in a glisten of gold leaf to form a triptych of the Father, the blessed Virgin, and the Holy Ghost carved carefully from relief from dove tailed marble. Towering inside a vaulted ceiling hung the depiction of Jesus nailed to the cross, bearing bloodied signs of stigmata dripping from a crown of thorns, punctured hands, and staining alabaster ribs crimson. Latin was etched into a wooden beam hammered into the archway reading: _Christus Vincit. Christus Regnat. Christus Imperat_. Hannibal closed his eyes, head tipped back, trying to envision how it might appear in the light of day. He imagined it would have burned bright, adorned in gilded sacrament of glitter to blind the devote to follow a path of mystic or be crushed beneath the whims of all they worshiped. A destruction of faith to amuse the divine.

_God's terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty four of his worshipers last Wednesday night in Texas while they sang a hymn._

_Did God feel good about that?_

_He felt powerful.  
_

“Why are we here again? Hannibal?”

Disturbed from reverie once more, lashes lifted over maroon eyes sliding to the side to watch Will, who was at that moment slumped in the pew and fiddling with a pocket knife in his fingers. Deep silver cashmere clung to long limbs, tracing tops of pointed wing tip shoes, buffed and gleaming. A starched ascot collar narrowed to sharp tips, buttoned neatly at a throat, barely covering a blush of a bite mark. A single dark curl continued to fall into narrowed eyes, refusing to stay in a slicked back coiffed style. His mouth was pushed into a little pout, sulking.

Hannibal smiled behind teeth, tempted to lean over and nibble on a glistening bottom lip. He had reprimanded the younger man twice since they arrived. He had been fidgeting in his seat and picking at everything within sight. First the hymn books. Then wrinkled Bibles leafed in silver. Then the knife. Boredom was not an excuse for one to desecrate wooden pews by chipping at it with the point of a blade. Even if he did find the gesture of their initials side by side a bit more romantic than he would have liked to confess.

“William…”

Hannibal sighed, shaking his head, and glanced at a rose gold Timex encircling his left wrist, with the words _it’s been two minutes and thirty three seconds since my last confession_ ringing in his ears.

“You know very well why we are here. My answer is unlikely to change regardless of how the inflection of your voice differs when asked.”

“Yeah, but why _here_?” Will grumbled, flipping the pocket knife in the air and catching it between nimble fingers.

“As I have said previously…” Hannibal snatched the knife away and tucked it into a trouser pocket, peering over a blonde head. “…two birds, one stone.”

“What does that even mean?” Arms crossed over a chest, glowering at the floor. “Really.”

With a dramatic sigh, Hannibal pursed lips and checked his watch. The minute hand ticked noisily in the deadened quiet of the St. Alban church. He knew Will was tired and not even an expensive cup of dark espresso flecked in twenty four carat gold was going to put him at ease. Each day drawing closer to meeting with their coerced benefactor of legal documentation, anxiety had grown. He had spent most of the previous night trying to soothe the younger man back to sleep, or at least settle him from constantly tossing and turning. When sleep finally took him, softened murmurs and sweats persisted in the state of nightmares. Hannibal had been unable to sleep then, palm and washcloth pressed to a warm forehead, anxiety of his own gnawing insides.

They had reached _Odense_ in the late afternoon. After stashing Vivian in cheap motel, Hannibal had insisted on taking Will out for a romantic dinner beside the water. Being near it seemed to have a calming effect. A change of scenery to distract and quiet his mind. They had gone three blocks before the younger man panicked and forced them to return to the small room, worried they were close to the exchange and something would happen. As if Vivian Arbello, drugged and a limb lighter, who had to be carted around in a wheel chair in public would have made it farther than a short drop to the floor. He had acquiesced with a nod. Hannibal had left the younger man to stand guard, flipping through static tv channels, and returned with a light meal of tossed white wine scampi over pasta and a silvery bottle of chardonnay. He had been grateful a bit of food and wine, accompanied by his embrace, eventually lulled Will to sleep for a few hours.

He needed time to think. To mull over the events of the evening as he imagined they would transpire. He recalculated based on possible outcomes. He went over blueprints mapped across thin air of the church and surrounding city streets.

“Just because it’s convenient for us to arrange, let’s just call this a…”

Will leaned forward to see passed a bandaged arm severed expertly six inches below the shoulder, Vivian sandwiched between them, head hanging by a body limp from morphine, and formed air quotes with his fingers.

“…’ransom exchange’ for lack of a better word, at the place we are also trying to vet a priest to perform our ceremony does not mean it’s actually a good idea.”

When they had arrived at the church a quarter passed ten, Hannibal had wanted to spend a few moments admiring the stacks of red bricks cemented together to form its structure designed in neo-gothic architecture. He had been interested in sweeping his eyes across dozens of lancet windows filled in stained glasses, set into vaulted arches. He had hoped to gaze up at the impossible tall spire of the central tower, a single cross perched on its pinnacle. Both he and Vivian had been ushered abruptly into its walls by force. He was left to sketch the rest of building in his mind.

Casting a long stare of silence in the younger man’s direction, Hannibal looked away refusing to reply out loud.

“And for the record, I _still_ don’t like this.”

“As you have mentioned several times in the last twenty minutes.” The older man’s mouth pressed into a fine line. “Do you have a general paranoia of collapsing roofs, Will, or merely an allergy to the religiously devote?”

Will stretched out legs in front of him, glancing around at the deserted interior as if to consider if sitting through a three hour sermon might be more entertaining than waiting. “I have prior knowledge of hour long stake outs waiting for suspects to arrive and I can say out of all of them, this has to be the most unsecure location I have ever seen.” A dark brow arched his direction, corner of a mouth trying to reign in a smile. “Why the hell did you choose this place? Aside from your saying promoting cruelty to animals?”

Ah. He was teasing after all.

“Well…” Hannibal purred, draping an arm across the back of the pew to toy with curls coiled at shoulders. “If you are inquiring with genuine interest…”

“ _Why_?” The younger man groaned, head falling back and clapping a hand over his face. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Vivian stirred between them, mumbling an incoherent slur of words as if to add to the protest.

A smirk answered. “Were you aware Saint Alban is recognized as the first of his homeland, England, to be martyred during persecutions of Christians? He was said to be not only a sinner, but also an unwavering pagan. The story goes that while men were being beheaded and tortured by their religious counterparts, Alban took pity on a Christian priest and ushered him into his home for the safety it provided. During the hours they spent together, Alban was supposedly struck with such great awe for the beliefs spoken, he was converted.”

“Trying to convert me? Or bore me to death?” Lips twitched in a laugh.

Hannibal swallowed a chuckle, mask of serious reverie nearly shattering, and continued. “In the meantime, guards were sent to retrieve and capture the priest in order to bring him in for questioning. Alban switched clothes with his new found friend, ushering him to safety, and pretended to be the priest in his stead. He was tortured for several days and finally beheaded.”

“Man might have been on to something…” Will rubbed his eyes, lips wavering. “I wouldn’t mind being without my head for a little while. Splitting headache.”

Pinching tense muscles between fingers, Hannibal dug in and began to massage up a neck until the younger man groaned. “Saint Alban is considered to be the patron saint of converts, refugees, and victims of torture.”

A twinge of a laugh answered. “Fitting.”

“Also, I admired the architecture and was hoping to be able to view it in person while we awaited the arrival of...” Blue eyes slid over, amusement rippling across the surface as the older man plucked out a folded newspaper article clipping from a breast pocket. “Ah yes. Father Elias.”

"And the other guy, remember."

A ring of a coffee stain encircled a youthful face upturned to the heavens emblazoned with painted signs held by a flock of parishioners, tight lipped and hands extended to the light, walking silently behind him. Two young men, hair cropped close to their head, duck tape plastered to their mouths and clothed in robes, hands clasped, a sign between them saying: _Are human beings worth only their weight in silver?_ He stared long at the boys, remembering how tears had formed in Will’s eyes when he had showed him the photo, living proof of a human’s fierce tenacity to survive above all else, to fight passed trauma, and continue to make the bravest decision of all, to live.

The small caption beneath explained: _Father Elias of St. Alban’s church leads his followers in silent protest in front of Parliament to end sexual exploitation and human trafficking. “We long to give voice to the victims of the depraved and lawless, silenced by their abusers and ignored by officials. We offer you sanctuary. We offer you the way and the light. They have ravaged your body, but they will never be able to claim your soul.”_

“You admired the…?” Will batted the hand playfully from his neck, rolling his head, and wincing when it cracked. “You know what? Stop talking. You had better hope Arbello is as stupid as he is careless.”

“How your cheeks heat…” Hannibal stroked a blush creeping below a neckline of a tight collar, gazing longingly at the profile of a face. “…when you are angry with me, William.”

He was certain he might gaze upon him stained in a rose blush, eyes glittering, for years and cease to breathe each time at the very sight of Will.

“What is _she_ doing here?” A warbling tenor asked.

They both turned their heads in unison, mild disdain shadowing their eyes.

_Thank you ruining a perfectly lovely moment._

Standing in the middle of the aisle, metal brief case clutched in a left hand and visibly shaking, was one Mister Luca Arbello. His pristine salmon colored suit was rumpled from wringing hands against it, stained in faint sweat. Fear seeped out of his pours, filling the vicinity with a slightly acrid hint of salt. He flinched when Hannibal rose gracefully from the pew and stepped into the aisle, buttoning a Prussian blue plaid jacket woven in stripes of light silver and powdery blue.

“I believe the greeting you are searching for and failing to find is…” The older man forced his voice into a low treble, chin tucked, lids lowered over a glitter of eyes. “‘Hello, my name is Mister Arbello and it is my great honor to meet you. And I very much appreciate the courtesy of you not killing me in my sleep.’”

An adam’s apple bobbed, fingers tugging nervously at a hideous paisley tie. If this was an example of where the cutting edge of men's fashion was heading, Hannibal would abstain from dressing at all.

_Young men, all preening peacocks, with a nearly non-existent sense of style or class._

“Do you believe they even teach appropriate etiquette in family social circles or as part of a valid education anymore, Will?” Hannibal asked, offering a hand and helping the younger man to his feet.

_Or how to dress themselves in a manner befitting a gentleman for that matter? Are we truly a dying breed?_

“I think what he’s asking is why is she still breathing, Hannibal,” Will answered with a mild hint of sarcasm dripping in his voice, eyes rolling. “Though the simple answer really is: insurance.” He snorted, shoving hands in trouser pockets and leaning lightly, shooting an amused look over. “You have some pretty high hopes if you think the general population is as refined as you.”

Tucking an index finger below a chin, Hannibal breathed in an enticing hint of defiance, corner of a mouth lifting. “Is that a compliment, dearest?”

“Oh, it’s something,” Will growled in return, dark lashes sweeping down over muddied puddles of blue, pink tongue darting out to touch a bottom lip.

“Excuse me—“

_Honestly, Mister Arbello, do kindly shut your mouth before I stitch it closed for you._

“Rude this one.”

“Impatient more like. No, you're right. Rude.”

Hannibal became aware he had framed hands on either side of an upturned face and stepped in, heart thumping a little louder in his chest.

“Do you have what we asked for? Or are you just going to waste our time?” Will demanded, swaggering forward, shoulders drawn into a neat line and chest pushed out. “Because I can still roll your misses out of a moving vehicle in front of the nearest police station and call it a day.” His dress shoes clicked steadily across the tile. “We’ve had her for a month and I can honestly say I understand why you would want to be rid of her.” The younger man towered over Mister Arbello by a foot, casting a shadow over a stricken face, hissing out, “But god help me, if I won’t make you suffer her for the rest of your natural life if you try to screw us.”

“N-n-no!” The metal case fell to the floor, hands flying up in defense. “That’s not necessary.”

He understood the complete lack of ability to breathe or function in Will’s presence at that moment in time, powerful and lithe, gliding across the floor with a hint of sharp teeth. If Hannibal had been holding anything at the time, even a precious teacup, he was certain he would have let it drop and shatter into a thousand pieces across the floor.

“How presumptuous of you, darling…” He moved closer on instinct, drawn in to press his front into heated skin radiating beneath fine stitching, mouthing words against the back of an ear. “Would it not be more likely to suggest he would sooner find a short rope and a long drop given the provided option?”

Mister Arbello scrambled for the case, clutching it to his chest, eyes bulging.

Blue eyes flicked over a shoulder, hands remaining loosely in pockets, body relaxing. “I’m about to choke the life out of you if you don’t cut it out with these irritating colloquialisms.”

_Oh._

The older man let out a hot breath, threat coiling in his stomach, nearly dropping to the floor in pursuit of tearing at a leather belt and taking a burning cock into his mouth until his knees bruised and ached.

“Will, need I remind you this is a place of worship? We ought not discuss our proclivities for various forms of bondage beneath its roof…” Hannibal murmured, hand sliding down a spine and lightly tracing the curve of an ass. “Even if it is a stimulating form of foreplay.”

The younger man jerked, swinging around. “I swear to God—“

Maybe he would have him on the floor, in the center aisle, preferably during a midnight mass, one hand cupped over a mouth so as not to disturb those trying to pay attention and pray. They were well within their rights to give praise to figments of deity. And he felt it was well within his own to offer complete devotion to his own personal pagan idol. His form of worship was far more passionate and without parallel in his mind. Certainly the cries falling from the younger man's mouth would be considered angelic. They might not even object.

“ _Here_!” Mister Arbello shouted, sweating profusely, arms locked and holding out the metal briefcase like a crucifix, gaze darting towards the nearest exit.

“Wait. Right here.” A sharp glare heated his blood further.

Will snatched the brief case away and threw it behind him. It landed with a thud against the older man’s ribcage, knocking breath out of him. He flashed teeth at a turned back, knowing the gesture would be felt if it wasn’t seen.

A sputtering cry asked. “W-what are you—“

He tried not to gnash his teeth when the younger man began to roughly search for weapons, patting under arms, around a torso, skimming down legs, and then… A snarl tore from his lungs. …between them. He practically heard eyes rolling inside of Will’s skull.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” Will announced, deliberately rising slowly back to his feet to give Hannibal an excruciatingly long time to memorize him between another man’s thighs or stare at his exquisitely tailored ass. “Take this.” A roll of bills tossed over his shoulder. “And this?”

Light glinted down the silver barrel of a six chamber revolver.

“Exactly what were you planning on doing with this?” The younger man asked, leaning in with a menacing snap of teeth, tracing the tip of a gun down a paling face.

“N-nothing. Nothing I just thought—“

God, if Hannibal wasn’t torn between seething jealousy and needing to flatten Will, stripped naked, to the nearest surface. His gaze flitted around the church for a darkened corner, in full favor of doing just that.

“You thought you would pretend to know how to use it?” Will laughed, snap of the wrist flicking out a chamber and stared inside empty cylinder slots where bullets should have been. “Luca, my man…a word of advice.” The gun was tucked into the back of a waistband, a patronizing pat tapping a shaking man on the shoulder. “Unless you plan on chucking this really, really hard at someone and hoping it deflects off their face to defend yourself…Maybe consider loading it first, eh?”

Hannibal buried a laugh inside of a palm, feeling a lopsided grin cast his direction. The metal briefcase on his lap opened with a pop. Currency was stacked along a velvet inside, ten across and three deep. He imagined its U.S. value was approximately twenty thousand dollars. He ran fingertips delicately across a parchment resting on top, perfectly crisp, the color of sunlight touching a lake in autumn, black inked calligraphy raised and smooth. Thin blank lines separated looping script awaiting a whisper of a pen, blotting ink longing to dry to its surface.

 

_Certificate of Marriage_

_To whom this may come, he not knowing of any lawful impediment is hereby authorized and empowered to solemnize the rites of matrimony between…_

_Will Graham_

_&  
_

_Hannibal Lecter  
_

_I, hereby certify that Mister Will Graham and Mister Hannibal Lecter, were united in marriage on the day of…_

 

_Witness: Luca Arbello, Magistrate of the Court and County of Office_

  _Ceremony Officiate:_

 

There it was. Black and white. All he wanted. All he needed. To live. To breathe. To survive. He wasn’t certain when he had started shaking. What if it wasn’t real? What if it was merely a fabrication of the breaking heart inside his chest? What if he was fading from self inflicted starvation in his little cell in the BSHCI and Will had never come for him at all? What if Will never…

His eyes stung. And then burned. And he curled around the briefcase, biting down on his tongue to keep quiet, stifling a choked cry as he struggled for air.

Was he drowning? Drowning without him in the sea blackened by night?

A small sound drew Will’s attention away, gaze falling to trembling hands covering a face. He walked quickly to an empty pew, kneeling between knees and set the briefcase to the side. His eyes fell to the certificate rustling against knees, stained in wet blotches.

The younger man looped a hand around the back of a neck, pushing lips hard against a forehead, whispering, “Hey? I’m right here.”

A broken ache answered. “W-will.”

_I...love you._

“Here.” A hand squeezed his hard, nearly crushing bone, pulling palms from wet eyes, wide blue searching his. “Soon. Okay? Soon.”

Taking the certificate carefully away, Will tucked it back into the briefcase and wiped at tear stains, faint smile on his face when Hannibal cupped his cheek and he leaned in, lashes lowering then rising to say, _I love you too, idiot._

“How would you feel about making a sizable donation to this institution?” The older man inquired, trying to swallow a cracking tenor. "Perhaps to those less fortunate?"

The younger man pressed a kiss into his palm, eyes lighting warm with the words _sweet man_ , and shuffled back to feet, shrugging, voice soft. “Whatever you want.”

A whine interjected. “Does that mean—“

“Yes!” Hannibal snapped, eyes swinging up.

He would physically give the man his leave by hurling him out into the street in a moment, removing a few digits or lips somewhere in the struggle. 

“Uh god, he blubbers as much as she talks,” Will groused, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep a headache from pounding, gesturing aimlessly in the direction of their captive. “You two were really made for each other, you know that?”

His nostrils flared, sweetened caress of pain filling his lungs. He needed to take the younger man home. The sooner the better.

“Mister Arbello,” Hannibal rumbled, rising to his feet, smoothing a tie and jacket once more, curt tugs straightening cuffs on wrists. “Perhaps it should remain unspoken, but as a courtesy I will voice it all the same.” He walked slowly towards a cowering figure inching towards heavy wooden doors, taking in a deep breath and letting it out with a hiss of a smile. “My fiancé and I know where you live.”

 _My husband and I know where you live._ The threat had a lovely ring to it, spreading warmth through his chest.

Will came to join them, standing just behind at his right shoulder, advising, “If you stopped throwing your money at escorts, you could probably afford a better place.”

“You may of course go on living your miserable double life without ever having to concern yourself with your wife…”

Teeth nipped at his neck, bringing his sentence to a dead stop.

“You preachin or threatening a man?” The younger man asked with a wry grin, balmy Louisiana drawl heating each syllable, threading their fingers together, to hold his hand.

He sucked in a breath and held it, trying to determine how else he might be able to pull the softened cadence across a tongue once more.

“Or he could ramble on for an hour, a literal hour mind you..." Will wiggled fingers into his trouser pocket, stroking for an unnecessarily long time against his thigh, before reclaiming the knife with a smirk. "...about how if you breathe a word of this to anyone, anyone mind you being the police or your in laws, we will peel the skin from your bones a single inch at a time and keep you alive for as long as humanly possible while doing it.” A blade unhitched from its tarnished sheath and went to rest below a chin, jabbing lightly into skin enough to indent. “Sound about right?”

He sighed contently in his mouth, pride filling his gaze. _How lucky I am to have you._

Hannibal was going drink that flirtatious little smirk from his mouth. “More…or less.”

"Y-y-yes,” Mister Arbello stuttered, eyes flicking from his wife rousing from a drug induced sleep to them, unsure of who he feared more. “I understand.”

“Very good,” The older man pulled Will into the curve of his arm, leading him back down the aisle to retrieve the case, pressing his lips to a throat to test a sweet pulse, waving a benevolent hand in the direction of the man who’s name he barely cared to remember a moment longer. “Now run along…“

 _Perhaps it is only a tension headache after all,_ He mused, considering how a piping hot bath and a body massage might be in order upon their return.

And then they heard it. A deafening crackle. One by one. Bullets sliding into chambers.

“ _Hannibal_ ,” Will seethed in a grate suggesting he was about break every single bone in his body, stopping dead in his tracks, fingers curling painfully slow into fists, nails biting into skin. “I swear to fucking—“

Hannibal cast a cautious glance over his shoulder, nudging the younger man behind the shield of his body despite his resistance, elbows jostling his side, as if to say, _I don't need your protection. I am just as dangerous as you and I am about to kill you in a minute for this._

There were four men in total, each stocky and built, heads shaved and covered in hideous spider tattoos. Two were armed with semi-automatic rifles. The third brandished an easy smile, full head of black hair curling around his shoulders, and a Desert Eagle pistol. He waved their direction.

For a moment, the older man considered if it would be rude not to return the gesture, except he was distracted by a rather verbose and colorful amount of swearing. He suspected Will wouldn't appreciate him exchanging a formal greeting anyway.

“I have honestly had enough of your shit!” The younger man was shouting at the arched ceiling, making a crude gesture in a direction of the sky, before whirling around on his heel. A white knuckled fist hauled Mister Arbello forward by the collar, blazing dark eyes inches away from an ashen face. “Did you double _fucking_ cross us, Luca? Did you! Are you that stupid?”

His blood hummed once more. _Lovely…_

“No! No! Of course not! I-I-I—“

Garbled laughter rang out. “Pathetic little man.”

All three of them glanced towards Vivian Arbello, an arm slung around her waist from a fifth man, smaller than the others and pale skinned, a single gold tooth flashing.

“Here for me.” A chipped red nail wagged their direction. “Tried to tell you, husband, they watch all you do.”

Will hissed something beneath his breath and rubbed his temple with a left hand, eyes screwed shut.

Hannibal stared, head cocked to the side, and tried to reconcile how he had missed the presence of the fifth man when he ought to have been able to detect immediately by scent alone. Perhaps he was getting rusty. Or old. No still not that. Rusty. Yes, that had to be it. Or was it Will's alluring presence he found to be such a distraction?

The husband hung his head, stranded between all of them, unable to escape the vice grip on his collar.

Maroon eyes scanned the room once more, muscles tensing. Hannibal leaned in close to Will, whisper barely audible against an ear. “Release him.”

Will lifted eyes, streaked with blazing black, corner of a lip curling and shoved.

Mister Arbello spiraled backwards by the force. A singe shot clapped like thunder. A bullet ripped through Mister Arbello’s skull, exiting through the front, and splattered brains over pews. He hit the floor in a crunch of bones, face first, blood pooling. The man with the easy smile raised the gun to his lips, blowing across it.

A tray crashed to the floor. All turned.

Swathed in dove colored robes, a young priest stared at them with wide slivers of mahogany eyes, pink mouth agape, and blood draining from his face. Encrusted goblets rolled aimlessly across the stone tile, holy water racing through grooves and mingling with red stains.

Will looked at Hannibal. Hannibal looked at Will. They shared the same thought: _You have abysmal timing, Father Elias._ Well, almost the same thought. Except he expected Will's might have contained something a bit more rough and crude. _  
_

“You-you cannot be here!” The boy stammered, eyes flicking from the corpse bleeding out in the aisle, to Will and Hannibal, to the one armed woman, and then the men with guns. “Leave this place immediately! This is a house of—“

Time slowed.

“ _Fuck_!”

Nails raked down Hannibal’s neck. Fingers curled into the collar of his jacket. He caught a flash of teeth snarling, blue eyes pools of fire. Somewhere a bullet hissed out of a chamber. Dress shoes scuffed across the floor, leaving lines of black. A hand lashed out, snaring robes.

“Get down!”

Time snapped into place.

Will tackled Hannibal, shoulder blade colliding with vertebrae, knocking him forward into a narrow aisle. The younger man took the priest down with them in a choke hold of fabric. He slammed against the floor hands first then knees. Oxygen rushed out of the older man’s lungs as a body crushed him, forehead banging against stone. He blinked fast, trying to gather his vision into focus. His ears rang. He shook his head to shake away a daze. Hands were shoving at his hands and hips, far away voice yelling something. He slid across the floor as the younger man hauled him further behind the pew. Will blanketed his body to shield, chest curled over his back to cover vital organs, arms wrapped around his skull, to keep Hannibal from the worst of the gunfire.

“Would now be…” Will yelled into his ear over a deafening hail of bullets peppering the church. “…an inappropriate time to say… _Jesus mother fucking Christ_! Sorry, Father!” Fingers clenched in his hair, a knee jerking. “I told you so?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :laughing endlessly to myself: I think these next two chapters perfectly describe the embodiment of TS, don't you?
> 
> Firstly, this church is BEAUTIFUL. Like actually gorgeous. If Will and Hannibal weren't fugitives, I would insist they marry here. (http://static.panoramio.com/photos/medium/95313038.jpg) (https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5d/Odense_Sct_Albani_Kirke.jpg) 
> 
> Christus Vincit. Christus Regnat. Christus Imperat. (Christ conquers, Christ reigns, Christ commands.)
> 
> Secondly, a hopeful ending for our two brief OCs that appeared in Chapter 132, 133. 
> 
> Thirdly, someone give Hanni a hug, look at him all teary over that certificate! 
> 
> Fourthly, I am clearly watching too much of The Path, given the tone of this chapter and references.
> 
> Fifthly...that's not a word. I am convinced Will and Nigel would be best friends. 
> 
> Oh. AND MURDER HUSBANDS. (Looks, guys, ye ask and you shall receive. So if there any more requests, throw em my way : p )
> 
> (A THOUSAND APOLOGIES for the posting hiccup, everyone! I didn't mean to leave you hanging. I've had several problems this morning trying to get the rest of the chapter to post. Let me know if the problem persists!) 
> 
> Hold Me Down x Halsey  
> I sold my soul to a three-piece  
> And he told me I was holy  
> He's got me down on both knees  
> But it's the devil that's tryna
> 
> Hold me down, hold me down  
> Sneaking out the back door,  
> Make no sound  
> Knock me out, knock me out  
> Saying that I want more, this is what I live for


	138. Chapter 138

Hot breath radiated across Hannibal’s neck, shout piercing his ears above a roar of bullets splintering wooden pews. He stared up at the vaulted ceiling trying to force his vision to return clear and sharp, stiff limbs trapped beneath a body holding close. He winced as nails bit into his scalp, knee jamming into his stomach. Bullet holes splintered alabaster of Jesus looming above, chipping away at the cross. A groaning creak drew his attention to the support beam. His shoulder snapped up, arm locking around a waist. He flipped Will beneath him. He fiercely shoved the priest beneath the nearest bench for cover. The cross crashed across pews, wood snapping and severing a ceramic head, shards raining over his back and scattering around them.

Swears muffled against his shoulder, a fist thumping at his side for release. “Jesus Christ! I am going to kill you for this, Hannibal!”

“To answer your previous question…” Hannibal pushed up on palms enough to stare into narrowed eyes, brushing bits of debris from Will’s hair, searching for immediate injury. “I might suggest your timing is ill advised.” He smiled as teeth bared in response. “Unless you are adamant we have this discussion now rather than later? When it might possibly be more convenient and less likely to be lethal?”

Hannibal collapsed onto Will, hands covering each other’s head, another shower of gunfire echoing through the church. He cast a glance in the priest’s direction, huddled face first on the ground, palms pressed in prayer, eyes squeezed shut, mouth moving. He shook his head. He supposed they could use all the help they could get. Though he suspected a collapsing roof might be God’s idea of entertainment at the moment and more likely to solve all of his immediate problems.

He chuckled to himself. _Two birds, one stone._

“ _Why_ do I even like you?” Will yelled into his ear, struggling to muscle free.

“I believe amorous feelings expressed are considered love?” The older man quipped, eyes darting to the side to meet burning blue.

Nostrils flared. A knee jammed into his stomach. Will flipped on top, hauling him and the priest further down the aisle by collars and robes. Brand new suits, ruined for the both of them by now. Their tailor was going to have a heart attack. Bullets zigzagged across the back of the pew after them.

The younger man pinned him to the floor, balling his collar in both fists and shook him by the shoulders, growling, “Well, right now, I would _love_ to punch you in the face. So tell me, is it because I love you so much I want to break your handsome nose or because being in love with a man that almost _never_ listens to you pisses me off?”

Trailing knuckles along the side of a neck, Hannibal clenched fingers in hair and yanked him forward, mouth pressed to his cheek in a soft caress. “Have I neglected you? Am I not providing you with enough attention, my darling?”

Thumbs bit into his wrists as Will struggled, eyes flashing, struck between fury and softening gaze. “That is _not_ what I said.”

“I believe further evidence is required.”

Will slammed in to him to duck. A bullet tore through the pew in front of them precisely where his head had been a moment ago.

“Remind me again.” The older man flashed teeth, gaze flitting to the side, nails raking down a spine to hold closer. “How do you feel about the rest of our lives as a frame of time?”

Two pairs of scuffed boots were creeping closer down the aisle, weapons lowered. Rapid firing continued from somewhere at the church’s entrance. Gun powder filled lungs, eyes stinging.

Hannibal released a snarl as Will kissed him hard on the mouth, head banging against the pavement, rocking up to knees and snapped, “Fuckin’ impossible.”

“Sin drips from your tongue inside these walls, Will.” Hands skimmed over a spine, looping onto a belt, and locked the younger man safe against him, nails biting into thighs. “I may never allow you to leave.”

A forearm pushed on the front of his throat, knees squeezing air from his lungs, as Will continued to wrestle for release. “Here’s a useless idiom for you: ‘there’s a time and place for everything.’ And now is probably the least acceptable time for you to be groping my ass like a reprimanded choir boy!”

They both glanced in the direction of one pair of boots several paces behind the other. The men were three aisles away. In another two meters they would be upon them. There was nowhere for them to go with a wall at their backs, pews on either side, and guns about to greet them in the aisle.

He hadn't intended to go out like this. Or at all really. He could think of several more deaths that were more fitting. Or the irony of someone like him, ruthless predator of the rude, ending up with a bullet in his skull and all he loved bleeding out in his arms. A clear sign of being unable to protect and provide. Blood heated at the thought. He had no way of even giving Will a chance to run.

“Are the terms of my reprimanding less severe if I were to say…” Hannibal splayed fingers over Will’s face, murmuring into his mouth softly, to keep them together a moment longer, to leave a seal of protection, or a prayer. “You are everything to me, dearest.”

Will was warm, skin soft, gaze gentle as he quivered once inside the embrace. At least they were together.

The young priest was shaking hard, balled up on knees, rosary pressed to lips, voice cracking pitifully as gunfire grew louder. “As I walk in the valley of the shadow of death…”

Will drew away, touching his mouth, color draining from silver to pitch black, a growl emanating in a low warning unspoken. _Don’t you give up on me._

“Do something useful! Watch him!”

A knee slotted into his stomach. Hannibal choked for air, protests trapped, hands and limbs slipping through his grasp. Gunfire slowed. Will shoved off him, crouching low and reached for the unloaded revolver tucked into a waistband. Shoulders hunched forward. Calf muscles tensed. All went quiet.

_No. Will, wait!_

A rifle tipped restlessly against jeans, boots shuffling to a stop.

Flipping the revolver into a palm, Will lunged blindly forward, slamming metal into a windpipe. The man stumbled, hands flying to a throat. Knuckles jammed against a jaw, teeth splintering. The rifle fell to the floor.

“Goddamn—“ The younger man connected a fist to a stomach, pitching the revolver over a shoulder, catching it against a forehead beyond. “—miracle!”

The blonde man a few feet away hissed a curse, skin splitting open below a right eye, jerking the rifle up and aiming.

“No!” Hannibal croaked, rolling to his side, crawling to knees. “W-wait!”

Hands snapped onto a denim jacket. Boots weaved across the floor. A knife slashed across an abdomen. Gunshots cracked off in a storm of hail. Guts and intestine unraveled red in the aisle. Will ducked behind the struggling man sinking to knees for a shield, shoving and dove for cover.

“Will!”

The younger man hit the floor in a crack of a shoulder, rolling behind a pew, hands shielding his face from splintering wood. An echo of gunfire following.

Struggling, Hannibal dragged the priest over the floor by shoulders and hid him between the organ and set of pews. “If you will be so kind, Father, I will leave this in your care.” He shouted, shoving the metal brief case into open arms, before pointing to the ceiling. “Oh and do put in a good word for us if you feel inclined?”

Father Elias stared, ducking underneath a line of stray bullets, mouth shutting in a loud click of grinding teeth. He glanced to the front of the church, peering carefully over a pew. One man remained in the aisle, shoulder jerking from the rifle’s kickback. Gold tooth had returned to the entrance and was firing off shots with a pistol towards Hannibal. Long hair had Vivian by the waist, inspecting the damage. The last had positioned to the left corner, rifle balanced on a pew, firing in Will’s direction.

“Another time then?”

The older man rolled to the right, leading gunfire away and through the first set of pews. He hustled forward on balls of his feet, scent of gun powder and blood filling his lungs. He knelt to the floor, looking left and then right. Two aisles up on the left, Will had rolled to his stomach, hands clamped over ears, and cast a casual wave his direction. He was going to throttle him within an inch of his life when this was through.

A clip fell to the floor. Hands shooting out, Hannibal wrapped them around an ankle and pulled with all his might. The man in the aisle slipped forward, losing balance. Knees smashed against tile. A nose and brow cracked open. Blood gushed out. He was kicking and screaming, disappearing behind pews, rifle clattering in tow by a neck strap. Launching onto a chest, the older man picked up the weapon and rammed the blunt end into a skull over and over. He closed eyes, familiar warmth washing over his face, staining his clothes, sticky and comforting. Until the screaming stopped. Until all he heard was guns and his own breathing. Now was not the time for art. No time to consider the intimacy of any except for who he loved. His eyes strayed to Will who was watching from the floor, a left corner of a lip lifted in a smile, tongue darting out.

Loud shouting boomed instructions over quieting fire. Pitching the gun away, Hannibal lunged into the aisle, sliding through viscous and holy water feet first. He snapped a hand in a collar as he went, rolling Will with him, hands cupped around a head. Knuckles scraped open. Knees banged together. They rolled to a stop.

The older man glanced down, drenched in blood, and snarled, “Foolish boy.”

A blinding smile flashed on Will’s face. “Timid old man.”

“Expect a sound lashing upon our return home.” He picked up the pocketknife and returned it to an outstretched hand.

Lashes drifted over a shadowed gaze, hand curling in his tie, bringing him a breath away from a mouth. “Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

His breath stuttered out when the younger man flashed him another smile, hips undulating up to his teasingly. Will would be the death of him. It was written in stone. Or the stars. Or on some crumpled napkin in a half decent diner in the Midwest somewhere.

“Let’s see what we can do about not getting shot in the face first, choir boy,” The younger man admonished, tugging them both to knees, scanning the floor to count remaining pairs of boots. Will looked down the bridge of a nose, eyes bright, knife pointing in the direction of the gold tooth man sneaking towards them on the left wall. “Ready?”

Sucking in a steadying breath, Hannibal tapped a palm on a chest, placing himself to be the first in the line of fire. If anyone was going to catch a bullet it wasn’t going to be Will. Fingers tensed on the blade. A hand rested lightly at his hip. He signaled with a curt nod.

Hannibal barreled forward, catching the smaller man off guard, shoulder ramming against a chest. Will darted out after them, throwing his weight onto the opposite side of a torso. They slammed into an alcove, crushing their prey against the wall, bullets smattering walls around them. An elbow caught him in the face, busting open a lip. A heel of a palm smashed into his eye. He brought his knee up into a ribcage, shoving. Will cried out, blunt edge of a pistol splitting open his brow and banged into the archway. A feral snarl ripped from lungs. Hannibal grabbed the arm, pinning it to an edge of the wall and twisted. Bones snapped in half. Screams deafened. He reached to pull the younger man to safety inside the alcove, dodging the flash of a blade as Will jammed it into the side of the man’s neck, blood streaming down his face and teeth snapping. The blade slipped out. Arterial spray painted walls crimson. They allowed the man to sink to his knees, red pooling at their feet.

The younger man slumped into him for a moment, held up by arms, face falling to a shoulder and allowed Hannibal to card fingers through hair, kiss pressed to a temple. He pushed two fingers into the corner of a swelling eye, head tipping up to the ceiling and let out a hiss. He timidly placed a palm above the spot the gun had impacted with to check its depth. A body jerked forward, curse following. Shallow. But it would need stitches.

“Nn…” Will groaned, one hand on his brow, eye squeezed shut to keep out blood, and pulled on a hand, gaze flicking towards the exit. “Come on, not safe. Keep moving.”

He wanted to protest, to insist he was not leaving without the document within the metal case. Even if meant dragging a dead body along with them. He had waited far too long. They had sacrificed too much. Half dead or alive, Hannibal was not going down without a fight.  

They stepped out. Guttural cursing echoed in the church. A bald man charged toward them, empty rifle clutched in palms to bludgeon. Will shoved Hannibal out of the way by shoulders, weaving to the side and dodged. The man charged passed them, swinging around. The older man slipped on a pool of blood as he stumbled, landing on the flat of his back.

Will landed on top of him a moment later, held up on hands and knees, a garbled laugh escaping. “R-resting? Or… waiting to fuck?”

Hannibal blinked slowly, trying to gather a semblance of breath inside his ribcage once more. Pain blistered inside bruised shoulder blades and muscles. Will groaned, glancing behind him at the man returning for a second round. Hannibal glanced up across the floor towards the entrance. The one with long hair was rushing around the corner at full speed, popping a clip into a Desert Eagle. The flat edge of a rifle cracked into Will’s spine.

“ _Move_!” Will howled, chin dropping to his chest, arms locked to keep up right.

The older man rolled out from underneath him. Will fell to his chest, twisting, and slashed a blade across an Achilles tendon. A shout echoed. Lightning cracked. A bullet splintered plaster above a mop of curls. Snarling, Hannibal leapt over a pew, dodging and weaving, gun darting to take aim. He raced forward, snapping the tie from around his neck and wound it around bloodied fists. Another shot fired off. Fire raced across a bicep, grazing flesh. Hooking locked wrists over a head, he yanked forearms together across a throat, silk cutting into skin, lifting the long hair man from the floor. Eyes glowed red. A canine slipped out from lips, prepared to sink into a fluttering pulse. A sharp groan drew his attention. He snapped a neck with a dissatisfied grunt, tie unfurling, body crumbling to the floor.  

The younger man was rolled up on his back, dress shoes jammed into a broad torso, drenched in red and grunting for depleting oxygen. Feet kicked out, marring tile in black streaks, heels digging into a stomach. Blood trickled from slashed knife wounds over a tattooed face, staining a reddening one below. Fists wrapped around a throat. The knife was spinning three feet away. Shaking arms were holding the bulky man at bay. Nails embedded in skin. Thumbs creaked towards eye sockets. Hannibal forgot to breathe, to move, to snap out of his reverie of memorizing each and every detail of Will blossoming in a throe of violence to store away in his memory.

“L-l-less eye fucking—“ Muddied blue eyes drifted to the side, lip curling over glinting teeth. “—m-more helping!”

In three long strides, Hannibal closed the space between them. He locked a forearm around a windpipe, crook of an elbow cutting off air. Palms released Will, striking out and back at the older man, growing weaker. He applied more pressure, lowering himself and the man to his knees, peering over a shoulder of a ripped leather jacket. The younger man closed eyes for a moment, touching bright red bruises fading to purple, gasping for breath. Dark lashes lifted, meeting a hungry gaze.

“Does this meet your requirement of assisting?” Hannibal growled, claws snarling in a collar and holding the half conscious man up on knees.

Wiping off blood from a split lip, Will reached for the blade, lip hitching in a snarl, gravel scraping broken glass hissing out, “Better late than never.”

Metal flashed. Blue eyes drifted closed. A throat slashed open. Blood spilled across an upturned face, coating dark curls, tangling in lashes, and drenching a chest. Hannibal’s lips parted, a broken sigh of content washed over in a rumbling growl. Will opened his eyes to look up, blinking slow, pupils blown wide and black. He was beautiful washed in dim light of chandeliers, dripping in a veil of blood. Heat coiled in the older man’s blood, heart pounding. He pitched the body to the side. It folded in a heap.

Pinning wrists to the floor, Hannibal crushed his mouth to Will’s, growls answering throaty moans. He pushed his tongue between snapping teeth, hot copper filtering through lips. He wasn't sure if it was his or Will’s or their multiple victims strewn across sacred ground. He wasn't sure it mattered, lost in the rhythm of teeth scraping over the rough texture of his tongue. Hot breath rushed between their mouths welded tight. Knees drifted over bruises forming on his ribs. The younger man continued to struggle, adrenaline scarring inky black over blue eyes. Hearts slammed together in time. Hips and thighs chaffed against creaking bones and swelling flesh. They wrestled against each other, tearing at fabric and blood slicked skin, to break apart and twine closer together. A heel of a dress shoe ground into his thigh, nails scraping down the back of his neck, winding in hair and pulling hard.

Baring his throat, the older man let out a hiss as teeth sank in and sucked a mark over angry scratches, arching his chest into the one below. “ _Will._ ”

Will jerked a plaid jacket around shoulders, trapping arms, and shoved Hannibal up onto his knees, narrowed eyes sweeping over a bloodstain seeping through a torn sleeve.

Black eyes snapped up to meet red, voice and touch turning rough, “Stabbed? Shot?”

Hannibal cast a warm tongue over a stinging bottom lip, voice and ability to speak lost, gazing into a crimson face and pin pricks of a summer storm.

_Beautiful. So beautiful._

He wanted to gather him up and tend gently to his wounds, stitching and soothing each one. He also wanted to rip fabric away and bury his fingertips in them, staining his palms red until Will cried out, bucking against him to seek a different form of touch. The older man’s throat tightened, hands trembling, needing him, all of him, skin to skin, to know they were alive. Together. And breathing. And Will was his. Only his.

Hands shook him by the shoulders hard. “Answer me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we biting our nails yet? 
> 
> Lightning Field x Sneaker Pimps
> 
> Strike me down  
> Better left it all unknown  
> Strike me down  
> Should have left it all alone  
> Wash the questions off my hands  
> I'm the fate in no one's plans  
> Strike me down


	139. Chapter 139

Fine lashes stained red swept over narrow bands of crackling firelight encircling dilated pupils, matted curls and upturned face captured in their inky surface. Broken bones and whispered promises were caught between jagged teeth beckoning from narrow lips. Fraying seams and blood soaked fabric clung to strong arms and legs locked around Will’s frame, coiling tighter, and crushing breath from a heaving chest. He sank against cold tile, held down by heavy palms, fingers whisking buttons open one at a time. His gaze flicked from a swollen eye to a split mouth. He shoved at shoulders, eyeing a widening stain of blood on a bicep warily, straining to see if a bullet remained. The imaginary sound of a ticking clock filled his mind. Unease settled in his stomach. Time was running out.

“Hey! Are you listening to me? We are not making out in the middle of a damn crime scene!”

Not that he wasn’t willing. He decided to keep that information to himself. The mouth trailing down the side of his throat could be very persuasive. Too persuasive. He wouldn’t mind an excuse to drain the remaining adrenaline out of his system with a rough romp. However, he suspected the place would be crawling with police at any moment. It was not one of his greatest desires to have tabloid journalists snapping photos of them in the throes of passion, pants around their ankles, and murder victims at their feet. Or knees. Where was going to end up if he didn't do something. Anything. Was there any way to explain the way out of that to a jury?

_How do you plead?_

_Not guilty, your honor._

_You were caught having sex in a pool of blood._

_Well. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for that. See…_

Will struggled as a mouth moved further down his torso, large hands pushing at his thighs, trying to roll him onto his stomach. He wanted to let it happen, to be held down by the nape of his neck, and let Hannibal fuck the remaining fight from him, to take whatever he needed, concerned with his pleasure alone. He moaned quietly behind a hand, the thought racing straight to a heavy cock. That particular line of thinking wasn't helping his predicament at all.

It was technically a church after all. All right, not technically. Actually. Something should remain sacred. Not that they hadn’t already desecrated it. What were a near half dozen bodies between friends? But Will had some kind of dwindling moral standards. He wasn't able to name any of what those were, seeing as a tongue was tracing skin underneath the outline of a belt. Plus there was the priest to consider. Assuming he had made it out in one piece of course. How they were going to wheedle a ceremony out of him after this was questionable at best. Though if this was any indication of _in sickness and in health_ , maybe there was a chance he would understand. A very, very slim chance. If they didn't consummate their marriage on holy ground.

“Hannibal!”

He tried an elbow to the sternum. A heel of a shoe against a thigh. No response. It was like the older man was in a trance. He shivered, running hot and cold at the same time. Hannibal was looking at him the same way he eyed fine dining, and those dishes generally contained a 'whom.' Will was certain Hannibal's desire to consume him was purely aesthetic now.

Hannibal flashed teeth at the resistance, dark snarl slithering off a tongue, “ _Lie still._ ”

Fairly certain...?

Will relented, violent tone of the command pinning him in place. The older man batted at hands with a sweep of fingers, expression blank, lost in the sound of harsh breathing and seeking out painted skin. Thumbs scored up the younger man’s windpipe, forcing his throat to arc, squeezing out a whimper and muting a protest. His throat clicked in an effort to swallow, blood thickening in a molten rush. He was drowning in a dark gaze, fingers curled in notched lapels, waiting for oxygen to be returned to lungs or choked out. His monster had come out to play. All teeth and nails and sharpened edges. His to wield. His to command. His to caress and whisper into an ear, _For me, love. Kill, kill, kill._

_“Would you consider it nightmarish to be wedded to that which accepts you as completely as I do, William?”_

He longed to go back to that moment and whisper against a mouth, _No. I would be honored._

Time. It was all they had. Or so it seemed. Until years slipped through fingers in a fraction of a second.

Blurred in a hymn of candlelight reflecting off pooling blood, Hannibal was washed in red and black, shadowed chandeliers twisting to form a halo of horns above his head. His chin was tipped at a slight angle, dark gaze unblinking, running hot hands possessively down a shivering torso to slick fingerprints across it, marking every inch of skin within reach. Nails raked over the front of trousers, snaring a zipper.

Will let out a hiss. They were going to be caught if he didn’t do something. And fast. While he could still think straight. Or before he was entirely disrobed. Whichever came first. As much as he wanted this, whatever it was hammering inside his chest and knotting his stomach, he wasn’t going to take it without knowing if Hannibal was bleeding out or if the authorities were closing in. Given the amount of gunfire they had miraculously survived, he gave them twenty minutes tops. Maybe twenty two if they were lucky. Today, they seemed graced with luck. He would have said someone was looking out for them if he believed in such a thing. 

It certainly was not his finest moment. He wasn’t even certain how it happened. Or why. Except it seemed like the most logical thing to do at the time. Time being a fraction of a second. He immediately regretted it after. Given an ice cold shower wasn’t available to him, he chose the next best thing.

“Hannibal!” A palm swung across a cheek, impacting with a resounding smack. “Snap out of it! Are you fucking hurt or not, angel!”

Hannibal snatched the wrist out of the air, twisting, and slammed it against tile, jaws snapping and snarling at a contorting face below.

Teeth clamped together, lightning streaks of pain blotted behind eyes. “G-g-god.” He squeezed eyes tighter shut, shifting slightly, tendril of fear laced with desire creeping into his voice. “Y-you’re hurting me.”

Shadows lifted from red eyes. Red filtered to a dusky autumn forest, fog clearing.

“A flesh wound…” Hannibal murmured, lifting shaking palms, and touched a corner of his mouth to find a matching split trickling with blood on the other side, as if a snake had bitten in his mind's absence. “This…on the other hand may require stitches.”

The older man looked like he had seen a ghost, palm print burnt on paling skin, eyes wide and confused. Will cradled a throbbing wrist against a chest, scrambling back, and eyed him warily, dress shirt gaping open and tangling at his waist. He wasn't afraid per se. He merely wanted to ensure the further use of his dominant hand.

“Are you…” Hannibal reached out, whisper falling flat, wincing when the younger man flinched away. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live,” Will sniped, cutting him off, and limping up to balance on an edge of a pew. He rubbed at a raw neck. It stung from bruises. Warmed by the threat of caress moments before. “Better believe you’re gonna pay for this though.”

He winced. Tone sharper than he had intended. He had meant it to come out teasing, light and airy, a promise of a different kind of payment in the privacy of their home. Or a bit rough to insinuate memories of past fights, hair pulling and raking nails, until they were nursing the others wounds. But it sounded like a threat, dark and ugly retribution. He couldn’t take it back now. Will sighed. He wasn’t angry. He was tired. Half asleep and hurting. Too old to be walking around with bones splintering, muscles aching. He was a little shaken by the image of Hannibal, mask vanishing, wild and uninhibited, snapping at his throat. It was unnerving. But something else. Thrilling. Beautiful.

“Duly noted,” Hannibal replied wearily, staggering to feet and catching his balance on a far wall, head hanging low to hide behind a fringe of silver in submission.

No, this isn’t what he wanted. If he struck the older man again, he was sure he would stand there and take it. As many times as he wanted. God, what was it gnawing away at the pit of his stomach?

“Sorry, I…” Will began softly, hand clamped on a sore neck.

Red rimmed eyes lifted, wavering in silent pleas. _Forgive me._

His gaze fell to the floor, heat flushing his face. “You don’t need—“

He didn't want an apology. Didn't need one. He wanted to wrench the mask off once more and gaze beneath it, offered up to a feral hunger and kiss the monster beneath. How else was he going to explain he liked seeing Hannibal at a complete loss for control?

_I want you as you are. Don't hide from me._

Whimpering moans splintered tension between them. He retreated, stuffing a hand into a pocket, leaving the swollen and bruising one to swing at his side, flexing stiff fingers. He touched the cold band of metal on his finger with a thumb, allowing the sensation to ground him. Sighing, Will shuffled through the church to retrieve the most likely--terrified, scarred for life, and about to throw a Bible at them when asked to perform a ceremony--priest. It would surely be a whole new take on Bible thumping. He rounded the nineteenth stretch of pews, wondering exactly how many were filled on any given Sunday, and ground to a halt, hiss exhaling between teeth.

A chipped manicured hand reached out for a heavy door two meters away, arm quaking and fingers straining for an antique brass handle. Vivian Arbello was slithering across the tiled floor, belly down, denim knees smeared in grime, agate blouse torn down the front, clinging to a bandaged nub dotted red.

Will paused, allowing adrenaline to stir something dark within caverns of his soul, coiling and rippling underneath his skin to form a clawed shadow of his own. His eyes narrowed to slits. His muscles tensed, flinching in a quaver of restrained violence. The pocketknife latched closed with a click. He wouldn't need it for this. He slipped it into a right pocket. Nostrils flared in a burn of breath. He rolled up sleeves on one arm. His blood slowed to an icy crawl. And then he cuffed a sleeve on the other. An etching of a smile lifted corners of lips.

He turned his head over a shoulder, glowering at a shifting shadow. “ _Now_ can I fucking kill her?”

Edging from safety of the wall, Hannibal adjusted a bloodied jacket around broad shoulders, gaze flicking curiously from Will to the woman on the floor, steady strides bringing him closer. The older man stood inches away, sensing electricity washing over skin. Heat radiated from a looming form. Nails tracked the curve of his neck, trailed down his spine, and curled at his hip.

A mouth pressed to his cheek, voice a low rumble, “With pleasure.”

Blue eyes closed in a flutter, fingers twisting to claws. He stood very still. He felt atoms gathering, shifting towards an echo of darkness draped across his spine, nestling as one, to mingle and caress. He heard it, crystal clear glass breaking across concrete, fracturing lines in his mind. A whisper, spoken or felt, like the summons of earthly bonds falling away to grant release to a demon of his own, _Kill._

Lashes drifted open. No astral trail of a swinging pendulum to greet him. Nothing except silence, quiet and hanging in the air. A hum of violence coiled in blood. A sense of peace washed over him. For a moment, he felt absolute calm. 

Will was moving in a beat of a breath exhaled. He stalked across the floor. He dragged the woman up by a suspension of frizzy curls wrapped around a fist. Eyes flashed up. A cry sounded in the distance. The room faded to black. _Tick, tick, tick._ Grainy photos fluttered around them, manifested from thin air, a gallery of blackened sad eyes, hands bound, mouths gagged from crying out. Innocence torn from broken bodies. Helpless. Forgotten. But not by him. He would never forget. Unanswered prayers the only comfort left in hours of silence. His knees locked. His arms shook. _Tick, tick, tick._

Nails slashed across his cheek. Will slammed a back hand across an unseen face. The impact sent the woman sprawling across tile, body bouncing in a blur. He heard wailing pleas burning through photographs, rising to a crescendo, piercing his ears. He kicked out, toe of a dress shoe cracking a rib. And then again. And again. He didn’t see her. He saw them, flickering images of children looking on from shadowed corners.

From somewhere else entirely, he heard screaming. “You have any goddamn remorse! Do you?”

Knuckles busted open across a cheekbone.

“You think those kids deserved to be beaten?”

Ragged breathing echoed. His fists swung against a brow. A sternum. Cracked ribs. A scream tore out.

_Hit me like a man, you little pussy!_

Will saw his father lying beneath him, blood streaming down his face and staining teeth behind a cruel smile. The stench of whiskey roiled his stomach, teeth grinding.

“Did it make you feel powerful?”

A crooked nose cracked, blood gushing out.

“Did you try to break them when they wouldn’t scream for you anymore!”

Phantom bruises burned through his skin in a series of agonizing aches wracking his body from head to toe, the child inside him curled into a ball.

 _Please don’t._ A tinny whimper flooded the back of his mind. _I’ll be better, I promise._

“How much were they worth? How much! Answer me!”

He felt large meaty hands breaking across his chest and stomach. A willingly immobile target was easy to hit. Even easier to hide beneath layers of clothes and a plastered on smile. Quiet meant quick. Quick meant less pain. His father was laughing now. He swung a fist into an eye.

A strangled cry tore from lips. “Did they deserve to be raped?”

His eyes stung. Heels kicked at his chest. Snapped against his hip. He barely noticed them. His fingers curled around a throat and lifted. Plaster cracked as they impacted with a wall, pinning a swinging body by the throat.

“Over and over and _over_?”

_There you are._

When Will opened his eyes another face was looking back, one he had tried to scrub from his memory, to forget, to repress, to lock away and to not think of, even for a second. A pitiful wounded noise fell from his mouth. Blanched in swelling bruises and split skin, Nicolas grinned down at him, admiring hands at his throat in a wisp of fingertips.

_Have I broken you yet, darling?_

The younger man’s stomach lurched, bile filling his mouth. The scent of his cologne, the burn of breath, the scrape of teeth, the rough drag of hands. They were everywhere. Digging into his soul, twisting a heart hammered in his chest.

_It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It isn’t real._

His fists clenched harder, cartilage creaking underneath a whimper, "P-p-please."

Tears streamed hot down his face, eyes unseeing, images breaking apart in a scatter of sobs, “They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t. They didn’t.”

_I didn't deserve it._

“ _No_.” A hiss breathed against his ear. Cool fingertips pulled at trembling hands. “No, Will.”

Will jerked an elbow into a stomach, head rearing, snarling, “Stop me and you’re next!”

He glanced behind to find blackened feathers of the stag morphing into a man, black eyes shimmering fondly in a blank face.

A muzzle trailed the taut arc of his neck, kissing lightly. He shuddered as a chest molded to him, claws coursing up quavering arms, palms cupping his fingers around a throat. “Like this.”

Hannibal pried at hands, chin resting on a shoulder, and moved them to the pivot of a skull on a spine. He gently caressed knuckles, feeling for vertebrae and increased pressure slightly, rolling a head to the side. Will trembled against him, knees threatening to give way, sucking in a breath to quiet weak noises escaping. Faces continued to flash before his eyes. Right up until the moment they moved together, hands wrenching and dislocating a spine. Then they vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Vivian slumped to the floor in a heap, paralyzed from the neck down, chest rising and falling in a flutter of lungs.

Will lunged forward to end it. To end her. To watch his nightmares burn to the ground as life drained from eyes.

Arms locked under his shoulders and hauled back. He kicked and howled like a wounded animal, fists and feet impacting with anything within reach. A nose. A calf. A sharp cheekbone. A row of teeth. 

“No!” The younger man screamed, wrestling to jerk free from a steely embrace locked at his waist and chest. “Let go!”

Silently, Hannibal held tighter to restrain, willfully ignoring forming bruises and aches blistering down his body. He sighed. He waited for a singular moment. For limbs to grow weak. For nightmares to fade to reality. For Will to return. Death was far too merciful an offer. He would see.

“Let go of me, you goddamn hypocrite!"

Blue eyes flashed up, filling with tears. _Are my demons too heavy for you to bear now? Do you not...want me? This part of me? What you helped me see? What you unleashed?_

"You have no right!”

“Is it not more poetic…” The older man kissed the side of a cheek, a neck, a palm colliding with his chest, forcing his voice to become an even lull of ocean tide. “…for a monster to live out its remaining days within the cage of its bones no longer able to speak of horrors or move freely throughout the world, denied to act upon impulse?”

She would become her victims. A withering child. Reliant on the whims of strangers.

“ _No_!”

A fresh well of tears sprang in eyes as sobs wrenched free. Energy drained quickly from his body. Fists striking out became weak, glancing off like a bee sting. His knees folded. Will cried harder, hanging limply in arms, for the ones he couldn’t save. For the ones he had. For the frail boy he had once been. For what was taken from him, that he could never take back. For what hunted him in darkened silence, screams lost to the cold floor of a cell.

“No…no…” He whimpered, arms curling around his body to shield, to protect. "I didn't..."

“Shh…” Hannibal lowered them carefully to the floor, palm cradling the back of a head as Will slumped against him. “You are with me. I have you.”

He pressed an ear to a beating heart, staring in horror at the thing crumpled on the floor, struggling to survive. Face busted in, swelling in bruises and cuts, violent blotches twining down a limp body. He looked down at his palms. What had he done? A blossoming warmth of satisfaction touched his heart. His stomach lurched, breathing quickening, gasping for air. He clawed at protective hands, wrists, a chest, a face, scrambling to run. To run where? From who? Himself? From Hannibal? Were they not one in the same?

Ashy smoke hissed, fingers clamping on forearms to keep them from inflicting further damage. “Stop fighting me, Will!”

He went limp, tears streaking from eyes, waiting for the visions to return.

"You are mine. And I will protect you." Hannibal turned him in arms, kneeling face to face, and pressed a trembling palm against his chest, forcing it to remain, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “Feel the breath inside my lungs pushing through your own. Do you feel me close to you? Safe? Unharmed?”

Will blinked, brows drawn low on a forehead, struggling to focus on the sensation beneath his palm and warming his cheek. He pressed harder, as if he might reach inside ribs and cup a palm around muscles expanding and contracting, to steal breath in a curl of fingertips.

“Good.” The older man kissed his brow, nodding, voice growing soft, “Very good, dearest. There is no need to be afraid. Whatever it is you see ought to fear you, William, for your justice is as merciless as it is righteous and divine. ”

Lowering wide eyes, he stared at the floor as a mouth kissed tears, holding tight to smooth hands framing his face, aching for the steadying pressure.

He glanced up once. _Our design?_

 _Yes, mylimasis._ Steady thumbs stroked blood from his mouth, maroon gaze unwavering. _Yours and mine._

“Come.” Hannibal rose, extending a hand, palm up and nodded his head in the direction of the altar. “We have one more matter to attend to.”

Will stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor, gazing up at the hand warmed in a shimmer of light, unmoving and adrift inside a mirror of devotion, where only the best parts of his potential remained. Where he was accepted without question, flaws and intention stitched together to create the image of perfection. Where he was offered a life worthy of touch, of being seen, of being loved. To be fought for. To allow himself to take a single step and be saved. 

“Have faith, Will,” The older man called softly, squeezing a hand settling in his own, tears misting eyes as Will rose to stand beside him, where he had always belonged.

His eyes slipped down and to the side, nuzzling into a palm, whispering, "I lov--"

A gold tooth glinted. A serrated knife flashed. Will let out a howl of pain, nails catching on a line of buttons as he fell, shoulder colliding with concrete. He clutched a bloodied calf, gaping up at a pale man crawling across the floor, hand staunching a spurting wound on a neck. The knife swiped down. He threw up a forearm to shield his face.

An inhuman scream grated through the church. Hannibal collided with the man in a blur of color. A blade glittered. Nails clawed at eyes. They skidded across tile. A watch cracked over a skull. Teeth tore through a cheek. Fists hammered into a chest. A lip lifted in a snarl. A serrated metal tip sliced a thin line across stomach. Black shot through red eyes. The older man banged a wrist on the floor. Fingers clenched tighter to the weapon. The wrist slipped into red curled lips. Radius and ulna crunched in a sickening snap. The knife spun free. Screams sounded as teeth gnashed against a chest, tearing away flesh, muscle, and fabric. Hannibal lifted the knife and smiled. A knife slashed into a torso, again and again and again. Thumbs and fingers sank in rib bones, twisting. The man on the floor convulsed, eyes rolling in the back of a skull, hand falling limp. Blood spurted from a wound in the neck. Quiet settled over once more. 

A burning gaze strayed to where Will was sprawled, unable to look away, breathing hard, warmth trickling through his hand. Spitting out skin and muscles between teeth, Hannibal left a viscous spray over the man in contempt, staggering to feet. Blood dripped from a sharp nose, a mouth, running down a neck and twitching fingers, leaving droplets in the wake of gleaming dress shoes. The older man retrieved a silk tie on the floor. He walked over, mask crumbling as a range of emotions flashed across his face: rage, disdain, blood lust. Buried in a glitter of eyes was only one feeling and it shook the younger man breathless to his core: desperate need.  

Hannibal crouched beside him, roughly knotting a tie around the knife wound in his calf. His mouth twitched to restrain growls, promises fulfilled ten fold, vows spoken before they had been asked for.

_“To keep you safe, I would burn entire cities to the ground. To find you, I would overturn the very expanse of heaven and earth, tearing apart man and gods alike, leaving a trail of bodies in my wake. To keep you as mine alone, I would crush the bones of any man or woman who dared to look upon you with even a hint of desire.”_

Baptized in the eyes of all they had longed for. Each other. When he felt as though his body was being dashed against the rocks once more, begging Hannibal to let him drown, unable to understand they would die together or not at all. He would die time and time again if it meant they ended up here. _  
_

_“To protect you, I would tear apart any man limb to limb who dared bring a hand against you. If an object of your wrath offended you, I would slit their throat at your command.” Hannibal swallowed, pressing his lips against Will’s murmuring, “I would slit my own, if it was what you desired.”_

Torn fabric revealed a wound slashed open over a stomach, red seeping three inches above a raveling leather belt. Will knocked Hannibal back, arms thrown around his waist, squeezing until he knew it would hurt, eyes closing to trap tears. They had lost control long ago. Of themselves. Of each other. All was lost to the sea. 

"Stop throwing yourself into Death's arms, you brilliant, beautiful, fucking idiot!" The younger man thumped a fist against a heart to emphasize each word, cry buried in a drenched collar, clinging to the only arms he longed to protect him, to save him, to destroy him if need be. 

If the came to the time of his last breath, he hoped Hannibal would be the last person he would see, safe to let go and find an eternity of sleep inside his arms.

A kiss pressed to the crown of his head in a divine seal, eyes tipping to decipher time on a fractured watch, sighing. "If the sirens are any indication, I believe we have approximately ten minutes to conclude our business here. Shall we?" A corner of lips lifted, wincing, split opening further, palm pressing over a stomach to stem bleeding. "Or do you insist on a rest period, my darling husband?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That wraps up all the people none of us liked anyway! Now, where did that priest scurry off to with that most important certificate? Someone please marry them already! 
> 
> Bloodsport x Raleigh Ritchie (aka: my personal Hannigram theme song)
> 
> I've got your hand, it's us against consensus,  
> And I will burn  
> The people who hurt you the worst and I will not learn  
> 'Cause I am too young and too dumb to consider the terms  
> Of breaking the law and I'll curse the day that they return  
> With a smile on my face as their heads hit the floor  
> And they're done now  
> It's curtains  
> The bloodlust's a clusterfuck  
> It hurts but it's working  
> And even if you ask me to stop  
> It's too late  
> Because I've already decided their fate  
> It's not a distaste  
> It's pure hate  
> And it pulsates  
> And it works its way around my brain  
> Anyway, What I'm trying to say  
> Is I'll protect you 'til the day I meet my maker  
> So don't fight me now 'cause you might need me later
> 
>  
> 
> Excuse me, while I blast this from a boombox underneath someone's window.


	140. Chapter 140

Hands clapped over ears to drown out the crackle of gunfire. It was deafening, rising, louder and louder until it sounded like golf sized hail hammering on a tin roof. It was not loud enough to drown out agonized screams. One after the other, after the other. Father Elias would never forget the sound of men dying mere feet away, waking in a drenched sweat in the middle of the night, for the rest of his natural life. Eyes screwed closed, grateful to be blind to the sight. He was haunted by enough ghosts. He had seen too much hate in this world, mind scarred in memories of mangled bodies, torn apart and abused by man.

He crouched lower underneath the wooden organ, forehead pressed to knees, tucked between metal pedals and a bench in hopes to remain out of harms way. Mostly he hoped to remain undiscovered and unseen. At least from men with semi-automatic weapons and toothy grins. He trembled, imagining the man with eyes the color of Hell fire, who had handed him a cold metal case and placed him there for safe keeping. Or to save him for last. Bile filled his mouth from a lurching stomach. The other had saved his life, hauling him to the floor when bullets started flying, face of an angel. An angel who gutted a man open in a confetti of innards and left him to die a moment later. He wasn’t sure whom he feared more.

_Father in Heaven, deliver me._

Gunfire rattled to a standstill. A woman choked out a plea. Someone was shouting and then sobbing. A final scream splintered the air, low and guttural, a man, which one was hard to guess. Elias shook from head to toe. From his vantage point he saw nothing except a widening pool of blood seeping from the aisle and running towards steps leading up to the altar. He wondered if he might emerge to find his church strewn with corpses and not a single living soul among the carnage. He would be safe then, from man and demon alike. How was he going to explain this to the police? He had witnessed nothing of any use to the authorities. He thought again of the bodies sprawled throughout aisles, mangled and some beyond recognition. Surely he, a man of God, would not be considered a suspect?

The priest glanced down at the brief case clutched to his chest, raw nerves twisting. A lid popped open a crack, letting a sliver of light in. Hundreds of bound bank notes filled shadows. He banged the case shut and pitched it away from him. It bounced across the floor, landing in a _thwack_ , spinning near the pulpit. He looked at the case from a safe distance. And then at his hands. His fingerprints would cover its surface. How on earth would he explain being in possession of thousands of dollars and half dozen bodies? Would he see the inside of a prison cell yet? Would they charge him with the murders? No, surely, if he explained...

A soft voice filtered through ringing ears. “…my darling husband.”

His head whipped up, eyes darting towards the entrance of the church. His mouth went dry. His throat tightened in a tiny cry. They were alive. The angel and demon. They had both survived. And now they were coming for him. His eyes darted for any place else he could hide. There was no place he could go and still be shielded by cover.

“I didn’t agree to that…” Someone groaned. “Help me up.”

Shoes scuffed across tile, breath huffing out, “You most certainly did.”

“I did not,” The voice insisted.

Heels of leather soles clicked and scraped unsteadily down the aisle. Ragged breathing filled the church, stuttering out suddenly. Shoes scuffed. The sounds of a struggle. A groan. A grunt. A hiss. Someone collided against a pew. Elias held his breath, drawing up to knees, heart hammering in his chest. Perhaps there was one more life remaining to be bled dry.

“You _did_.” A smoky growl rumbled. “Need I remind you?”

“You said we had ten minutes. Stop fucking around and let’s take care of this!” Someone snapped, palm hitting a chest, dress shoes clattering away in an angry limp. There was a brief pause, before adding, “And I didn’t. Shit!”

Light footfalls scampered across tile. Heavier ones banged after. A yelp pierced the air. Legs of a table screeched across the tile. Metal pinged across the floor, spilling half drained cups of holy water.

“William, I will bend you over this altar if you insist on correcting me a moment longer.”

Eyes darting towards the sound, Father Elias crept quietly forward, trying to navigate from behind the wooden bench without making a sound.

“Punishment or otherwise?” Breath dipped to a low velvety question. “Or have we blurred those lines already?”

A table creaked. Another growl.

“Is it worth…” A throaty moan echoed. “…getting shot in the head when SWAT, or whatever the hell the Danish version of that, comes in?”

The priest nearly snapped up right, now crouched behind the first two rows of bullet riddled pews, jaw dropping open and a silent protest easing out. His hands balled up robes, heat flushing throughout his face.

“ _Absolutely.”_ The demon hissed. “It is the perfect height for a number of scenarios up until my demise. Unless…”

Both men came into view around the corner. Claw like fingers were hooked into thighs. Ankles were locked at a waist. The red eyed man was carrying the smaller one, banging them forcefully into the elegantly carved confessional, fingers wound in curls.

“ _Christ_!”

The demon tipped lips to a neck, breathing across it in a scrape of teeth, hips rolling forward. “Would you prefer to confess your sins to me in a more private setting?”

“ _That hurt,_ you ass! Remind me never to take a rifle to the spine for you again.” A fist hammered a broad back, white teeth sucking in a bottom lip, head thrown back. “How did you manage to commit murder if you were this horny during a take down?”

Swallowing hard, Father Elias glanced towards the hall leading towards his private office and then at the men entwined against the confessional, nipping at the others mouth. He tried to move. To run. To make a break for the back door leading out of the church where he might scream for help or flag down the sirens of police drawing closer. The balls of his feet were frozen to the floor. His legs refused to cooperate. He gaped at hands unraveling clothes and popping buttons.

“You were never at any of my crime scenes when they were occurring, Will.” The older man replied in a warm heat, pushing apart a bloody dress shirt to reveal a smooth chest of marble.

The priest forced his gaze to the floor, image brandished at the forefront of his mind.

“Are you suggesting…” Nails raked down shoulders, snagging on blood soaked plaid. “…I may have prevented countless deaths if you had just been able to get laid by someone?”

“If you will recall…” Knees tightened around a waist as a hand moved to a fly front. “I was finding an abundant amount of sexual satisfaction with Alana.”

“You fucking cock!” A knee jerked into a chest.

Father Elias ducked as the older man sprawled backwards and fell against the pew, a string of curses following. And then a deep laugh rose to high ceilings, arms draping elegantly across a carved pew, eyelids sinking dangerously low over glowing red. The man named Will dropped to his feet, crouched low in a spiral of dark curls, lip rolled up to reveal a glitter of teeth. He looked like a wolf circling a larger prey, lithe and quick. Both men were dripping in blood soaked clothes, clinging to lean frames and strong limbs, eyeing each other through narrowed eyes. Well matched. Prepared to tear the other apart.

“You really want to bring _her_ up while you are fumbling to take out my dick, Hannibal!”

Father Elias clamped a hand over his mouth to force down a yelp, crouching lower to the floor.

“If your current state is any gauge of success…” Hannibal drawled, a sweep of fingers waving towards silver cashmere stretched taut between legs. “I would say I found you with a bit more accuracy than a fumble.”

"Did she enjoy your alternative use of silk neckties and knives?" A tongue glanced off of teeth.

"No, darling. It would have been far too rude a request for her."

“You—“

Will lunged forward, slamming into the older man to straddle him, a fist wrapped in a long fringe of silver to yank a head back. Hannibal flashed a wide smile up, lounging in the pew, tracking a single finger after a bead of sweat rolling down a chest.

“I am going to jam this ring down your throat until you choke!”

The smaller man slapped at hands trying to pry off a shirt and belt, trying unsuccessfully to pull off the ring from a finger in a hiss of curses uttered between clenched teeth.

Battered crimson lips lifted to an ear, whispering, “I would rather choke on you.”

In a blur of movement, the younger man was rolled onto his back. Hannibal crouched triumphantly over him, a finger slipping into a mouth and sucking, tongue darting out to swirl around a ring. Will latched hands in hair, crushing them together in a kiss, ankles locked at the right angles of bent knees. Growls turned to moans trapped between slotted mouths.

Father Elias began to pray fervently, hauling the rosary free from around his neck and clenched it in a fist, crawling on hands and knees towards the hallway. He tried to ignore the rustle of fabric parting, torn, crushed in fingers. He heard the spit slicked glide of tongues tangling and mouths welding together. He tried not to think of the heavy weight between his legs, untouched since he had taken his vows to give his life to God four years before. How it had felt warm and thick in his hand or enveloped in the heat of another. Before he had been cast aside and marked as sin incarnate, sent away to repent.

“Is this really turning you on right now?” A breathless whisper asked. “Wait, why, no. _No_.” Another moan vibrated behind a hand. “Get off your knees.”

The priest glanced, weak noise escaping, certain he would see skin bared and disappearing into an open mouth in the same way it was flashing in his mind. He choked on a cough, shocked by the barrage of unclean thoughts. He had not thought of another for many years.

_Father, forgive me._

Fair brows shot up in amusement, as the older man sank to the floor, stroking thumbs down inner thighs.

“Not in that way!” A hand slapped over a red face. “For the love of Christ!”

“The tie was slipping loose on your leg.” The older man dragged the tie around a gaping slash in a leg, knotting it with great care, warm gaze lifting. “I was merely trying to take care of it.”

“Stop pawing at me. I’m not dead,” Will grumbled with a hint of a smile, leaning forward to trap a neck and kissed the man below fiercely, nipping and licking lightly at dried blood. “ _Fine._ Then I agreed. But it’s not legal yet.”

“We exchanged rings.”

“And that marriage certificate isn’t signed by the priest.” The younger man fell back against the pew, neck assaulted once more by a set of teeth and hands fiercely tugging at a belt, displeased by the response. “Who we are _never_ going to find if you don’t stop feeling me up, Hannibal!”

Father Elias stifled a squeak and scrambled to dart down the hallway. If he could make it to the back door, everything would be fine. The men would be arrested. He would have survived. And he would lock himself in his quarters to pray for forgiveness for the rest of the evening. Or for a month. Or for however long it took to get the image of the two chiseled men writhing on the pew bleached from his mind.

“Oh hey!” Blue eyes tipped slowly over a torn sleeve hanging loose on a delicate shoulder. “Hey there, how are you? Okay?”

The priest froze in his tracks, feet tangling in a robe, and gaped back at the two men rising and turning to view him, bloodied hands slung loosely in pockets.

“Sorry about him. He’s a little—“

A hard line of a mouth tensed, stooping to pick up the discarded metal case. “Yes, Will?”

“Never mind.” The softer face pinched, eyes rolling, waving away the man behind him. “Ignore him.”

“Mildly offended to be considered a mere piece of the scenery.”

“Don’t be…” Will quipped, latching a belt buckle at a waist and casting a darkening glance behind him. “You make an excellent…chair, Hannibal.”

Fingers splayed around a throat, yanking the younger man back into an open mouthed kiss, red tongue delving into shadowed heat. For a few oxygen starved sections, the priest found his eyes locked on a sheen of sweat clinging to a perfectly lean stomach and chest. His gaze drifted to hips, blush spreading.

“Stay away from me!” Father Elias sputtered, breaking out of the spell and swinging around to run.

Thin soles of his moccasins padded across a red suede carpet, barreling into a narrow hall and heading straight towards a closed door. The voices followed after him. Shadowy figures stretched long across white walls.

“Great. See. You scared him. Whaddid I tell you? This is why we have no friends.” An irritated sigh filtered through a high note of a chiming bell tower. “You’re chasing him. I’m done with this shit. Don’t give me that look! Have you seen this leg? Or my face for that matter? Literally half of this is your doing!”

“I was—“

Digging through the robe, Father Elias frantically searched for the large ring of keys weighing down his pocket, fingers clutching for the cold relief of metal.

“Hungry, yeah, I know.”

“ _Conflicted_.”

He raced through the door and slammed it behind him. He jammed an antique skeleton key and twisted. The lock clicked into place. Trapping him in the office and the two men on the other side.

Knuckles rapped on the locked door. “Father, priest, sir, if you could wait a moment please.”

Losing balance on the edge of a Persian rug, Father Elias banged into a high backed wooden chair, taking it with him to the floor. He crawled towards the desk, wringing hands in robes.

“You seem to be struggling for coherent speech today. I believe Father Elias will do as a formal title.”

He watched shadows shift through the glint of light coming through beneath a crack of the door.

“God help me, I _hate_ you sometimes!”

 

A crack sounded. And then another. The door splintered in its frame. It busted free, banging open on the far wall. Hymn books toppled to the floor from a reverberating shelf. Two darkened figures loomed inside the doorway. A pair of glowing red eyes shone where a face should have been. Father Elias scrambled backwards, snatching a letter open from the desk. For a second, he was certain he saw two sets of jagged antlers entwining in darkness.

Hannibal moved through the door in a fluid glide of steps, cradling a shoulder, and smiled down at the priest, red fading to a forest set ablaze by autumn. Will followed after, eyes sweeping through the room, spotting the tiny window and back door leading out to an alley immediately.

“A-a-are you the Devil?” Father Elias stammered, hand shaking around the wielded weapon, crouched in a small ball.

He would use it if he had to. He prayed he didn’t.

“Who? Him?” Will asked and knelt, easily swiping the letter opener, tossing it to the floor, and jabbed a thumb in the older man’s direction.

That made the decision, or lack there of, easy for him. He stared at slender, nimble fingers stained in drying spit for a moment longer, mouth watering.

Father Elias glanced up at the well dressed demon in man’s form, adjusting a suit jacket in a tug of lapels, standing up a bit straighter and puffing a chest out with a pleased grin. Was he not the spitting image of Lucifer walking among man?

Blue eyes strayed toward in the direction a terrified gaze. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Christ. This one here is a fucking angel. He just… doesn’t know it yet.”

A sharp look glanced down an even sharper nose.

“Either he doesn’t believe me or he is perturbed I’ve used God’s name in vain.” The priest shifted until his shoulders pressed flat against the desk as Will leaned in, whispering into an ear, “Which do you think it is? Because as far as I know, he’s essentially an atheist by most standards.”

“Are you injured, Father?” A crimson stained palm thrust his direction. “It would appear your Lord and Savior has deemed you worthy to remain among the world of the living for another day.”

With a weak shake of his head, Father Elias refused the hand, shaking harder even as space returned between him and the other man, breath trapped in his lungs. “W-w-who—“

They were both stunning. He swallowed hard. And utterly terrifying.

“None of your concern.”

“I’m going to need your wallet.” The younger man announced, head angling to the side, lips pursing. “You guys… carry wallets, right?”

His mouth opened and closed noiselessly.

“Well, I’m going to look anyway since you appear to have lost your ability to speak.”

He jumped as hands rummaged from shoulders to waist, locking at his hip, and digging into a pocket of the robe to retrieve his wallet. Would they feel smooth or rough against his skin?

A wallet tossed over a shoulder. “Stop scaring him!”

“I am merely standing here, Will.” Hannibal caught the wallet, jaw clenching as he flipped through the contents. “What would you have me do?”

“Just— _sit down_!”

With a sniff, the older man settled into a high back chair and draped a right leg neatly over his left.

“Please don’t hurt me,” The priest breathed out, gaze darting back and forth between the men, trying to determine if he might still make it out the door to freedom.

The men exchanged a long look. Crimson eyes flicked over a license. It was tucked into a breast pocket of the suit jacket.

“I am afraid we will need to hold onto this for awhile if it is not a great inconvenience to you, Father Elias?”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, for starters, I’m going to ask for a favor.” A finger tapped on a shoulder, pointing to a wedding band. Will dragged a hand down a weary face, amending the statement with a short bark, “Two favors.” His face inched closer, whispering, “If I give you back the letter opener, just slit my throat and put me out of my misery.”

Dusky violet eyes widened, squeaking out protest.

“We may need you to…obfuscate certain truths.” Hannibal noted, spreading hands wide, and nodding in the direction of bloating corpses beyond the four walls. “Perhaps you suffer from a mild form of _prosopagnosia_ , Father?”

“Proso…what?” Brows drew low on the priest’s face, trying to repeat the word and stumbling.

“Face blindness,” Will corrected, shooting an annoyed glare in the direction of a plaid knee. “Sorry, this one has a difficult time saying what he actually means in terms any of us can understand.” Hands took him by the shoulders, jostling him to feet and placed him against the desk. He gazed helplessly into pools of ocean blue, lost to their depths of softness and roiling threat. “Look. We’re not going to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. But I need you _not_ to remember us, understand? It would be very bad for everyone involved including you. Am I making any sense?”

A corner of a mouth lifted. "Barely."

"Hannibal!"

“No! I will not lie for you!” Elias flatly refused, locking arms over a shaking frame, and forcing his mouth to turn to a grimace. “When the authorities arrive, I will personally see to it you are arrested. Justice will be delivered!”

“See.” A sigh escaped lovely tulip lips. A knife flicked open. “That’s not going to work for us.”

Hannibal stood and placed a light palm on a shoulder, crimson eyes flicking down a cascade of robes. “I believe we may be using the incorrect approach on trying to persuade the good Father into doing our bidding, Will.”

He tried to shift away, feeling as if the demon’s eyes were peeling away layer after layer of fabric and laying him bare to the bone, as if he might consume him whole. He wasn’t sure if he was shaking for fear or from intrigue in that moment. Would it hurt? Or might he enjoy it?

“You threaten people all the time and it seems to work out just fine,” The younger man mocked, twirling the tip of a blade over a bobbing adam’s apple.

“Yes, except those individuals have never been interested in a more _desirable_ outcome.”

With two fingers, Hannibal pushed the blade from the priest’s throat. He was smiling again, running fingertips from ear to jaw down a throat. Elias shivered, lowering his gaze to hands drifting down his front and curving over pointed hips. His hands were large on his torso, fingers splayed wide, lean and strong. He was lifted onto the desk.

Breath rushed out, rosary curling to the floor. “W-w-what are you doing?”

Thumbs dipped beneath the hem of a silken robe, lifting to reveal calves and push up creamy quivering thighs. He tried to push his knees together as the older man shoved them apart and stepped between them. He stared wide eyed over broad shoulders at a blackened face and glittering eyes, searching for the soft voice and kindness. Nothing remained. An icy chill ran up his spine. He gasped for breath, trembling as fingers tracked up to thin linen boxers. Each touch left a smudged bloody fingerprint in its wake.

“I have a knife in my hand and there is a loaded weapon in this church, Hannibal,” Will hissed against an ear, drawing the tip of a blade over the older man’s throat, fist clenched into hair. “Don’t test my fucking patience with any more games. I am more than willing to give you a lobotomy free of charge at this point.”

“Which of us would you fire at first?” Crimson eyes tipped down to the blade, mildly annoyed.

Teeth glinted, blade pressing in to reveal a thin line of red. “Want to find out?”

“Come here.”

Elias choked as Will was forcibly pressed against him, shaking arms caging him on either side, while Hannibal smudged palm prints down knees and calves. He glanced up into the once angelic face to plead for his life. Teeth bared in a hissing snarl, promising to carve out every inch of skin the older man touched.

“Do you imagine the police would find this one’s story a bit less believable if he was dripping in physical evidence?” Hannibal noted calmly, taking the younger man’s hands and pushing them beneath robes. “Of those men’s DNA.”

He yelped as fingernails snapped into soft flesh above his hips and raked down a fluttering stomach.

“Their blood?”

He stared at the ceiling, feeling breath heat the side of his face, breathing ragged and struggling to break free from teeth snapping at his neck. He felt his length thicken, pulsing against his inner thigh, lips murmuring prayer.

“Or semen?”

A firm hand cupped his cock, leaving a bright red print in its place.

“Oh God!” Elias moaned, eyes flying shut, fingernails digging into the edge of a desk.

“Enough,” Will snarled, muscling free and yanking a robe down shaking legs to conceal the evidence. “Let him be! I told you not to scare him.”

"Attempting to provide the appropriate motivation."

A lip curled. "Fuck off. Unless you want to lose a hand."

“I would be most aggrieved to further tarnish your reputation, Father Elias,” Hannibal replied coolly, tugging out a newspaper clipping from pressed pages of a Bible rumpled and yellow from age, tapping it to the desk. “He is the reason you were banished to this country by the very religion you serve, correct? The young man you had an affair with all those years ago while in training to take your vows?”

His gaze strayed to the blonde boy trapped in grainy pixels. Wavy locks framed a sweet face. Dark agony of a tortured soul filled eyes staring up. He had been beautiful. A star falling from the heavens, battered and bruised. Heat gathered in his face. Then his blood boiled, accusation ringing hollow in his ears.

Elias jumped off the desk, knuckles colliding with sharpened cheekbones, and shouted, “I never touched him!”

Hannibal took a step back, tracing a bruising spot on his jaw gingerly.

Tension eased out of shoulders as Will shuffled forward to stare at the article, lifting it to read the headline. “Doesn’t the church generally frown on…homosexuality?”

He clutched a hand over his chest, hoping to ease the sharp ache in his heart, tears flooding eyes.

_You are unclean, Elias! A filthy sinner! Repent!_

_But I…_

“It-it was wrong,” He breathed out, fists clenched at his side. “I was confused.”

“He was sent away. As were you.” A gravely voice softened to a feather light whisper. “Yet you loved him all the same, did you not?”

Fingertips curled under his face, lifting, blue eyes searching his, murmur replying, “Loves him still…”

Slumping against the desk, Elias pulled the article into his lap and ran a thumb across a face as he had done so many times before. He was no longer able to remember the sound of his voice. Or how he smiled. When and _if_ he smiled. How his fingers fit lightly in his hand, rough and calloused, after finally allowing him the simple privilege of touch. Or how his screams had splintered in the night when he begged for death, muffled by a pillow or palm cupped over lips. He had wanted to take him away. To give him everything. A better life. A life with him.

“He is the reason you continue your work to give voice to the silenced and fight for their freedom, is it not? When you pose as a John to gain access to a whorehouse to free them, do you still wonder if he will be lost within its walls? If you will discover him once more and leave with him in the cover of darkness as you once did?”

His voice echoed in a splintering whisper, sobs threatening to break free. “Please, don’t say his name.” His eyes pleaded with the men above. “I’ll do whatever it is you ask. Just don’t say it.”

_Peter..._

_It was never going to work._

_Will I ever see you again?_

_I'm already gone, Elias, let me go._

Will gazed down at him, pain rippling through a stony face, corners of a mouth flinching.

The older man nodded once, retrieving a document before sitting the metal briefcase beside him. “Accept this with our sincere apologies for having desecrated the house of your Almighty.”

"And then some."

He touched the handle once, ripping it away as if scalded. “I-I-I can’t take this. A lie. A sin.”

“It’s not so much a lie…as a necessary truth? An omission.” Will crouched to the floor, resting a steadying palm on clasped hands shaking, searching his face. “Those people there? The ones currently lying face down in their own blood? They were part of an underground ring specializing in selling children. _Children_. What would he want you to do? You could use this money to help them. To give them better lives.”

Elias swallowed rising bile once more, trying to shake away the image of silvery grey looking out from eyes swollen shut by fists and tears. Where was he now?

“You wanted to be heard. Here’s your chance. You’ll have every newspaper, tabloid journalist, and camera crew at your doorstep in a minute.”

“Memorize these three names here. This is the club they use to operate their business. It travels with its socialite clientele. You will need to recite it verbatim to the police.” A folded sheet of paper was pressed between trembling fingers. “If it appeals to your morality, you may choose to form a colorful story of hearing these terms shouted before the hail of gunfire rained down?”

“Or you might have discovered it through your own movement and research?” Will offered, cupping hands around his and squeezing lightly.

His eyes followed light outlining the younger man rising up, gazing down at him, sadness filling eyes to mirror his own. “Do you believe God will forgive my trespassing if it is to stamp out a greater evil?”

“Sure. Why the hell not.” Will replied with a shrug. “Now about the—“

“Would you marry us, Father?” Hannibal interrupted in a rush, curling a hand around a waist and pulling Will in close, kissing a temple.

His heart sank. They looked happy.

“What?” His eyes darted from blue to crimson eyes, tracking back and forth, back and forth. “What?” He waited to be corrected. Surely he hadn’t heard them. Either of them. “Are you—“ He pointed at the demon. “Is he serious?”

The younger man smirked. “Afraid so.”

Something ugly reared its head.

“You have defiled my church!” Father Elias’ shouts rose to near screams, fists shaking arms. “You have committed heinous acts of violence beneath its roof! You have threatened my bloody life and well being! Y-y-you would have disgraced my honor and virtue!”

“Will is quite skilled with his hands, you might have enjoyed it…” Hannibal murmured, turning red stained fingers over in his palm to examine them.

“You dare ask me to perform a ceremony for murderous, godless heathens!”

“Well.” Will closed eyes, head tipping back to rest on a shoulder, sucking in a slow breath and releasing it. “He just described you to a T.”

“He may not have heard you,” Hannibal growled, dark gaze swinging to a shrinking figure. “Perhaps you ought to enunciate and speak more clearly?”

A hand snatched a collar, hauling the older man forward into a snap of teeth. “I’ll enunciate for you, all right!”

Wailing sirens shrieked from somewhere outside. They had to be mere streets away. He might be saved after all. Or die in another hail of bullets. If he survived, he wondered if any of them might have an entire bottle of aspirin.

“Father Elias, we may not have explained our situation—“

“Oh fuck that!”

A blade swiped forward. Elias leapt backwards, falling against the desk. Will jammed the letter opener into the desk, two inches from his face.

“Look here, Father, normally I consider myself to be a peaceful and loving kind of man…” Teeth ground out a hiss. “I like fishing. Dogs.”

“And long walks on the beach?”

“Say another word! I will stab you in the leg!” Will snapped, threatening the other man with a flash of a pocketknife. “I tried to be polite about this. But right now, I am exceptionally pissed off at my fiancé and I want to go home to an entire bottle of eighty six malt whiskey. Alone. Where _he_ is going to spend the night sleeping in the car!” The knife swung his direction, tracking down a brow and then his nose, twirling at the corner of his mouth until it bled. “You are making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

A silver cell phone flipped out of a trouser pocket and was jammed into a robe next to keys.

“So you answer this goddamn phone when it rings, or I am going to let him roast you over an open pit fire! Understand?”

Hannibal tipped into view, flashing a warm smile. “ _If_ you are able to arrange a marriage ceremony, penciling us into your calendar between confessions, Sunday mass, and Hail Mary’s earned through beaded rosary.”

“Excuse me?! IF. If you don’t--!”

“Have I any choice in the matter?” Elias spat out, listening to the twang of the letter opened reverberating next to his ear.

“ _No_.” The men snapped in unison.

“We need to leave,” Hannibal commanded, gaze straying towards the entrance of the church.

Dozens of combat boots crunched up steps.

“Fine!” The younger man whirled back around, growling, “Exactly what kind of penance would you hypothetically recommend for assaulting a man of the cloth for authenticity?”

“I believe…you may have far greater sins to atone for.”

A fist drew back, wiping the smirk from a face.

Elias slumped against the desk, groaning as his vision faded from grey to black, demon and angel burnt shadows remaining on the far wall, voices bleeding in and out.

“Never liked the idea of penance anyway. Shit, that hurt. Going to hell…”

“Given this is a branch of the Roman Catholics, your soul would be damned to roam the vast endless purgatory for eternity.”

“Let’s fucking go already! Or I’ll leave you here with him!”

"Whoever will tend to your injuries then?"

“......After you, dear one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how I have wanted to do another POV of how others see Hannibal and Will forever! <3 These two should honestly not be allowed to speak to one another until forty eight hours after a traumatic event. Oh Hanni, you are in such trouble.


	141. Chapter 141

Slipping out a side door of the church, Will snatched Hannibal’s hand and hauled him out into cool dusk settling over the city. He glanced once over his shoulder at red and blue lights flashing approximately one hundred meters away. There was no use looking back now. They faced arrest or being shot. Whatever it was, they would face it together. At the moment, he wasn’t willing to settle for less than sleeping in his own bed with Winston curled at his feet. He swore under his breath. They had lingered far too long.

He stormed forward with the older man in tow, fiercely staring straight ahead, and tightened his grip on a warm palm until he knew it would bruise. They took a left turn on a tree lined street, melting into a canopy of foliage and darkness. Blood pounded in his ears. His shoulder jerked when a siren blared in the distance. This was close. Too close. They had to keep moving. He ground his teeth. There was no way in hell anyone was taking Hannibal from him now. If anyone was going to cuff and sentence to him to a swift and just punishment, it would be him.

They steered down another side street, skirting around light flickering from a lamppost. His eyes darted towards soft laughter. His fingers snagged fraying lapels and shoved Hannibal into a darkened alcove. Lashes lifted over a glow of eyes. Hands glided from his shoulders to hips, pressing them tight together. He tried not to pay attention to a rude erection thrust into his right thigh as an ankle hooked around his, rubbing up his calf. The friction sent heat coiling up his spine.

Breath radiated against his neck as the older man found skin with his mouth, sucking lightly on a earlobe and moving to swirl a tongue over his pulse, silk uncurling from lips, “Oh Will…”

He closed eyes, shivering against the need in Hannibal’s voice. The tone tugged at unraveling edges of anger and jealousy cresting on waves of adrenaline. Pressed together in the alley, he struggled between wanting to give in to searching hands to be consumed, or shout about how offensive it was to manipulate need for want after he had endured watching him touch someone else. Someone who remained untouched. Like he had. Until Hannibal. His nostrils flared. It was business. Practically blackmail. It served a purpose. Why did it hurt?

A man and a woman strolled passed them, hands clasped and swinging between them. They turned around the corner, voices fading.

_Move. Just keep moving._

Will pushed free, flashing teeth at a storm of hurt gathering in dark eyes and shackled a hand once more. They ducked into a narrow alley. He wanted to go home. Robotic shouts from bullhorns drifted through the air. He wanted to be alone. A whir of a helicopter loomed in the night sky. They rounded another corner, squeezing into an impossibly tight alley. He wanted to stare into amber liquid of whiskey and not eyes of the man he loved silently asking to spare him. Hundreds of windows rose up in concrete around them. A low light gleam of the Aston Martin greeted them with a shimmer parked next to a bright blue metal mailbox. Footfalls quickened behind him. They were almost there.

Thumbs looped in the collar of a dress shirt. The younger man collided against a chain link fence, fist drawn up to defend himself. Hannibal was on him a moment later in a streak of red eyes, fingers skimming over blood soaked clothes, hauling at his belt.

“We don’t—“ Will grunted, shoving palms against a chest, hissing as a tongue assaulted his chest. “Go! Just go, Hannibal!”

He slammed the older man against a graffiti wall, breathing hard through sharp teeth. It was difficult to see through a barrage of emotions clawing their way out. Was this what he wanted? A fight? Fingers latched in his hair. A hot tongue pushed into his mouth. He elbowed ribs. Belt loops ripped off trousers. He scraped nails over a torn jacket shoulder and jerked open fraying seams. They wrestled in an assault of fingers and teeth, stepping on toes and spiraling down the alley from wall to wall.

Will broke free, elbow connecting with a jaw and hissed, “Now!”

He spun on his heel and marched over cobblestone, shoulders hunched and fists jammed into pockets to keep from striking out. Maybe he wanted to fight after all. To scream until both of them were mottled in umber black and hazy blue of possession. To put his mark on every inch of the older man’s skin until he remembered whom he belonged to. Those hands, the ones that touched softly and killed ruthlessly, were his. They belonged on him. He felt hunger burning down the length of his spine and lingering on the sway of his hips. He plucked out keys. The Aston Martin chirped to life. He could play this game just as easily. If he was all Hannibal wanted, he would just have to wait. He would make him wait. Until he was ready to forget.

Roiling clouds of a growl followed. Breath knocked out of Will as a rough shove sent him sprawling face first on the hood of the car. Nails scraped from collarbone to shoulders, dress shirt hauled down arms to keep him still.

Hannibal kicked legs apart, stepping between them and licked up droplets of blood seeping from his hairline, dark threat easing out, “I am not a man to be denied, Will.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Will ground out between clenched teeth, continuing to struggle, swearing when an arm was twisted behind a bruising back. “Get your hands off of me.”

A crook of a pointed dress shoe caught around his ankle, catching him off balance. “Is this a form of punishment? Or are you seeking retribution?”

He was flipped onto his back, eyes and teeth snapping shut. Pain radiated down his spine to his hips, kicking blindly at a waist.

“God—“

Hannibal dug nails into ankles, hauling him down the hood of the car, to wrap knees at his hips, locking Will against him. Jagged teeth glittered. Pin pricks of light flashed in black eyes sweeping down his torso to a loosened belt buckle. He shivered. This was nothing like the playful banter in the church. They weren’t playing now. This was a hunt. He was the prey. And he was caught.

“Coward’s move!” The younger man growled. “You’re better than that.”

Snarls answered. Hannibal flattened him to the hood of the car with the full weight of his body, wrestling a dress shirt off and pitching it away. A belt jerked free. His breath quickened. He heard himself whispering _no_ , leaning into teeth scraping down his throat to ask for more. Will jammed the soles of shoes into the crook of thighs as the older man rocked forward, sucking blood off his fingers, one by one, desperately devouring. His head whipped forward, biting below a fractured watch. An angry red welt remained when he pulled away. He flashed up a dark smile.

“Touch someone like that again—“ He jerked on hair, biting and licking at a hammering pulse, warning in a low breath, “—and you can forget playing the harpsichord or any other damn ancient instrument. I will _personally_ break every single bone in your hands!”

Red eyes strayed to his. “As you see fit.”

Shoving thumbs into a jaw line, Hannibal bit his mouth until Will kissed back, teeth scraping and tongues tangling. He panted for air into a mouth, clawing just as fiercely at clothes until they were grinding against each other.

“Beautiful, Will,” The older man murmured into his mouth, raking nails down his chest in a streak of welts.

There it was again. _Need_. Spilling out and over the crumbling remnants of a mask, broken and discarded. To touch. To kiss. To be near him. The younger man groaned, twisting silver strands around fingers, fight draining out of him. Hannibal needed him. Just him. He ran fingertips down bruised cheekbones then through hair again. His body melted against cold metal, drawing a burning body closer. A tongue pried open his mouth, slicking against his tongue to draw out a needy moan. An equally desperate one answered. Hands and mouths softened, tamed to gentle rhythm to caress swollen skin and wounds.

Breath exhaled in a reedy whisper over a searching tongue, “I love you, angel.”

“You are…” Hannibal pulled away, hair a disarray of tangled wisps, panting hard, mouth hanging open. “…lovely in red. I cannot…I cannot help myself.”

They were as hopeless apart as they were together.

“We need to go.” Will answered in a fierce whisper, face buried in the crook of a shoulder. “Now. Right now.”

Shifting reluctantly, Hannibal allowed Will to roll from the hood of the car and land lightly on toes. The older man removed a jacket to rub blood off the hood of a car. It smeared wide over a waxy surface. He sighed and rounded to the passenger side, opening the door, and ushered for Will to slide in.

Did seeing Hannibal make him helpless? The cold blooded predator willing to kill or be killed to protect? The man in love, adrift as if he might wake to find it all a dream? The idiot who pushed ever single goddamn button he had, to irritate and piss him off? Hannibal was more human hunched over that damn door, painfully waiting with lowered eyes and a pensive frown, than he had ever been. As if Will might leave him there, stranded to his Fate to be confined in another cell without him.

Will shook his head, sliding passed, hips wriggling against an ass. “Try to keep your eyes on the road and your hands where they belong.” He reeled Hannibal in by a collar, kissing him until he stopped breathing. “I have no intention of explaining this during a traffic stop.”

It was almost easy to steal the older man's breath now. He loved how it sounded, a small hitch of disbelief.

“I…” He could feel eyes locked onto the curve of his ass as he bent over the middle console to retrieve his clean suit jacket. A throat clicked. “…will do my best to remain a gentleman.”

By the strain in his voice, he knew Hannibal would risk both of them being arrested if it meant he could be inside him, to hold close, to show all he wasn’t capable of saying.

“Sure you will,” The younger man answered with an airy laugh, snorting before collapsing gratefully against leather.

One of them had to stay focused. There was plenty time to make up later. If they made it safely out of the city. If they kept their hands to themselves. At this point, he would probably end up fending off an assault of wandering eyes and fingers the entire drive home. Home. Their home. Wherever they were together became home. He never had to wonder what that might feel like anymore. Will slipped the suit jacket over his arms in hopes to be less of a distraction and more of an accomplice. He relaxed when Hannibal slid behind the wheel and touched the side of his face gently, gaze straying to a bare chest draped in fine cashmere. He shook his head. Well, he tried.

A reassuring smile warmed Hannibal’s eyes before the hand drifted to the steering wheel. He heard the shriek of distance sirens and shrugged. A sense of calm blanketed across his skin. There was nothing for him to worry about this time. The older man would take care to get them out of _Odense_ without incident. And if there was…Let them try to take Hannibal from him. He wouldn’t let go again. Not this time. Not any other time. They were safe in their shared violence.

They had been driving for an hour when a palm slid up his inner thigh, husky voice whispering, “Shall I find us a room for the evening?”

“Are you…” Will’s laughter turned to a choking cough, giving the hand a disparaging pat. “I have no idea what to do with you. As if we could walk into a motel dripping in blood. How would that conversation go exactly? ‘Excuse me, sir, my fiancé and I need a room for about an hour to get our rocks off while the DNA of our victims is still fresh?’ Honestly.”

Hannibal gripped the wheel a little harder, glancing over once then back to the endless stretch of night cloaked scenery. He looked absolutely crushed. Devastated with just the right amount of pitiful. As if his entire world might end if he didn’t have Will bare skinned and moaning his name in the next sixty seconds. He stifled a snort. The older man hunched in the chair, lips pursed, as if the poorly concealed sound was as good as being outright scolded or denied.

Will unbuckled and leaned over the middle console, kissing the corner of a frown to tease. “Is the sight of me covered in blood right now really short circuiting the last bits of your functioning brain?” He cupped a half hard cock, squeezing lightly. “Is it even safe for you to be operating a vehicle?”

“It is…” Hannibal shifted in the driver’s seat, spreading legs wide, and groaned. “…distracting. You have no idea how you look.”

Blue eyes strayed to thumbs stroking fabric taut, lips pressed to an ear. “And how do I look? Tell me.”

Leather creaked as hips lifted for a firmer touch. “A blood slicked feast I might spread out upon my table, seated between your knees, while I consume what rests beneath your thighs.”

His dick jerked in response, fingers tightening between legs.

“When you put it that way…” Will thumbed playfully against a zipper, murmuring, “Could have banged on the altar in front of God, the priest, and about forty five members of the Danish police.”

“I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone,” The older man said, frown turning to a scowl. “Do not think for a moment I did not give it worthwhile consideration.”

“You offered. Several times. I was there, remember?” The younger man kissed his cheek, eyes rolling. “At least I know how we’ll get caught if it ever happens.” He pointed to stretched trouser seams, smiling. “You want me to do something about that? If not, I am taking a nap. A statement. Not a threat. In case you were confused. You know, because you’re thinking with your--”

“Yes! I understood the insinuation.” Hannibal shot him a look the equivalent of a thousand steak knives thrown his direction, pinning him in place.

“It’s so sweet when you try to threaten me with looks now.” With a shrug, Will flopped into the passenger seat, eyes closing. “Nap it is.”

When he woke, the first rays of light were touching green pastures of a horizon. He yawned, blinking sleepily trying to read a clock on the dash _. 5:00 am._ His gaze strayed to Hannibal. The older man was gripping the steering wheel tight, back thrust perfectly straight, laser vision glued to striped lines of the road.

“Should have woken me up…” Will groused, stretching and shifting tingling legs forward. “Would have drove.”

“It’s fine.”

Both brows arched on his head. Well, he was definetely the opposite of fine. He sounded more than a little tense. Even irritated. He wondered if he was tired. Sleep deprived maybe. Or something else was bothering him. Probably a combination of many things. None of them usually boded well for him. Will grimaced at a sticky torso and stained clothes. A quick shower and one, no maybe two cups of coffee, and he might be awake long enough to offer some kind of tension relief for them both.

“A shower has never sounded better,” He noted quietly, plucking at squelching trousers.

A snarl. A hand flashed out. Will jumped, gaping as three fingers disappeared into a burning mouth, sucking viciously.

“Hannibal…” His voice came out flat, staring blank, struck between shock and intrigue. “We have already determined your tongue is not an appropriate surgical cleaning implement.”

Hannibal sucked harder, to prove a point, scraping teeth leaving reddened flesh licked clean in a swirl of a tongue. Whatever the point was seemed of little consequence. That man had a mouth on him all right. It sounded so much nicer sometimes when he wasn’t ambling on about obscure facts.

“Oh god…” Will let his head drop against the headrest, shifting as his cock grew heavy against his thigh, absently palming it. “You know I am going to extort at least three more dogs out of you this way, don’t you?”

A tongue slicked over his pinky and trailed to his bruised wrist. Either he didn’t hear. Or was too preoccupied to care. Either one worked for Will.

“Mm…how close?”

Rough growls slurred through gritting teeth. “Not long now.”

There was something darkening the edges of his voice, a curling smoke. The younger man creaked one eye open and then the other. His mouth fell open. Hannibal had one hand wrapped on fingers pulsing in and out lips, both eyes on the road, and the other hand slicked around his cock.

_Fucking Christ._

“Are you steering with your knees, right now!” Will yelped, throwing himself over the middle console and grabbing the wheel. “I said you were an angel! Not an immortal!” He looked up at the road. Down at a red cock disappearing between fingers. Then up at the road. “What are you doing?! Are you insane?”

“Only in the state of Maryland,” Hannibal huffed out, fingers tightening and quickening the pace. “I believe I was acquitted.”

“Acquitted! Acquitted?! You escaped!”

The car drifted to the left.

“ _I helped_ you escape!”

It swerved to the right, vibrating over rumble strips.

“And then technically you died. I died! Good Christ!”

Then back to the middle line.

“Which is where we headed if you don’t drive this goddamn car this instant!”

Letting go of the wheel, Will dropped to elbows and shoved hands away, enveloping a rush of fluid with lips. He tongued across a slit. Nails raked down his scalp, yanking him away.

“Hannibal!”

“No!” The older man snarled, one hand gripping the wheel, the other in his hair, twisting strands until he winced. “You will obey me on this matter.”

“On _this_ matter?” Will hissed, lip curling.

Eyes narrowed. “In all matters.”

“Oh…” He ran a tongue across a dark threat of teeth. “You think that’s going to happen. Funny.”

Strands of hair ripped from his scalp as Will pulled free. He buried fingernails in thighs. He plunged onto a thick length, cheeks hollowed, with a hint of teeth as he sucked hard. A litany of _fuck me_ spilled forth from a mouth above in six different languages. He snatched the hand resting on top of his head away, twisting a wrist until hips bucked up in his mouth. He choked on a stream of precome hitting the back of his throat, gripping thighs harder. He would leave bruises on the both of them yet. And now he was going to die in twisted metal of a car wreck when Hannibal came down his throat. And all because the man he loved, infuriating, as he was handsome, wouldn’t just listen for a damn change.

Tires screeched beneath brakes. His head collided with a steering wheel. His ear burned in a loud ring.

“ _Enough_!”

Strong hands flung him into the passenger seat. Breath knocked out of him. Throwing keys across the car, Hannibal advanced in a crawl of lithe muscles, teeth bared, climbing over the middle console one knee at a time. His heart slammed wildly against his chest. He knew that look well. Will remembered the man crawling away from them on the church floor, wildly thrashing on the floor with fingers buried in ribs. He was next.

“Shit!”

Eyes wide, Will fumbled for the handle pressed behind his shoulder blade. It unlatched with a click. He tumbled out of the car head first, landing flat on his chest in a patch of grass. He pushed up on shaking arms, scrambling to knees and then feet. His eyes darted around. Trees, trees, trees. Tulips. Some more plants. All useless. A hammock? Wait, a hammock. His eyes locked onto the little cottage in the distance. They were home.

Fingers coiled in the collar of his jacket. Blue eyes darted back. Will let the jacket tear off his shoulders, breaking into a full tilt run, dress shoes banging over dust. Torn cashmere crumpled the ground. He looked back. Hannibal prowled up the lawn after him, caked blood glinting in the daylight, hands swinging at his sides. He took steps two at a time, swinging towards the front door by the banister. He rattled the door handle. Locked. He swore, jamming a hand in his pocket. Keys. Keys. Keys!

“Where the fuck are the—“

They weren’t in his jacket lying beside the car were they? It was too late to go back for it now. A thumb and index finger tugged on metal jangling from a pocket.

 “ _God_!” Breath knocked from lungs.

Hannibal threw him against the front door, one arm wrenched behind his back. Keys bounced on the stoop. A leather dress shoe kicked them out of reach.

_Fuck._

“Wait, wait, I’ll—“

“Quiet down!” Black shadows wrapped around his throat, clamping on the nape of his neck, and shoved the side of his face against a wood surface. “You will wake the neighbors.”

Blue eyes glinted off to the side. “We don’t have any damn ne—“

A rough palm shoved over his mouth. His skull rattled against the door. Will tried to jerk free, muffling a grocery list of vulgar phrases. Hannibal released the grip on his neck, muscling him forward with hips and shoulders, ragged breath blistering his ear. A belt buckle rattled. Trousers and boxers yanked just below hips. Shoulder blades tensed, breath hitching. The older man pushed the head of his cock in sharp and quick, damp with saliva and precome.

“Uunf!” Eyes screwing shut, Will flattened palms, bracing inside the door frame and jerked hips back.

Breathing hard through his nose, toes curled inside shoes. Another thrust flattened him to the door, trapped, and crushed. His cock jerked with a whimper. His legs locked, knees trembling. He felt every inch of Hannibal inside of him. Felt his need radiating along his skin and rushing thick through his veins. It was heady and intoxicating, coiling tighter and tighter around him.

Breath stuttered, heating a palm. “ _Oh baby_.”

Will felt a blush heat his entire face, squeezing eyes shut tighter. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Hadn’t meant to say it at all. He prayed the older man hadn’t heard, too muffled by an iron grip clamped over his mouth. If he had heard, he hoped maybe he would asphyxiate or suffocate first to get out of facing the consequences. Or having any kind of conversation relating to the things coming out unbidden from his mouth. Another roll of hips had fingernails chipping away paint and slamming every other thought out of his mind.

“ _O vaikeli_?” Hannibal growled, thick accent and fingers curling around him.

The younger man’s knees buckled, gripping hopelessly at anything to keep upright. Hannibal began to fuck into him hard, body pinned with each snap of hips, rough and unforgiving. He moaned and growled with each new forming bruise, legs shaking. He stared at leather shoes boxing him on the ground. This. This was what he needed. Wanted. Shoving his forehead against cool wood, Will lapped at ridges of fingers, breathing harder and harder, desperate for the copper of salted skin and air. He slumped as thrusts slowed, barely able to stand.

“Will you behave if I remove my hand?”

A quiver of a nod was all he managed.

“Hands above your head.”

Mouth released, nails trailed from lips, clenching curls at the nape of his neck. A high pitched whine left the younger man’s lips, grip tightening until he complied, lifting shaking hands. Hannibal locked a forearm around his waist, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Strong fingers latched around both wrists above his head to keep him in place. Hips rocked forward, friction returning faster and faster. He moaned the older man's name into his wrist, jaw clenching.

“ _Gražus_.” Jagged teeth followed the seam of his shoulder.

“Louder,” Will pleaded, jamming his legs straight to keep upright and bent to allow the older man to push deeper. “Louder!”

_Take me. Take whatever you need. Just don’t stop._

It didn’t matter what he was saying. It didn’t matter he didn’t understand a word of it. He could feel it crawling underneath his skin, nestling in his bones, burning him through and through from the inside out.

“ _T-tu esi gražus_...” A tongue tripped over a low moan. “ _Man reikia tavęs, Will_.”

Hannibal planted both Will’s hands on the door, bending him at the waist, snagging fingers around hips. Blue eyes tipped over a shoulder as the younger man panted harder, come streaming down an untouched throbbing cock. Breath stilled in his lungs as he watched Hannibal, hair disheveled, gasping his name over and over, control splintered and completely lost inside him. He was perfect.

“Oh god!” The younger man groaned as an arm locked around his chest and shoved him against the door, hips snapping against his ass in an obscene smack, warmth flooding his body and trickling down his thigh.

Chiseled cheekbones buried against his shoulder, hands and limbs trembling against him. “ _W-will,_ _aš atsiprašau...”_   The graveled voice shook apart into a broken whisper, warmth and connection disappearing. “I-I-I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

“Wait…why?”

Will wiggled quickly into trousers, stuffing a hard length beneath a waistband. He froze mid turn. Hannibal was crumpled against the interior wall, an arm slung over eyes. Teeth clenched tight. Shoulders shook silently.

_No, you didn’t…hurt me._

“Don’t be, Hannibal…” He touched hands, wrists, a neck, trying to get to a face to, pain filling his heart and flooding his whispers. “Don’t be sorry. God, please. Don’t…”

Stooping for keys, the younger man unlocked the front door. A frantic dog barreled around their legs, yipping before darting off into the yard. He gently placed hands on peaked hips. Hannibal flinched, face shielded behind hands, tiny sounds escaping. He steered them both safely inside. Will ran fingertips lightly down bruised hands, prying lightly at fingers. They held tighter. He clucked his tongue, corner of a mouth pulling in a frown. He kissed each knuckle. Spaces between fingers opened slightly. He stood on toes to trail his mouth over fingertips. He found his way to the center of a forehead. Then a bridge of a bloody nose. Then its tip. He pecked faintly at the bow of a red lip, gaze lifting to haunted eyes and a tear stained face.

“Look at you…” Will pushed strands of hair away, cupping a palm on a cheek, thumbing at tears, keeping his voice low and gentle, the same he would use to soothe a frightened stray. “What a mess…”

Tears welled, eyes snapping to the ground.

“An absolute fucking gorgeous, perfect mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the inconsistency of updates, dear readers. It's not intentional. I just haven't been feeling great. Thanks for hanging in there! 
> 
> Rough Lithuanian Translations:
> 
> “O vaikeli?” (Oh baby?)  
> “Gražus.” (Beautiful.)  
> “T-tu esi gražus...” A tongue tripped over a low moan. “Man reikia tavęs, Will.”  
> (You are so beautiful. I need you, Will.)  
> "W-will, aš atsiprašau..."  
> (I'm sorry.)


	142. Chapter 142

The words had no sooner left Will’s mouth before he watched Hannibal coil in on himself in a series of nearly indecipherable reactions. A flinch of a cheek. Brows drawn low. Fingers twisting in the safety of palms. The pretense of barriers between them no longer existed. He was easier to read with his guard down or crushed completely beneath a soft gaze. He waited another fraction of a second. The older man bolted for the front door. Will grabbed a wrist lightly and held on. Dress shoes shuffled to stop, eyes still trained on the floor as if to memorize the grain of each plank of wood. No matter which way he tilted his head, maroon eyes shifted to look elsewhere, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. He held him there, suspended by the swing of their arms, holding his breath and hoping to reel them both to safety. The younger man toed out of shoes as quietly as possible, as if the slightest noise might startle. He smoothed circles over a wrist bone and then jagged scars. He placed two index fingers at the base of a skull and ran them lightly over a tense neck, following a shivering spine. He wrapped one arm over broad shoulders and the other around a waist, tucking his nose over a shoulder.

Hannibal shuddered against him as his mouth pressed to a clenched jaw, softly whispering, “Would you like to tell me where you are going?”

“To…” A shaky breath answered, chin tucking to a chest. “To the car as you asked.”

Will shifted teeth off center in a grimace, squeezing a right eye shut with a shake of his head. Airy exhaustion caressing over syllables splintered a hoarse accent, weakened by the press of his skin. What was he going to say? _I was kidding? Anger was merely running my mouth? Don’t listen to me when I’ve had to commit vicious acts of murder on three hours of sleep ever again? If you are going to insist on not breathing, at least let me hold you before you black out?_

“It is a just punishment for my actions. I…I will show myself out…”

He had to press his ear to a throat to hear vibration of the whisper. His grip tightened around a torso, bruised and swollen fingers throbbing in time with an ache behind his eyes.

“You said—“

“ _Christ_. I know what I said,” The younger man muttered under his breath.

_I just didn’t mean it._

He struggled to turn Hannibal in his arms, a granite statue buried in the earth, gaze locked to the front door praying to escape. Shoulders rolled forward, head bowing. Maroon eyes drifted to corners to stare at his shoulder. The thin line of his mouth pressed tighter to hide its quivering the longer the older man remained stripped to the bone underneath a piercing blue gaze. He saw their past flicker in shadows of pupils filling with guilt. The glint of a linoleum knife. The mist of torn clothes in an icy shower. Fear rippled beyond it all, mere flashes of hands pushing away to keep them separated. Scales tipping wildly, disturbed by the perceived imbalance between them.

 _It’s not like before. You didn’t hurt me._ Shaky breath looped over a heavy tongue. _Look at me. I’m right here._

Arms tensed as he ran fingertips down each one. The older man waited for a jolting bruise or scrape of teeth to biblically repay him in kind.

Will pushed clasped fingers to his lips lightly, murmuring, “Stay.” His eyes lifted, tone dropping a few octaves to a low command, “Stay.”

_Stay in the present with me. Stop rummaging through the rooms of events before this one._

Silver fog fell over damp eyes, head jerking in a nod.

Lines creased the older man’s face, grief stricken by kindness. His heart throbbed in a painful rhythm. The younger man released Hannibal in a series of slow motions, worried he might try to bolt again. He would chase after him if he did. Again. To retrieve him from another room, another moment, another self inflicted prison. He held out a steady palm, flat and upright to signal, _stay_. He backed out of the room, keeping an eye on the shadow of a man fading into the stream of morning light. When he could no longer see, Will turned on his heel and rummaged through the barren freezer. He reached in a darkened corner, pulling out a sealed bag of frost bitten raspberries and a half crushed container of frozen peas. His first instinct was to pitch them as hard as he could in the sink to hear them clatter. He set them, one by one, on the counter and placed a metal whisking bowl in the sink. Hot water spattered into it. The younger man braced on a corner of the sink. He could feel a swirl of emotions ebb between them through plaster and beams of walls forming to create a peak to harbor their hearts beneath it. He didn’t want to see the older man in pain. Not because of him. He didn’t want to be held back from the other side of the veil to be treated like fragile etched glass. He wanted Hannibal. All of him. Even the shadow of bruises and twist of a blade. He wanted to see him. The autumn warmed gaze of the man drowning in love and flicker of violence from behind eyes.

Wringing a dishcloth ragged, Will padded back to the room to find Hannibal exactly where and how he had left him, rooted the floor, stranded between the front door and his steady gaze, as if there was no escaping him. He tucked frozen ingredients under one arm before balancing the bowl in the crook of an elbow. The curve of metal scalded his skin pink. It took three insistent tugs before Hannibal placed his hand inside a damp palm. Water droplets slid between their fingers as he lead the older man into the living room for fear he might slip away and stray into different rooms altogether in his mind. He set down the items on the rickety three legged half oval table beside the floral tapestry chaise.

He took one step in and then another, crooking two fingers beneath a chin until wavering crimson met his gaze. “Undress me.”

The older man took a deep breath, chewing the inside of his lip.

Will closed his eyes. It was easier for them both if neither were seen. A shaking hand reached out to press flat over the subtle beat of his heart. Nails trailed up his collarbone and over shoulders to remove a phantom jacket, pushing off layers where a shirt would have been. Sworls of thumbs pushed into each rib to count them before loosening a belt and pulling at damp trousers. Then boxers. The younger man stepped out of them, one hand balanced on a shoulder, and kicked them away. He didn’t want any barriers between them. Just the sensation of skin and breath, mere elements to fuel the inescapable connection between them.

“Now you.”

His eyes remained closed. He heard a shiver caress through veins, an elegant pointillism reaching the surface of flesh. Hesitation dragged out for several minutes before soles of shoes scuffed. Buttons popped. A jacket swished to their feet. A dress shirt crumpled after. Trousers fell after the clatter of a belt buckle. The faint sound of shaky breathing filled his ears. He felt anxiety drape over his skin, burning and unforgiving, radiating from Hannibal and through him, before a single fingertip even touched.

“Put your hands on me.”

Teeth closed quietly. “Will, I…”

“I’m not asking you.”

_Please don’t be afraid to touch me. Not now that I want it. Need it more than ever._

Fingertips skittered lightly over his chest. He went still. They scored up, splaying at the base of his throat to follow the planes of his face.

_Do you feel me, steady and unmoving, beside you? I’m not running. Not from you or this._

The older man was warm, every brush an invitation to crush them together. His bones answered in a tremble from skull to jointed toes. He stayed where he was. To be touched. To show he remained. Fingers streaked through blood. He knew Hannibal was making a study of him, wisps of charcoal splashed in strokes of burnt blood sunlight in oil on canvas.

_How do you see me?_

_You look lovely in red… I cannot help myself._

Will hooked thumbs on wrists, melting underneath ragged breath puffing out against his cheek, murmuring, “Enough.” He lowered aching muscles against the chaise, grateful to sink into cushions, widening knees and stretching out legs. “Clean me up.”

“I need to retrieve…” A floorboard creaked nervously.

“ _No_.” The word came out harsh. He repeated softly, pointing to the triangle formed by knees and feet. “No. Here. Right here.”

“I…I do not understand, Will.”

Blue eyes glinted up, two fingers thrusting to the floor. “Yes. You do. Now do as you’re told.”

Knees buckled. A fine shadow of darkness bled through parting lips a moment before Hannibal dropped to the floor. Relief flickered in eyes as they pressed to the cushion between knees. Will buried a hand in tangling hair, stroking, as fingers curled around the back of his calves to remain present, moored in the caress of eyes and hands. His hunter, his killer, his life, resting at his feet.

“Don’t say anything. You’ve done enough talking for one day…” The younger man’s gaze strayed to a trembling mouth, adding, “I’ll tell you when you can speak.”

The trembling ceased, jaw and lips relaxing. Mind dimming to a hum of touch.

“Look at me.”

Palms coursed up his thighs in time with eyes lifting to meet his underneath the safety of fringed curtain. Grey tips of the older man’s hair draped several inches passed shoulders. Will smiled softly inside his mouth.

_Are you adapting some of my methods to create your own veil?_

He knew all too well how easy it was to remain hidden in plain sight behind curls and well placed glass. Reaching across the rickety table, he unfurled a narrow gauze lace from a chipped vase filled in wild crocus and lavender. He leaned forward, pushing fingers slowly through a hairline, gathering strands delicately. He liked touching this way, soft and insistent, to feel the older man shiver. Will took his time, sliding through hair over and over until anxious inhales drifted to content murmuring.

Hannibal pressed harder into each touch, lashes fluttering over eyes, barely breathing. A look of loss rushed over a face mottled in blackened cuts and bruises, left eye swollen in umber hues of corn silk and crushed berries. One look and Will knew Hannibal would have preferred the tip of a blade. This form of forgiveness a mere caress, unraveling every part of him until he was helpless. He resisted the urge to explore each new mark, to test its depth with his tongue to determine which one might scar. He knew the older man would look at each with pride later.

The younger man swept up hair in a neat bow, trailing fingertips over cavernous cheeks and a bruising mouth, whispering, “There.”

_There you are, love. I see you now._

“Put your head here.” He patted above his knee. A cheek nestled on soft flesh, hands returning to calves. A little breath escaped as he pressed dripping cold berries to a black eye. “Keep this on your eye a minute.”

Pressing the frigid bag to an eye, the older man let out a sigh and gathered closer, locked inside the safety of shifting knees. When eyes closed, Will allowed his smile release and let his head tip against the chaise, a matching pack of frozen ingredients blotched over the gash on his brow. He felt the lull of sleep calling to lay his weary bones to rest, to place Hannibal beside him, and allow them to drift for an eternity underneath warmth crossing over an unchanging sky. If death called upon them, would they fall away together in their sleep? Or would they follow as they always had? One after the other?

“Lemme see…” The younger man asked after awhile, setting aside both iced contents and reaching for the rag.

Steam engulfed his hand, wringing out a cascade of hot water over an upturned face. He watched droplets scatter across a high brow, trickle down a nose, and seep into a slotted mouth in a flurry of red and cleansing white. Color gathered in cheeks with each tender sweep of his fingertips to chase after luminous beads and blood. He would never tire of comforting Hannibal if he always looked up like he alone existed.

 _I’ll take care of you, baby._ The words stuck safely in his throat. _Now. And always._

He touched ice to each cut and gash, gentling each caress when a shadow of a wince formed. “Good…”

Will blotted at a fresh stream of blood leeching from twin splits on lips, red trickling in the grooves of fingers and staining tips. It was almost a shame to wipe away the blood when Hannibal seemed perfect dripping in his element, at peace, and perfectly content to remain kneeling.

“Lick it clean,” He drawled quietly, heat blotting inside his stomach.

The sliver of a tongue swept skin clean in a rush of breath, gaze lowered. He motioned for Hannibal to get to his feet, guiding hands to brace on the carved wooden spine of the chaise. He allowed his gaze to trail from face to droplets beading in soft curls, swirling around a navel and disappearing between bunching thighs. His eyes returned to superficial cut on a tensing stomach, fingertips then rag following. He pressed into it. Nostrils flared to keep quiet. It wasn’t deep. It would fade. His heart sank a fraction.

“It’s not mine.” _Not my mark._ He wiped it clean, rinsing the rag in pink water. “On your knees again.”

Wide pools of sunlight drifted to his mouth then to his eyes in question. The older man ceased to breathe again.

“Have something to say?”

With a wavering blink, the older man pleaded with him silently. _Would you like it to be?_

He ran the rag over his face, mumbling through the surface, knowing it would be easier to ask and hear if they remained separated for a moment longer. “You hurt me back there… in the church.” He paused feeling tension return to fingers and limbs. “Did you mean to?”

Lashes fluttered rapidly over stinging eyes in a litany of begging forgiveness before wrenching away, mouth trembling once again in unspoken words.

“Look at me.”

Hannibal curled fists against cushions, knuckles blanching and veins throbbing.

“I said, ‘look at me,’” Will enunciated the repetition with a growl and a snare of fingers around a face, forcing a gaze up, close enough for their lips to touch. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I didn’t say stop. Not then. And not now. Stop imagining what I’ve said and just listen for once.”

A flat edged tongue traced a bruise on his jaw before Hannibal dipped his head to lap tenderly at the scar on Will’s stomach, his scar, whispering, “It will fade.”

He heard the insinuation like the crystal tolling of a church bell. _Do you wish to carve your heart into my skin? By your own hand? To mark me forever as I have you?_

“Did I give you permission to talk?” His growl dropped low and rough, clenching fingers in hair as Hannibal merely gazed up. “You would let me, wouldn’t you?”

The question came out breathless. It was answered with a hint of light gathering behind eyes. Love. God, he loved him. Needed him. His throat constricted, heart stuttering to a stop. Hannibal needed him more than the blood of a hunt and the kill.

_I will always need you._

Safety of muted speech fell open and Will heard himself murmuring, “You’re as hopeless as I am, baby.” A corner of a mouth twitched. “Oh. So you did hear me then?”

Carding fingers through hair, Will let his caress fall to a mouth and pushed thumbs passed lips, creaking open a jaw to reveal a glitter of teeth. Hannibal relaxed his jaw, warm tongue flicking inquisitively at skin, eyes wide and open. Letting the younger man rip out every thought, feeling, sensation playing behind his eyes to view and turn over to caress. He would let him hold shadows of demons one day. They had plenty of time. They had the rest of their lives.

“You know what I love about you, Hannibal?” His voice shook out, splaying fingers over a throat to lift the older man’s mouth close enough to feel the heat of his lips. “When you lose control…” He kissed a gash on the left side and then on the other of a mouth, the one he caused, heart beating faster. “…because of me.”

A low whine pressed into the palm of his hand when Will drifted away, settling against the cushions, arms draped over the wooden back, nodding. Hannibal inched closer, hands clasped at bare hips, mouth unhinged and shaking with unspoken questions.

“Go on then,” Will whispered, lightly caressing a trembling bottom lip.

Hannibal made a weak noise, tracking fingertips down thighs to knees, holding tighter as if he might fall apart without Will to hold on to. Nails trailed from ankles to calves. A tongue dragged up his inner thigh. Then down the other, swirling at the bend to catch a rolling bead of red. Silken strands brushed across his skin as the older man tongued at the crevice of his thigh to swirl over hipbones. Teeth nipped at each one.

“Jesus…”

Will let out a low breath, running his palm over broad shoulders and arms reaching to pull his hips to the edge of the chaise. His other fell between his legs, resting lightly over the gathering weight of his cock. Hannibal continued to trail his tongue from navel to ribs, determined to cleanse every drop of blood and DNA from his skin until only his markings remained. He was tugged further until he was slumped against the chaise with a tongue seeking out salted flesh. He shifted knees apart, placing them under arms as the older man held calves against his torso. A mouth encircled his nipple in a dab of warmth then a nip of teeth. He thumbed at the slit of his head, rush of white beading in a sticky mess.

The younger man stroked once, twice to ease the ache, quiet moan falling out. “Nnn…yeah…”

Lashes drifted open over firelight, tongue flicking at a rough nub. Hannibal reached down to place a hand over motionless fingers, tightening them over a throbbing length to help Will press a languid up stroke from base to tip. A little _oh, angel_ untangled as the tip of a tongue wiggled inside of slotted fingers to taste drying come. He dragged a heel up ribs in a heat of friction. The older man returned to licking him clean with broad strokes, casting an occasional glance toward slow strokes of a hand and a pink mouth hanging open in search of air. Palms slid underneath the curves of his ass, fingertips digging in as Hannibal tongued lightly over velvety balls, slicked across a perineum, and swirled against a sore hole.

“Oh!” Will flattened shoulders, grip tightening, small of his back arching up off cushions.

Hannibal began to trail apologetic kisses up his thighs, murmuring, “Do you ache?” He licked at hot seams of legs, hefting them over shoulders, until Will was draped half over the chaise and half over him. “Was I too rough in my haste to be inside you?”

He was apologizing again.

The same coiling heat returned from before, a twisting bed of thorns in the pit of Will’s stomach, jerking faster as fingertips and tongue slid in to soothe burning, teeth gritting out, “ _Not rough enough_.”

The older man looked up from where he was situated between thighs. He felt a cheek flinch in a snarl.

He gasped as a slick tip was replaced with another finger, stretching wide, until his blood rushed hot. Fingers curled and pushed against a coil of nerves. Will flushed from chest to face, knees locking around ears, head thrown back.

“Were you desperate? To hold me? To fuck me?” The younger man curled toes as Hannibal kept time with the brutal pace of his hand swiping over his cock, leaking steadily. A strangled moan escaped as a tongue sliced across the knife mark, hand clenching in hair. “Did you need me that much?”

“More…” Hannibal growled, mouth winding up his stomach to bite off and drink in rising moans. Thumbs jammed into scar tissue. “ _Much_ more, darling.”

Will grappled a neck with a free hand, shoving a molten liquid mouth tighter against him, sucking a tongue into his mouth. He wanted Hannibal to open him up, knife buried deep, reach in and wrap gentle hands around his heart. He wanted him to tear it all out and replace everything. Until they were a jumble of the best and worst parts of one another.

“I-I love how much you need me. God…”

Wildfire spread from chest to stomach, crimson creeping down thighs. He sank nails in the fresh knife wound over the older man’s stomach, reveling in the darkening growl, monster shifting behind closed eyes. Bruising pressure returned in kind against him. They would break each other apart endlessly. They would see each other. He knew they would spend their years burying fingers in each other’s wounds and claw open bones to remind each other who they were. Who they really were.

“I love...ah…” Hannibal pressed his mouth to a pulse, arms wrapping softly around shoulders and waist to feel the drag of Will’s knuckles against him, listening carefully to ragged breath answering his own. “T-tell me?”

They would keep each other safe. He knew they would mend their broken bones in gilded gold and stitch up their hearts with equal ferocity of tender hands, kissing with the same feral mouths they tore apart men and gods alike with.

As the older man drew away, cupping a stained and bruising face in his hand, gazing intently into waves threatening to drag him under… he blinked once, giving in to water filing his lungs. His life had been given long ago. His will not his own. His heart no longer belonged in his chest, but beating bloodied in flat palms. Fate was the open face of a jagged cliff. How else might he die except inside Will’s arms?

Lowering his mouth to upturned lips, Hannibal breathed softly across them, “I need all of you, Will.”

Nails raked down his back in a vicious trail of red as Will came hard between their chests, clinging, holding on as if they might disappear. They heard their voices intermingling in a haze of time snapping in reverse, to a moment before roiling waves devoured them.

_Don’t let go. God, don’t let go._

_No, Will. Not this time._

Will surfaced to gasp for air. His eyes stung. His body trembled. He ached all over as if a rocky shoreline had claimed him once more. Strong arms carried him through a room. Steam enveloped him. His limbs felt pliant, heavy, melting. He felt warmth ripple over his skin, stinging fresh wounds and bruises. An aching neck was placed over cold porcelain. He opened his eyes to find Hannibal bent over him, lathered hands dripping in shampoo scented with patchouli as he washed his hair. He lifted a palm to a blackened cheek and the older man went perfectly still.

_Why does it hurt for me to touch you?_

“Get in here.” His voice rattled out hoarse.

Hannibal stooped to rinse hair free of blood and dirt, barely a whisper replying. “I cannot.”

Ripples formed across blood soaked bath water.

“Can’t? …Or won’t?”

“Will not.”

The younger man inhaled sharply, trying to blot a deep ache in his chest. A chasm widened between them. He felt cold. Then hot. Then empty. As if he weighed nothing. As if he was merely air. They felt farther apart then they had in months. He needed them close again. Wound together, buried in bloodied wounds, until there was no distinguishable difference of where he ended and Hannibal began. He didn’t care if they never spoke again. As long as they were inseparable, bodies flush as one.

Will bit down on a bottom lip threatening to tremble. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“It was never my intention to cause you harm...in the church.” Broken glass splintered.

The delayed response sent a cold shock jolting through him.

“I don’t need to be taken care of!” Will hissed, wrapping both hands in hair above, baring teeth. “I need you! Just you! Got it?”

Water splattered against a far wall as curls swung over shoulders. Will rose from the tub, dripping wet in blood and water, eyes darkening. He stalked forward. One hand shoved Hannibal against the doorframe. Breath rushed hot across his face. Another snapped a towel free from a rail.

“I will…” Red eyes snapped away from the slide of their thighs and hips, face flushing from the violent thrill thickening a cock. “…find the medical supplies necessary.”

“ _No._ No, you won’t.” The younger man clenched hair in his fist, yanking a head back to get at the curve of a throat, teeth grinding loud. He stared at the lovely shade of red returning to a cock pressed against his thigh. “Get in the shower and wash off. Meet me in the bedroom in five minutes or you are going to wish you had.”

Will stormed out of the bathroom, jerking a towel roughly over hips. He hauled the medical bag off the dresser and flopped down at a vanity crumbling in rust. He listened to the shower run through thin walls. He considered barging in, wrapping a punishing hand around the older man’s cock, and bringing him to a white heat with teeth buried in the seam of his shoulder. With an angry splash of antiseptic, he glowered through grey age spots on the mirror and haphazardly stitched the gash above his eye. It didn’t need to look pretty. He certainly didn’t. He looked like shit, dark circles under his eyes and snarling at his own reflection. He grit teeth, whipping hanging flesh closed on his calf, praying there was a bottle of whiskey somewhere in the cottage. It was good enough. Aside from that the sloppy stitches would annoy Hannibal to no end.

Feet shuffled quietly into the room as he snipped a black thread, stormy gaze lifting to naked skin mirrored in silver. “Sit down.”

_How might you look if I opened your skin with a blade and lay stars to rest within your soul?_

Weight shifted from one leg to another before Hannibal draped a towel over his shoulders and limped to an edge of the small bed. He smoothed a rumpled floral duvet and sat. Breath hitched when Will got to his knees. His towel unfurled, sliding away. The medical bag toppled to the floor with him. Antiseptic burned his nostrils. Gauze unrolled. He tore it off with sharp teeth. A crimson gaze darkened. He wrapped gauze tight around the shallow knife wound on the older man’s stomach, trying not to be obvious about inhaling the fresh scent of skin. His gaze fell to a now flaccid cock draped elegantly between legs. He pressed a palm against it. It barely stirred. What scent draped over him now? He wondered if his senses were as finely attuned if he might scent spent arousal clinging to a palm.

“…Did you?”

Hannibal swallowed hard, cheeks flushing.

“Lie down!” Will barked, throwing the medical bag away. He rummaged through the dresser and twisted a black and red paisley silk tie, snapping it tight in fingers. “Wrists up.”

He jerked a knee into a chest, flattening Hannibal to the bed, until he complied and stretched arms towards metal rails. The red mark it left gathered into a forming bruise.

Thickened accent rushed out wine stained lips, swollen from pleasure. “May I ask what your intentions are, Will?”

The older man looked beautiful stretched out like a pagan sacrifice waiting for the kiss of death or the plunging end of a blade.

“My intention is to remedy this situation.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

A knot jerked around wrists.

“What does it matter?” Will hissed, tugging on the tie to make sure wrists were bound and secured, eyes flashing. “You seem interested enough.”

“All the same.”

Dark eyes followed him across the room. Will unfurled a belt from one of the silk robes Hannibal had tailored for them. He stalked over, hand at a throat, to push the older man into pillows.           

“For the next seventy two hours… you are mine.” Darkness fell as Will tied the belt roughly over searching eyes. “And what I plan on doing to you is simple. We’re going to exchange your apologies for the only phrase I want to hear from your mouth.”

“Which…” Jagged teeth pressed into splits, red beading forth. “…is?”

He scraped teeth from chest to neck, pressing a low growl to an ear. “’Show me mercy, Will.’”

Whirling off the bed, Will yanked flimsy drapes together and banged off the light switch. He flopped across the body beneath him, knees curled at a waist, and violently buried the side of his face against the crook of a shoulder. He wanted them close and was going to have his way, one way or another. He could feel the wild beat of Hannibal’s heart answering his own. It was one of the most singular comforting sounds he had ever heard. He felt fury bleeding out of his skin, lids fluttering and drifting over tired eyes.

“Will…” Silk hissed around metal railings. “I cannot properly sleep this way.”

“Deal with it,” The younger man grumbled, tucking hands under shoulders to hold closer. “I did.”

After the first three hours or so, and a lot of shifting weight and rustling, Will had found he had been able to sleep perfectly fine bound to a bed at Hannibal’s whim, much to the older man’s chagrin.

A nose prodded at a temple. “Have I wronged you deeply?”

Will shifted away, desperate for a moment, an entire minute to pass of utter stillness and quiet.

“Shall I offer an apology? How might I please you?”

He sounded pained. Pleading. Waiting for Will to tell him anything to make it right. Begging to be forgiven for a sin he hadn’t committed. It was just like the church when he had recoiled, hiding from him. And again at home. It crawled under his skin. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t who Hannibal was. Something else was bothering him, but god help him, Will wasn’t capable of hearing it right now. Right now he needed sleep. They both needed rest. And perspective.

“I am _allowed_ to be angry with you, angel!” He thumped at a chest. “For someone so intelligent, you are an absolute idiot sometimes.”

A grunt answered. He realized he must have hit the same spot as his knee had. He winced, settling over a chest, kissing the tender area, and tried once more to sleep. If he didn’t get sleep soon, he was going to… well, no, he was too tired to kill anyone. But the principle matter of the sentiment remained true. Hannibal shifted with a barely audible sigh.

“Jesus, I can actually hear your apology rattling in my skull!” Will shot up right, shaking shoulders. “Stop! Stop…For the love of—”

Tangling fingers in hair, Will slotted his mouth over Hannibal’s to kiss him as hard as he possibly could without hurting, shoving in a tongue to lure out any remaining apology left. He sucked the oxygen from his lungs to drain the fight from their bodies. Blunt nails whisked down a chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight. The older man moaned a needy sound as the kiss became softer and softer, a rhythm of their lips, brushing and tender.

“God…” The younger man pulled away, raking back wet curls, murmuring, “You drive me crazy.”

“Will…?” A thousand questions and conversations hinged on the mere breath of his name.

“ _No_. Go to sleep.”

He draped across a chest, resting a cheek above a heart, holding as eyes drifted closed. Sleep, blessed sleep, lured him in. Forty five seconds passed.

“I cannot breathe.”

Will let out a frustrated growl, flopping onto his back, fists clenched at his side and glared up at the ceiling as if its chipped paint was the object of his vengeance. They lay side by side for another ten minutes before a click of a throat signaled Hannibal was physically struggling not to speak. He might choke if he waited much longer.

“Just… just say it.”

He steeled himself for an apology, bitter nausea whirling in his stomach. He didn’t want it. What the hell did Hannibal feel the need to apologize for? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Deep shadows tangled on an edge of the wall. “There are nights you still cry out in your sleep. Fighting as I try to hold you against me…”

Will forced his eyes shut, hoping to blot out the sound, to fall into an endless and dreamless sleep, and never listen to the broken caress of a voice in the darkened room. For a moment, he pretended he didn't exist.

“What form do your nightmares gather to create? Who is it you see?”

“It isn’t you!” He banged a fist blindly against the nightstand.

Tears rushed to his eyes. Pain coursed from hand to wrist and scraped up his arm. He tried to focus on the physical pain. It hurt less than the sickening break of his own fragile, withering human heart. Of course Hannibal had seen him. Truly seen him the church. Seen what he was. And who he saw looking back. They had never spoken about it out loud. About what happened to him. Now the older man had envisioned the horror in static of dim chandeliers and candlelight. He had seen. How could he blind him to the sight of being broken?

 

_Agony crumbled beautiful angles of Hannibal’s face. Tears spilled from aching eyes. Cracks formed along the planes of cheeks, racing in jagged lines down his body. With a splintering sound, his figure shattered. Ash drifted through the tree line on a whispering breeze._

_“I’m…” Will sobbed, curling tight into the earth. “…s-sorry, Hannibal. I don’t want you to s-see me like this…”_

 

“You can’t…you can’t… hold it against me, Hannibal…” Near sobs crept into Will’s cracking tone, trembling. “To remind me of all I lost, what we lost, when I look in your eyes. You promised. Not to see me as fine china…”

_You promised to only see strength._

It all made sense now. Hannibal had seen his nightmare brought to life on holy walls and hours later rewarded him with what he must have considered violence, mirroring images of their life before the fall. The guilt. The remorse. The pain in his eyes. As if he had hurt him, truly hurt him. When he had needed the punishing press of hands, with all he had killed and fought for, buried within him and holding near.

A rasping plea replied. “ _William_.”

He heard the truth wavering behind it. _Tell me._

Will shook his head weakly. _I can’t._

“I’ll…” The younger man jammed heels of hands into eyes, grinding out tears. He rolled to his side, wrapping arms protectively around his waist, bleeding out in a whisper. “I’ll always dream of him. He will always exist in some part of me.”

An agonized breath, as if Hannibal felt his pain as if it was his own, shook out.

“When I open my eyes, I see you. I see _you_! I see home, the light in the darkness, and I am safe.” Trembling, Will crawled up the older man’s body and collapsed against him, tears rolling from his face down a straining neck. “Please. Please. Don’t take it away from me.”

“I…”

“Please, god, go to sleep,” Will sobbed. Exhaustion shook his body harder, locking hands and knees around Hannibal to know he was safe, real, and would rip apart his demons in the night behind his eyes. “I can’t. I can’t.”

The last sensation he remembered before darkness dragged him under was the feel of flesh and bones crumbling beneath him. Mere dust drifted over fading twilight. Existence dimmed. They were nothing now. Only elements of blood and breath remained. When they woke, perhaps they would be something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued patience. I have been trying to write this since our last chapter. Extra long to make up for my absence. Fighting my way through a haze of a toxic situation eating away at my depression. Please bear with me.
> 
> Better Man x Bella Figura: 
> 
> Turn in to the wind, let it take you in. Wash away your sins, you don't know where they've been.
> 
> I want to be a better man. I'm doing the best I can. I want to be a better man, well I'm doing the best I can.
> 
> Now I'm starting to fear the worst and I wonder what happened first, the problems in my head or all the things I left unsaid.


	143. Chapter 143

Trapped underneath a forced veil of shadow, Hannibal tried to focus on keeping his breathing steady. In and out. The simple act of respiration seemed to put a strain on his mind and body. In and out. He lay absolutely still, in spite of aches radiating from wrists to shoulders and tingling in tips of his toes. His body was drawn taut underneath a thin stretch of skin, bones and muscles twisting in a burn of anger. Inside a slacked jaw, his teeth ground and clacked in silent displeasure. He was rarely affected this deeply. The sensation rippled through him, teeming in the shift of a restless shadow inside his mind, threatening to break free. It had been months since he was forced to listen to Will cry himself to sleep. It had been longer still since he had been unable to do anything about it. Even longer since he had been the cause of his tears. It cut him deeper than any physical wound.

His lip lifted over a canine. Eyes narrowed beneath a band of silk against his eyes. He had been blinded to the sight, but not spared the sound. He didn’t need to see it. He had seen enough of it. It was burned behind his retina for all time. One moment of loss of control, then another, and here he was, yet again, forced to hear the pitiful sensory echo in his mind long after sobs had subsided. The scenes played over and over in his mind. He had never meant to hurt Will. Hadn't intended to take him by such force, rough and without consideration. Where had his strength gone to remain dispassionate and removed from sentiment? When had he become weakened to impulse and need?

Instead of apologizing, he had asked about his attacker, needing some kind of truth between them to press into their open wounds. When all he wanted was to say he was sorry. To be allowed to hold him. To know he was no longer the nightmare haunting Will in his sleep. When had he needed to sink inside Will’s soul and bones to disappear, to feel the very beat of his heart, locked inside a cracked open chest? When did being without Will, separated by a barrier between them, feel like he was slowly dying? He knew the answer. He chose to ignore it. 

_This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For us._

_It’s beautiful._

His tongue was sore and bloodied from biting down on it to keep quiet. The soft weight blanketed over his skin had him struggling for breath. It was choking the life out of him. Seconds had stretched to minutes. Minutes to hours. Each more excruciating than the last. His eyes remained wide open, unseeing. His ring finger twitched. In his mind, furniture overturned and splintered as he stalked from one room after another, tearing each one apart before watching flames consume them. What use did he have of them now? The first day they had met, Hannibal had only meant to look at Will without seeing. Then he glanced once behind a flash of glass and was struck down, unable to look away. He had never meant to reach out and touch beyond manipulation. Then he thought, _just once,_ to dispel the agony from deep blue eyes. He had no way of stopping once he had. He never intended to listen to the fragile struggle of his heart trying to beat. Then he had pressed Will’s against him, heart vibrating in his hand through the blade buried in a stomach. He had never meant to hold him. There he rested, slotted in his arms, above a cliff. Then he had no intention of letting go. Not alive. Not even in death. Not ever. He would survive a thousand falls of splintered bones and feeble breath. He would not survive Will.

Hannibal twisted an aching wrist inside a tie. He was grateful to be bound to a thin band of metal. Sheer willpower had kept him awake, fearful of acting out impulses flashing in his mind in sleep. The tortured caress numbing his hands threatened to crush Will against him, claws sinking inside feeble flesh, tearing until they were buried bone deep. He needed them close. Close enough to hurt. It hurt more than any pain he had ever known. He sighed. Numb cold ran down his arms and gathered inside his chest, nestling deep. Was this how Abel Gideon felt with their fairy tale drawing to a close? Severed at the elbow, helpless to the sensation of phantom limbs longing to reach out, but unable to do so? Cut off at the knees, grey and weak from the punishing stretch of time, desperate to remain breathing?

He tested tensile strength of the silk tie. He could have snapped free from its protection hours ago, binding him to earthen runes of pine scented skin and pinnacles of limp slender arms. A bitter laugh shuddered in his ribs. But this is where Will wanted him. And so he remained. If the younger man swung open a cell door and beckoned for him to enter, there was no doubt in Hannibal’s mind he would walk straight into a gilded cage. As he had before. Willingly. Without hesitation. He would go because Will wanted him to. He would stay in hopes Will would return to find him. And if he never returned…

What choice did he have?

...he would wither and die without him.

Physical discomfort he was able to bear with ease. Even torture was easy to abide by with the regulation of breathing and drifting through the palace of his mind. He let out a shaking breath. This. This he could not bear. Creaking of the mattress deafened like gunfire. Cool trailing curls split open his skin in a series of stings like razor cuts. He would not survive the caress of silk pooling over his torso and a breathy drawl pressed to his ear, quiet and gentle, as if nothing happened. As if they remained unchanged.

“Beautiful like this…” Hot lips traced the curve of his ear, sucking gently at a lobe. “At my beck and command.”

Pressure of his teeth radiated up to a flinching temple. Fingertips skittered over his face, tracing his mouth. The touch scalded. Heat was burning him alive from the inside out. He needed fingers to choke out his existence. A blade to bleed him dry. Anything but this.

“Gorgeous in the church too. I wanted you, every inch of you, inside me,” Will confessed quietly, thighs shifting as he slid down his torso. “I would have let you have me on the altar. On the pews. In the confessional.” Cold silk whispered after. “Among the carnage of our design. Would you have liked that, Hannibal?”

Safely inside his bones, the older man shuddered. He would have done anything Will asked. If freed, he would have sank his teeth into flesh until it was torn and bloodied, to flay Will open as deeply as he had torn and exposed him to the elements of his voice. His eyes. His touch. Faint heat traced over gauze bound tight around his ribs. He tried to focus on deciphering small flicks designing x shapes across it. He wished Will would cut him open already and be done with it. It would hurt far less. At least he would understand the pain. He felt bones digging through cheeks pressed flush around his lower abdomen.

“Want me to touch you yet?”

Friction of calloused fingertips twisted a bud of a nipple. His nostrils flared, in taking a sharp breath. He shifted thighs apart. God, when had Will turned into a maddening caress of silk? He felt heavy, hard enough to splinter, untouched for hours and pulsing against his navel. A swirl of a tongue nearly had his chest arching up to release a sigh. Nearly.

“Let’s hear you say it, love…” Slick press of a cock ground into him, knees clamped around his ribs, squeezing. Nails dug in, wrenching flesh in a twist. “Say it.”  

Hannibal bit down his tongue, eyes flying closed, wrists twitching against a rail. Hips returned to a gentle rhythm rocking into his pubic bone to create fiction. Each roll barely brushed the tip of his head. Will had passed the hours alternating between tender touch and rough bruises. How many had it been? Surely he would grow weary and tire of their little game. Surely...

Hips stilled, voice breathless. “No? Fine…”

Hannibal winced. He knew that tone. Petulant and dismissive. Will was far from fine. Or finished. Fingers disappeared. Fabric rustled. He hissed. Blazing oil drizzled on his chest. He felt each punishing trickle acutely. Painfully. Rivulets boiled over his skin like a thousand fingertips stroking and tongues carving him open. He was breathing hard, a ripple of oil gathering, trapped against thighs locked around him. Will shifted slightly, allowing the deluge to rush over his cock, phantom heat of a mouth taking him in from root to tip. Drip, drip, drip. He felt oil seeping through the mattress, spreading between his tensing cheeks, begging for touch.

A palm pushed against his thigh. He felt Will leaning back, twisting, to look at him slicked and gleaming, to admire the tension gathering in his thighs. Heat of a gaze burned through him. The mattress creaked as an index finger swirled oil over a fading bite mark on his inner thigh. It pressed in at the corner of his thigh and hipbone, barely touching balls, enough to tease. Two fingers touched his perineum. Hannibal drew knees up, tensing, waiting for long fingers to twist him open, rough and harsh inside an oily glide. Knuckles tracked over a thicket of hair surrounding his cock. He waited for a trace of nails. A blissful taut pull of a palm. Anything. He grit his teeth. He felt lips spreading over his navel, fingers slicking through a taut line to find a hole.

Will sank onto his own fingers with a breathless little moan. “Jesus…”

An audible groan rumbled free from Hannibal’s lungs. He clenched both hands around the cold railing of the bed, tie jerking. He would rather his hands be wrapped around Will's cock. Or his throat. Both in a very particular scenario. With a single wrench, he could rip free, have his hands clamped onto hips and a moment after be buried balls deep inside of Will, thrusting hard and fast, unrelenting until he was sore and begging. He had two problems with this course of action. Firstly, he was fond of this particular tie and it was an exquisite accent against his charcoal grey single breasted suit. Secondly but most importantly, it was a gift. The younger man had bought it for him to match the diamond cuff links. Unless he wanted to destroy the tie and risk the possibility of Will never touching, fucking, or speaking to him ever again... He stayed bound. Will had chosen it purposefully. Cruelly. Knowing he needed to be wrapped by heat, his palm, his mouth, anything. But powerless to pursue him.

“You never listen.” Growls ground out across his jaw in a scrape of stubble. “Fight when you should apologize. Apologize when you should fight. Fight when we should just—”A slap of skin sent Hannibal reeling, legs twisting against the mattress. “—fuck.”

His thigh burned. Another slap had him straining against the tie. A loud moan set his teeth on edge. He listened to the unmistakable sound of fingers dragging up and down a cock. His lips parted, mouth watering. He didn’t need to see to know Will was arching his back, lithe and beautiful, lifting hair around the nape of a neck prickled in sweat, palming a perfectly leaking length.

“A mess. My fucking mess.”

The ridge of a head dripping in come rubbed against his lips. He gasped. The bed frame rattled as Hannibal’s arms shook, flattening a tongue over his bottom lip. Smooth skin dragged across its rough surface. He tasted like fresh skin and honey. A palm banged against thin plaster of a wall to brace, rocking forward. He lapped at knuckles and fingers whisking fast, drinking off every hot drop.

“Hell. Oh hell…”

He titled his chin, waiting, praying, for Will to use his mouth, spill down the back of his throat and suffocate him.

“Let me have you,” Hannibal rasped, jaw creaking open wide, gasping around a cock tracing the sharp edges of his teeth.

“Oh Doctor Lecter…” The younger man moaned, lifting skin dripping in come and saliva away. “You know I have more self control than that.”

A snarl snapped teeth around an inner thigh, biting down, rolling muscle and tendon between teeth. He imagined it raw, bloodied, and dripping. Hot copper and skin. With nothing but Will to sustain him.

“God!” Fists clenched a bed frame rattling louder.

Will pressed down into his mouth, growling and moaning. Hannibal gnawed and tugged at flesh until he was certain it was red, swollen, and throbbing through every nerve ending Will possessed. He wanted to tear out each one, wrap and knot them tight, until the younger man was bound at his mercy, until he begged him not to feel, begged him to stop. He tugged thighs over his face in a clench of teeth, tongue laving against taut balls. He dragged up a flat edge, straining to bring a bobbing head into his mouth.

Breaths fluttered. “How do I taste?”

“In need of a mouth well versed in your pleasure,” Hannibal snarled, frustration rising, hammering against his ribs, as he struggled to suck.

A derisive snort answered.

He received a mouthful of pillow for his trouble, now face down against the mattress. His breath radiated hot and terse over a crushed nose. The tie pinched uncomfortably around sleeping wrists. A palm cupped his ass. He waited for teeth or mouth to explore faint freckles forming a triangle Will confessed to admiring against his skin. An imperfect perfection. He received a sharp slap instead. His hips jerked into the mattress, wrestling forward to find friction, something to ease the burn leaking between his legs. A hot tongue licked between his cheeks, ringing a tensing hole.

“You taste of pure desperation…” Lips mumbled against him. Another swipe sent him rocking up to knees, fingers spreading him wide to lick. “Intoxicating really. Maybe I’ll taste you. Just like this. You free for the next few hours?”

Will sounded infuriatingly smug. He glared through the blindfold to where he knew his cock hung, slapping against his thigh and stomach as Will ground into his thigh. Saliva dried sticky against his ass, between cheeks. Knuckles scraped against him as the younger man jerked himself off, moans growing in intensity.

“Say it…” Will hissed, a sweat slicked chest draping over his spine. “Say it. And I’ll finish inside you. I’m close.”

He could practically feel the slide of a cock filling him, stretching him, a few erratic snaps rubbing him raw.

“Mercy, Will…” Lips formed a dark snarl. “Show me mercy.”

“Oh fuck!” Hot liquid striped across his back in short bursts.

Come rolled down taut shoulder blades. Low growls turned to snarls. Snarls turned to feral snaps of teeth. Fuck the tie. Hannibal began to jerk against the metal rail headboard violently, legs and arms shaking, biting at silk. Heavy palms shoved him down, dark curses hurled into the mattress. He bit into a pillow as a tongue cleaned his skin, strokes wide and slow.

Hips wriggled against his ass as the back of a palm buried his face deeper into pillows. “My turn to apologize then?”

“If you are quite done, release me!” He emphasized the near grating scream with a rattle of metal, muffled by downy feathers.

“I’m not done. Just resting…” Will murmured into his neck, stretching like a lazy lion out across his spine, burrowing close. “You know I need a few minutes.”

His cock throbbed, trapped against his thigh dripping and agonizingly uncomfortable. He felt lashes flutter against his shoulder. He swore vehemently. He was not about to suffer unconsciousness Will Graham for another minute. He would gnaw off his own wrist first to break free, slam the boy into the mattress to come all over his beautiful face, and take a three hour long swim in the frigid depths of the ocean, hoping a shark might consume him. And if he returned unscathed, he would fuck Will against every surface while refusing him release just to punctuate his fury.

“William Lecter, I will—“

Soft laughter nuzzled against his hairline as he was rolled onto his back. “Shit.” He flashed teeth. A hum of satisfaction and pleasure tinged pink on what he was sure was a grin. “You look wrecked.”

“Have I not suffered enough to your liking? Have we not played enough games?”

Fingers walked around the perimeter of a cock straining away from his navel. “Temper, temper.”

Something inside him snapped. He would not be any man’s prisoner. He would not be caged and kept by a jailer with soft eyes.

“Just fuck me and be done with it! I am not in the mood to provide instruction!”

“This…” Playfulness withered against each word, voice quieting. “…is why you’re still attached to the bed frame.”

He knew Will couldn’t see pain radiating in his eyes beneath the blindfold. He closed them anyway.

“I know what you want, angel… I sympathize.” A mouth kissed rippling lines etched into his forehead. “I really do.” It covered his cheek and then the other, pressing lightly against the left corner of his lips. “But I think we need this.”

“Leave me in peace, Will,” Hannibal snapped, fingers clenching into shaking fists. “Go. After all, you have become quite skilled at running and hiding from me.”

“That’s not…” A throat choked around a sob. “…fair.”

“Have you become so blinded by what you need, you no longer see who I truly am? By the violence I could wield to tear you apart without the lift of a finger? Do you truly think I would not kill you if it is what I wished?” He winced, unable to crunch spineless words between teeth. “If it was not a just accusation, it would not resonate so deeply within the conscious hiding deep within yourself.”

Muffled sobs filtered against a palm. He tried to drown them out. Will could destroy him. Tension clawed from his hands down his torso and settled into stiff legs. He waited for the pressure of a shaking body to release him. To escape the cruelty of his mouth. To be left alone. His own conscious eating at the edges of his mind. Will had every right to leave him. He would walk out of his life and he would remain, until flesh peeled from his bones, a rotting corpse knotted and bound to a memory.  

Strangled sobs turned to pleading. “T-take it back…”

Shame flushed through eyes prickling with tears. Hannibal flattened his cheek against a pillow, jaw clenched to keep silent, words echoing in his mind. _I hurt you, Will. What if I hurt you again?_

“H-h-hann…ibal…”

He slumped against the bed, an acid rain of tears splashing against his face from a storm above. If he had been able to touch him, even once, Will would have crumbled. He would have been lost, stone worn and weathered under the merciless embrace of an ocean tide. Water filled the very eyes of the soul looking down. He would give in. He would drown.

_I do not deserve your kindness, Will. Nor you._

A fist bruised his chest, then his ribs, then his hip. “F-f-fuck you.”

This he understood. This he deserved.

Nails raked through his hair, palms shoving apart his thighs. A rough shove of fingers was the only warning he had before Will shoved in with a sob, nails sinking into his hips. His legs jerked against the burn. A forehead fell into the crook of his shoulder. Tears scalded the hollow of his throat. He stifled sobs of his own. If this would be the last time Will held him, he prayed it would be quick, merciless and devoid of affection. He would rather die alone, gaping hole in his chest where a broken heart once was, than have the lingering memory of kindness burned into his skin.

With a soft shudder of limbs, Will began to rock gently into him, palms sliding up and down tensed thighs, drawing them up to hold near. A strangled sob broke free. Hannibal tried to say no, head weakly shaking, bones snapping in half one by one as Will kissed softly against the wounded noises escaping. Silk unfurled from his wrists. He fell against the mattress as if struck, upturned palms pinned into place, strength drained. He faded into the sensation of soft hands and rolling hips filling every part of him in morning light. He was dying, oxygen torn from his lungs to fill the younger man with life.

“You’re my entire world, Hannibal…” Will whispered, voice threading in and out, forehead pressed to the one below. “All my desires. Hopes. Fears.” A throat constricted, breath splintering in a rush of tears. “Everything I need. It ends and begins with you. Only you. You. Just you.”

Hannibal arced forward, chest lifting as Will slid again and again between his thighs, rolling tight against a spot inside of him. Tender murmurs seared his skin black; _oh baby, oh angel, Hannibal, Hannibal, touch me. Please, I’ve never needed you so much._ Pleasure blanketed over his skin, toes curling, trembling harder and harder as he tried to reach out, to hold a hand, a wrist, a face, anything to keep him from falling apart. His arms were heavy. His palms sluggish and pinned by nothing. He was disappearing, sinking. He cried out. If he did touch him, surely he would drag Will under, to the crushing depths of Hell to burn along side him for eternity, forever, till death.

An open mouth kiss crushed breath inside his lungs. “Touch me. Please.”

Moving trembling fingers towards the blindfold, Hannibal tensed, trying to envision what staring into the maws of Death might look like, cloaked in flushed skin and tender eyes.

A palm settled over his fingers, stilling him, keeping the tie in place, another wrapped around his shaft and pulled. “Wait.”

“D-don’t,” The older man choked out, white heat flashing red behind his eyes.

Kisses trailed from his throat to his chest, hushed and unhurried. “Why not?”

He arched shamelessly into a tight grip, teeth sinking into a bottom lip. “I will not last.”

_You will be the end of me. The death of me. Of all I have ever known._

“Fantastic. Because I am absolutely exhausted,” Will murmured against the curve of his ear, gentle strokes becoming more insistent. “Let me give you what you want.”

A palm pressed above his heart, searching across his skin, lips following. They were soft. Agonizingly gentle with each caress, trail, swirl. Hannibal managed to clamp a hand over his mouth as he cried harder, unable to control anything except the volume of his pain, his soul, escaping. He shook as Will kissed flayed open muscles and stroked the marrow of his bones, squeezing gently around the feeble organ beating wildly against ribs and held on, and on, and on. Will was killing him, and he remained, still and willing, bleeding out.

“From now on…” Will choked out, both hands framing his face, hips undulating maddeningly slow to press them flush together, as one. “However you want me. However you need me. Take it.” Teeth scraped against the split on his mouth, tugging. “Don’t tell me you are _fucking sorry_ for who you are. Not now. Not ever again.” The younger man kissed him slowly again, a glide of tongues to soothe the ache, holding close. “You are… the only thing that makes any sense to me. I will always understand you. Always love you as you are. For who you are. I promise.”

_I promise. And I always keep my promises._

The spell tied heavy around his throat snapped. Hannibal wrapped both arms roughly around a smaller torso, rolling on top of Will, searching for every inch of skin he could hold onto. His fingertips skittered across the sensation of silk once more, damp and burning. He felt every part of Will pushing back, asking to be torn asunder, and made to match the bloodied vessel of his body.

“If I… hurt you?” The older man asked against an upturned mouth, blinking at tears underneath the safety of a veil.

A tense growl sent him reeling back, shoulders shoving. “Then I’ll break your fucking nose.”

Hannibal gripped calves, wincing, head tucked to his chest.

“And we’ll be fine…” The voice melted away. A thumb slipped underneath a corner of the blindfold. The sliver of light was blinding. It hurt. “Just fine.”

Light gathered to form a blurred haze of shimmer. Blankets of stars scattered against warmth of the sun threatening to devour. He inhaled the celestial in a choke of oxygen, light filling lungs and illuminating the crimson of his heart, until all burned bright. Inside the triangle of silk and cheekbone, Will smiled down at him, face tear stained and gaze unwavering, love radiating through and through. And he was lost. As though he never existed.

“Better than fine. I’ll take care of you…however I can, however you allow me. And we’ll be happy,” Will whispered, dragging knuckles and a wedding band over lips, to seal each promise with prayer. “You make me happy. So happy.”

Darkness enveloped as Hannibal pressed a hand over the sliver of light, to block out the sight, the sound, tears staining silk and escaping to streak over his chin.

Lips touched his mouth. “ _Let me see you_ , Hannibal.”

“Then _let me in_ …” Hannibal begged, grabbing both wrists until the younger man was trapped against his chest, face pressed into his shoulder. “Please, Will.”

Silk rippled over his chest as the younger man toppled him to the mattress once more. “A compromise then.”

They struggled against each other a moment longer. He relented to a sharpened kiss.

“Compromise?” The bloodied question seeped from his mouth, fingertips trailing from ankles to calves.

_I may not be able to survive any more compromises. What left have I to offer you? Take it. Whatever it is. Take it.  
_

“Quid pro quo, Doctor,” Will began softly, voice turning rough and unforgiving as fingers loosed the knot draping safety of blindness over his eyes.

The blindfold drifted away. Scales falling from his eyes. And he saw Will as he had always seen him. Perfect. And divine. Draped in blood. All he worshiped, bent and gathered above him, an outline of broken mirrors and constellations. Moonlight trailed from an open window upon a cool night breeze. Silver touched wild curls, stars clustering to form a briar of thorns, crown encircling a fine brow. Wisps of clouds drifted underneath a thicket of dark lashes brushing cheeks. A sliver of a crescent mouth glowed. Twin stars lifted to meet a dark gaze threatening to devour light.

“I will let you tame my demons…”

Blood red silk clung to a divot of an arcing throat, running down a smooth chest, wide v neckline draping loose and slipping from a shoulder to expose a bullet wound. It fell further still, passed a dusty mauve bud. Arcs of satin stitches slit high over peaked hipbones and pooled over thighs. A protective glint of silver encircled a finger, resting on a narrow trim of fine lace and piping slicing open flawless skin on a hem. A sweeping hand lifted, nails raking over a chest, lines disappearing beneath crimson. 

“…if you promise to be my monster.”

Hannibal couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

_My monster._

He heard nothing. He saw only Will. He had only been seen, truly seen, by Will.

_I know what monsters are._

This was a reckoning. This was retribution. This was vengeance adorned in affection and threat of violence in light eyes. And he couldn't look away. What was this really? A heart hammered louder and louder. Ribs cracked. This was...  A palm cupped his cheek, brushing away trickling tears. This was...

_Love._

An insidious snarl howled from somewhere within the shadow of his soul, shifting to reach out, called to by a soft voice. He tried to resist. His hands shot out. He caged the younger man beneath him, crushing and dragging silk in his fists. A deep moan vibrated against his ear. He bunched fabric in a single palm to hold it against a sternum. He stared hungrily down at a flushed cock, lifting to roll against bruises on his stomach. His mouth claimed a dusky nipple with a growl, sucking it hard and red to match silk.

Fingers wound in his hair, pulling. “Hannibal! Please!”

He yanked silk down struggling thighs, palming a cock through it, damp spot spreading dark through crimson as he rubbed and squeezed. He scratched underneath the nightgown to watch red lines appear underneath a finely stitched hem, bleeding out across inner thighs, and adorning a livid bite mark.

“Why…” He rasped, pinning wrists to pillows, mouth dry, wrapping silk around his shaft to spread his mark across it. He imagined it was Will’s blood slicking his length. “Why?”

_Have you charmed me with your beauty to draw me into your arms, the kiss of a blade, to meet my end? Cut out my heart if you wish to hold it. What else could you possibly find worthy to look upon inside me? To call upon my shadows to kiss and embrace each one?  
_

“For you…” Will moaned, writhing, watching a thick vein and wet head disappearing in fabric. “I bought it for you.” A pink flush spread like wildfire from face to chest. “I was going to wait until, until…oh god, do I…. does it look okay?”

_Okay? God. The injustice. You look fucking beautiful, darling._

The older man’s cock jerked hard, nearly coming inside the desperate gaze watching him, flushed from confession. He squeezed below his glans, swearing loud and rough, “Fuck, Will.”

_Let me devour you._

“Show me. Show me.” The younger man begged, biting down his chest, nails scratching down his back. “Let me see you. Know you.”

His cheek flinched. Control splintered. Hannibal pinned Will to the bed with a hand clamped on the nape of a neck, tangling red silk above a swell of cheeks. He was still dripping, skin slicked and gleaming. He slid fingers in, spreading cheeks. He was still hot. Burning. Lining up his cockhead, the older man pushed in, heat consuming until he was slamming into a tight, wet sheath. He was perfect. He yanked, tugged, and bunched silk to watch it bleed over his palms and against skin.

"You have taken everything from me, Will!"

_My dignity. My life. My soul._

"This is who I am," Hannibal hissed, biting into a seam of a shoulder. "This is how I need you."

_Violently. Without control. Without reason._

Will’s voice broke across moans, louder and louder, “Harder. Harder.”

 _Who am I without you? When I need you this much._ _Knowing_ _you can take it from me._

Pitching silk aside, Hannibal grappled hips, shoving a forearm under a sweat stained abdomen, and fucked into him, merciless in depth and pace, until moans turned to rough screams. He closed eyes and listened, each thrust and pull of his hands wrenching out every single sound. He would open him up with his teeth. It would be easy to end him. How might he look covered in Will's blood? Is this how he might scream? 

“Ah…ah…yeah! Jesus fucking Christ! More!”

No, this was the sound of Will, alive in spite of him. Because of him. Will would stare him straight in the eyes as he had before and meet his death, without a single sound, loving him until the end. As the life left his body, he would take it all away.

He watched nails claw at sheets, pillows, to grapple or break free. The predator in him howled. Hands latched onto the bed frame to push back into each thrust, spine struggling to arc, asking for death. The man inside him howled louder still. He dragged the younger man to knees, pressing his chest against them, until he was bent in half. He was still in control of this moment. He pulled out, growling and snapping at the air for breath. He slid three fingers into Will, then a fourth, knuckles deep and twisting. He wanted to watch him shatter until they were both discarded pieces, gathering to form something new. He pounded into him, hitting his prostrate, staring at the wave of red clinging to rivulets of sweat. With a sob, the younger man came in a dry wrench of his cock, shuddering and sinking further.  

A quiet breath rushed out. “Do… you… like it…then?”

Hannibal pulled Will up against his chest with a hand in his hair, throat arced back over his shoulder, to slip their hands beneath the silk gown. He was wet, slick, and panting. He was grinding steadily against a shaking thigh. The older man lifted fingers, his and Will’s, coated in come to his mouth and sucked off each one.

"Do you like it?" The younger man repeated quietly.

His teeth scraped over skin and knuckles, raw and pink by the time each one slipped free, growling. “Yes.”

“T-t-take me,” Will pleaded, thighs and calves quivering, eyes closed. A weak hand latched onto his ass, rolling hips against him. “ _Please_. I'll give you anything you want.”

Arm snared around a waist, Hannibal hauled Will down to the bed with him as he collapsed, rolling them onto their sides, snapping. "I want you!"

He pulled the younger man into his arms, both of them shaking, running hands over each others bodies. He nudged damp thighs apart, lifting silk to watch his cock disappear an inch at a time. His thrusts were shallow at first, teasing, barely enough friction for either of them. Lips formed the words please but nothing came out. Hands tangled in his hair, bringing him forward, until Hannibal was pressed flush against Will’s back, throbbing and buried deep. It was too much. Not enough. He moved. He felt Will all around him. Inside him. Clawing him open from the protective layer of skin above and inside muscles glistening deep, flayed alive and stripped bare. Every vulnerable part of him rested open and exposed to Will. There was nowhere for him to hide now.

Hoarse pleas pushed over a tongue, pressed to a cheek. “You cannot do this to me, William.”

Blue eyes lifted. His breath caught. The shadow of his monster rested tenderly against an ocean tide, caressed and loved. Will would look beautiful drenched in his blood. He crumbled.

_Bleed me dry. I am yours._

Gathering hands inside his, Hannibal pressed them over a fluttering heart, thrusting slowly inside Will, losing himself to every hitching breath, shiver of skin, and _I love you_ kissed against him. He moved in quiet supplication, waves rushing over a shoreline, steady and gentle. Breath tumbled from his lips, _beautiful, beautiful, beautiful._ He crumbled underneath the symmetry of their bodies. Will was meant to lie in his arms. They were meant to connect, to fit, to be inside each other. They were mirror images, connected circuitry tangled and tied, pleasure flowing from one to another in hepatic feedback of shivering skin. They belonged together. He wanted to touch him as gently as he knew how, a softer form of worship. To make love to him as passionately as he wished for them to tear out bones to create shrines in the others honor. 

“Ah…oh Hannibal…” Whispers fluttered against his cheek as Will turned his head to look up, one arm slinging out to hold the thigh wrapped around him tight, to keep him there, beside him, in him. “What do I do to you?”

“You send me to my knees.” Silvery moons eclipsed crimson glow of heat. “Render me powerless.”

As his hands slipped across silk and skin, Hannibal faded into Will, struggling to breathe as they moved as one, skin flush and blood rushing hot. They would burn together. 

“How you adorn yourself for me, William…” The older man kissed over satin stitching and shivering flesh, embrace tightening until he heard their bones disintegrating. “Skin draped in blood spilt rubies of kings…” He held closer, burning, hot and bright, willing the flames to consume them. “You are becoming all I need. Everything I cannot live without. Let me in. Do not ask me to remain separate without you. I cannot.”

Dust of bones drifted over skin. _Pull me into your arms, Will, and watch me drown._

“Then don’t.” An ache replied.

Will twisted to kiss him, promises rushing out inside his mouth, to return life to him as he thrust deep, spilling out to fill him in warmth. They kissed blindly through wave after wave of cleansing fire. Hannibal wrapped the younger man in his arms, still clinging to hands, burrowing his face against curls. He needed no one else. He kissed across the younger man's face, cheeks, nose, brows. He would mend his wounds and keep him safe. He needed nothing else. No verses of poetry marveling over life and death. No lines of love or remorse. He didn't need to survive. He didn't even need to live. He needed Will. He needed the sensation of their bodies joined. Will melted in, allowing knees and arms to cover and protect him. He would not lose him. Could not lose him. He may die, but he would never let go. He held on, still inside him, unwilling to face the cold ache disconnecting would bring them both.

“I…” Tears welled in his eyes, briefly closing them, forcing words to escape the safety of his mouth. “I wish to stay with you like this forever, Will.”

"Yeah..." Lips kissed his hand gently, murmuring. “…So do I. So don’t let go.”

“Never,” Hannibal drew curls away from a neck, pressing a deep kiss just below a jaw.

They rested, drifting through time, pressed close as sleep washed over them in flickering shadows.

Skin shivered violently. Three consecutive sneezes followed. His heavy eyes lifted open.

Hannibal pressed a wrist to a forehead, sweltering hot. “You are burning up, William!”

Concern crowded into his pleasure filled haze.

“What can I say?” A grimace turned into a rippling smirk then a barking laugh. “I get lost in your hot darkness, Doctor.”

The older man drew away, nose wrinkling. Will sneezed again and then again, moaning a little, curling into a ball.

“Shit.” Blue eyes slid off to the side, looking up. “No, I lied. I may actually have a fever.” A palm crushed over an eye. “And my head is still killing me.” Another groan followed. “Is it a physical impossibility for us to stay like this _and_ make tea?”

Sighing, Hannibal kissed a shoulder above red silk, soft smile touching his mouth, pleased by Will asking to be taken care of without asking. He would have it no other way. They were far more intimately bound to one another than words could express. Will would always tell him what he needed. What he wanted. What he feared. He would listen to every sigh, every breath, every laugh. He would listen to the words he did not say. He would travel the uncharted map of his skin and his mind to discover each new existence and give only utter devotion. He had already given Will his heart and now his life. He would give him everything. Anything remaining. He would exist solely for Will. He would cease to exist without him.

_And maybe that's just fine._

“Afraid so my darling.” He paused a moment. “Would you like me to prepare an ox blood soup to ease your fever?”

“Fine…” The younger man grumbled, mouth twitching. “If you have to. But I’m not going to like it.”

“I would never dream of asking you to.”

A hand caught his, kiss pressing into a palm. "What would you ask for?"

Hannibal covered his eyes in a press of skin, lips trailing over a spine,  murmuring, "To spend my days earning your heart's affection. To learn how to be loved by you. And..." His fingertips glided over arms, tracing the curve of a waist, resting lightly at a hip. "...to discover how many ways I might come to love you in return, Will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. And your kindness and words. They help. 
> 
> If you can't find me, I will be in the tangled mess of knots of referenced parallels, moments of time, and conversation of TS, in an attempt to weave this chapter together. Jesus, there is a lot going on. 
> 
> (Hannibal, you, you almost said it. Those three earth shattering words.) One more chapter till the wedding. 
> 
> Mood Music: 
> 
> Lover, You Should Have Come Over x Jeff Buckley (For Hannibal)
> 
> It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder  
> It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her  
> It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter  
> It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever
> 
> Well I feel too young to hold on  
> And i'm much too old to break free and run  
> Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage i've done  
> Sweet lover, you should've come over  
> Oh, love well i'm waiting for you  
> Lover, you should've come over  
> 'Cause it's not too late 
> 
>    
> Affection x Cigarettes After Sex (For Will)
> 
> I know that you say I get mean when I'm drinking,  
> But then again sometimes I get really sweet  
> So what does it mean if I tell you to go fuck yourself  
> Or if I say that you're beautiful to me
> 
> It's affection always,  
> You're gonna see it someday  
> My attention for you  
> Even if it's not what you need
> 
> I think of you,  
> I want you too,  
> I'd fall for you
> 
> It's affection always...


	144. Chapter 144

When Will wasn’t sleeping, he was barely awake. And if he was remotely semi conscious, he was grumbling. If he wasn’t grumbling, he was mumbling. And if he wasn’t mumbling, he was having half coherent conversations with Winston discussing the state of political affairs or if Bach was a better composer than Chopin. Or at least, he thought it was Winston. Or did it just look like Winston? Sometimes it was Abigail, cheeks pink and laughing at the image of him huddled under a pile of blankets, cup of tea in one hand and a copy of _The Wasteland_ in the other, crinkled corner marking a forgotten page.

_It’s an excellent fort._

_It’s a bunch of blankets wrapped over your head._

_You’re not invited._

_I wouldn’t want to be._

_…Do you want to come in?_

_And catch what you have? No thanks, dummy._

That seemed rude. Will thought they had raised her to be more polite. Or at the very least able to feign concern and manage to be somewhat believable. He was about to scold her when Abigail disappeared in a shimmer of light, soft tulip smile remaining on a painting in the far corner of the room.

In between tossing and turning in a fitful sleep, Will remembered a shadow drifting near and over him, lips touching his forehead every few hours like clockwork.

_“One hundred and three.”_

_“One hundred and one…”_

_“Ninety-nine.”_

He remembered responding out loud or in his own head. The older man was not to be considered an accurate gauge of checking his temperature by most medical standards. He was a cannibal, not a human thermometer. And he was not anyone’s breakfast or guinea pig. His thoughts generally blurred up to a certain point in his rambling argument. His complaints were either ignored or unheard. How would he know the difference? Even he was well enough to understand he wasn’t making any sense.

_“Remind me to file a complaint…”_

_“Very well, dearest.”_

His jaw ached from chattering teeth. He recalled the damp swirl of a cloth. Ice water tipped to his mouth. His body lowered in lukewarm waves rippling from shaking limbs. Broth steeped in rosemary slipping down his throat after what may have been minutes or hours later. Press of hands then lips soothed him back to sleep. After the fourth day, a prickle of needles broke out across his skin and the fever subsided. The ache in his bones fled as quickly as they had come. He felt hands once more, bathing then dressing him, tucking him gently into clean sheets. He recalled chasing after those hands, kind and unbelievably gentle, kissing peaks of knuckles and burying his cheek in a palm.

_“Good to me, good, so good…”_

_“Rest. Quiet now, my love.”_

The last word chased circles around his mind and flashed in his eyes like a kaleidoscope of sunsets and sunrises. He felt warm again, but not from fever. When Will woke once more, bleary eyed and lips chapped from thirst, he found Hannibal half slumped on the end of the bed, a palm resting on an outstretched ankle to keep him safe. He tried to wake him. He was sound asleep, exhausted. The younger man knew he hadn’t left his side. His heart ached. He would never leave him. He dragged the older man forward and after a bit of struggle into the bed bedside him. They fell asleep together in a tangle of inseparable knots.

_“Sleep.”_

_“I…am…not yet tired. Shall I—”_

_“Sleep. Or else.”_

_“Who am I to argue…when you ask so politely.”_

After an incessant amount of grumbling, Will all but forced Hannibal out the front door to get some fresh air and have a day to himself. Plus, if he had to drink one more ounce of soup, well. He was thoroughly convinced he would lose his mind, with or without the added effect of fever. There was some disagreement to whether he had ever truly possessed it in the first place. He had thrown a half eaten granny smith apple at silver streaks retreating. He had kissed a rather impressive bump on a head later alongside a mumbled sheepish apology and a promise to be less sensitive about the terms of his sanity. Present or not.

For the next several days, Hannibal seemed more at ease leaving him alone to hobble about the cottage to tend to his own needs, disappearing for hours and hours at a time and returning with a faint smile, calloused fingertips, and a kiss to his forehead. Just because he wanted him to go out, he hadn’t meant all day or often. He relied on his first line of offense: grumbling and trying not to pout. What else was he to do? Winston turned out not to be a great conversationalist in real life and he was hungry. And still weak from the fever. And he _may_ have liked Hannibal doting on him with fine cuisine and nursing him back to health. Not that he was going to admit it.

A pink mouth mumbled an acknowledgement of a hovering presence, blowing over a cup of rippling Jasmine tea with a hint of honey. The gesture was for show. It was cold now and he hadn’t wanted to get out of bed to reheat it. Will hated cold tea. It was bitter, tangy, and slightly grimy after three hours. There were approximately thirty four bare steps to the kitchen from the bed. And he had no intention of making the trek without knowing if Hannibal would be waiting, to chide him with a small smile and usher him towards comfort. Will frowned. Maybe he had gotten used to being cared for after all.

Will peered over the edge of a rose patterned cup, curls damp from a shower on his forehead. “Discourteous to abandon a man when he’s dying.”

Hannibal stood in the bedroom doorway, chipped umber wooden tray in hand, speckled with fresh cut lavender and yet another bowl of soup placed exactly in its center. Will inwardly groaned and smiled simultaneously, then sighed something soft and airy. Hannibal was a sight for sore eyes. Or sleep deprived, blood shot ones, if he was to be more accurate.

Silver hair was tucked neatly behind ears. The older man had donned a pair of his less scruffy dark washed jeans and a bluish grey plaited knit sweater rolled up golden biceps. He carried the scent of earth and wildflowers washed in morning dew clinging to denim. Will might have risen, buried his face in the crook of his neck and breathed in, to fill himself with every part of Hannibal. There was something enchanting about untamed nature draped across the older man’s skin. If he was not trying to make a point, he would have said or done so. A very poorly illustrated point.

“You are not dying, mylimasis,” Hannibal informed calmly, stepping into the room and setting a tray on the nightstand, pressing a cold palm to a pale face. He removed the cold cup of tea. A flinching mouth indicated he was trying very hard not to smile, seeing straight through the ruse. “Merely a case of influenza.”

“Been gone an awful lot lately…” Will groused under a huddle of blankets, rewarding Winston’s head with loving pats, to show Hannibal out of the two of them, which he found more appealing. “How would you know?”

Winston lifted his head, glancing between two fathers, either to debate which item of food on the tray was for him, if any, or if he ought to scamper off to show them he would not be taking anyone’s side. Hannibal handed him an organic biscuit and watched it crunch apart on the floral duvet. Will shot the dog a look. Years of his undying affection and companionship traded for a treat.

_It had better be delicious. Traitor._

The dog practically grinned up at him with a lolling tongue. What had he expected?

“Did I not attend medical school?” Autumn eyes squinted, faint twinkle behind them. “Or was it some elaborate construct of my imagination?”

“Well.” He was certainly pouting now. “You can go away now.”

Lips danced over his cheek, voice soft. “Even after I procured soup I spent an entire morning preparing to soothe you?”

“Fuck you.” He pointed at Hannibal. “Your soup.” He pointed to the delicious steaming bowl of broth. Then gestured aimlessly in another direction. “And the horse you both rode in on.”

Dark eyes blinked, head angled. Corners of lips ticked. Hannibal broke out in loud laughter, bells tolling on a summer evening. Will blinked, confused. Hannibal seemed to find amusement in the face of his ire, playful or otherwise. He had never seen the older man more radiant than when he was happy. He looked happy. Lines crinkled at the corners of warm eyes and etched grooves near his mouth. He was creeping closer to the sound, to wrap himself up in it, secure and content. Nothing kept him warmer in the night. He loved that sound. He loved Hannibal. He loved him more than adequate words pressed between pages of poems or charted constellations of the night sky. He would never be able to say how much. There wasn’t enough language. It felt foreign and heavy on his tongue, writhing in the corners of his heart without a way to escape. Was it possible to fracture into a million pieces from the hurt of loving someone so completely?

_Will I ever be able to tell you, to show you, how much you mean to me?_

“If you would like me to become the proverbial knight of your dreams, William, you need only ask,” Hannibal purred, stroking a blush on cheek softly, smile widening. “The young couple a few miles down own a stable. I am able to return upon a steed within the half hour if you insist. Shall I conqueror kingdoms under the honor of your banner and pledge undying fealty as well?”

Warmth spread in his chest. He was smiling in return. It was difficult not to. He tried to picture Hannibal astride a gallant white horse painted in grey of the earth and obsidian stone, strong legs wrapped around rippling flanks. How his normally coiffed hair might hang wild and unkempt over maroon eyes, fierce and vowing protection. He might peel away his armor, as he so often did these days, to kiss fragile skin beneath and devote time to memorizing the murmur of his affection, to seek out the man beneath.

He caught a hand as Hannibal tried to leave, spinning on heels in a show to make good on his promise. With his charm and striking looks, anyone would give him anything by the end of a wink and smile. Including a horse. With Will’s track record, he would beg the older man to keep it, be given what he asked for, and then where would they be. It would inevitably lead to one horse, a stable full of animals, and a pack of dogs later. He didn’t need to read between the lines to know it was practically textbook behavior for him. But on the other hand…he always wanted to own a horse…

“Come on, cut it out!” Will clutched his side, laughing harder, laughs turning slowly to aching coughs. “This is cruel and unusual punishment. Even for you!”

_And dangerous for me. Well, perhaps more dangerous for you given your keen sense of smell._

“What you did to me last week might be considered such.” Light shimmered in amber stones. “This, for clarification, is considered a loving gesture of a man attempting to care for his partner. And for further clarification, it is not to say I did not enjoy every single minute of my penance.”

Will corrected with a snap of teeth, trying not to smile. “Fiancé.”

Did Hannibal misspeak just to hear him say it?

“Fiancé.” Hannibal repeated, setting the tray across his lap, rearranging lavender and tucking a sprig into a dark curl. “Yes. How foolish of me.”

Light in eyes shone for a moment correcting them both. _Husband._

What did Hannibal see when he looked at him adorned in fragile petals and twist of stems to anoint his curls? What did he see in him at all? Had he ever truly been seen by anyone before him?

“And it wasn’t a penance. I think you're confusing me with that priest.”

“Oh am I now?” Lips twitched.

“Shut up!” A feverous blush gathered in his chest. “Where have you been?” The younger man grumbled, flush spreading up his face, bringing the cracked soup bowl to his lips as a shield. “Or is that privileged information?”

“Are you concerned I have sought out a mistress? Or a religiously skewed partner in the early days of our union?”

He traded the bowl for a fist. And socked Hannibal right below a shoulder. As hard as addled muscles allowed. Which turned out to be quite forceful given the circumstances. Even he was surprised by his newfound strength.

A howl answered. “Will!”

“You said it.” Pink lips twitched, struck between anger and amusement.

“I did…” Hannibal closed his open mouth, rubbing a bruising bicep gingerly. “And I dare say your violence is just, merciless, and without flaw.”

“Yeah, well, you’re completely biased so your conclusions are inaccurate. And you are absolutely blind if you didn’t see that coming.”

The older man dabbed at a forehead with a dry wash cloth, sweeping at curls, undone by the affection in blue eyes. “You are the creation of nightmares when you are ill, my dearest. I sometimes fear for my safety.”

“Answer.”

The younger man stifled a snort and crossed arms over his chest, shooting a withering look up. He hoped it resembled some lopsided attempt at withering. Hannibal would probably mistake it for something charming or endearing otherwise. He probably adored it either way.

“Or I’m not eating your soup.”

Will would find the gesture completely overwhelming and disconcerting. And then he would have to kiss him and risk passing on any dormant virus remaining.

A fair brow arced.

“Or you for the next two years.”

Hannibal stared blankly at him.

“It’s a…”

God, they really had to work on euphemisms and informal speech. Was an insult or threat really as effective if he had to explain it all the time? Fine. Ninety percent of the time. Unless Hannibal enjoyed watching him flail to explain what he already he knew of course, by covertly reading an urban dictionary from cover to cover in the dead of night. Now there was a thought. An exceptionally absurd and implausible thought.

“It’s a threat not to—“

“Yes, I gathered as much. Thank you.” Both brows were raised on a forehead now. “I concede to your terms.” The older man kissed his temple, pushing the bowl into palms. “Eat.” He paused. “The soup. Not me. At a later time perhaps. I know how confused you become when the fever takes hold.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

For the first several minutes, Will tried to sip his soup like a fine gentleman, at least a respectable fiancé, admiring infusion of thyme and lemon while chewing thoughtfully on tender bits of roasted chicken and jasmine rice. Its aroma taunted all day from the kitchen and stubbornly he had refused to seek it out. His stomach was growling like the traitor it was and he gave up the pretense. Hannibal generally liked watching him eat. Just not necessarily when he was nearly inhaling it. He tried not to make a complete mess as he tipped the bowl to his lips and drank hungrily, sipping and slurping until nothing remained. He shrank sheepishly when the older man retrieved it, dabbing a trickle away, and offered a faint smile. He melted. It really wasn’t fair. How could one person look at him and make him feel like matted bed head, dark circles under his eyes, and a red nose was as lovely as being dressed in a fine bespoke suit?

Fingertips traced the curve of his cheek, soft voice asking, “Was it to your enjoyment then?”

“Yeah. Yes. I mean…” Will stared at his hands twisting in his lap, flushing, tugging at unruly curls. “It was good. Thank you.”

How terrible did he look after a week of bed rest anyway?

Hannibal kissed his forehead, handing him a cool glass of water. “My pleasure.”

Jesus, was it just his imagination or did Hannibal sound like he meant it? As if taking care of him, completely unmanageable and rude, was as pleasurable as hunting by his side or having an argument over who’s turn it was to wash the dishes? It was all too domestic, too tame, too…simple. This couldn’t possibly make the older man happy. Could it? Could he?

A short breath released. Will looked up. The older man’s mouth was part way open, pausing, rolling thoughts and conversation in his mouth, testing it across his tongue to ensure of its taste. His shoulders hunched. What had he done this time? Aside from throwing an apple at a head, assaulting a shoulder, threatening him with a promise they both knew he couldn’t keep, and generally being rude with illness as his best excuse. Fever would have been his best alibi, if only it had lingered. With a human thermometer walking around, he supposed it wouldn’t be in his best interest to feign illness. His punishment would probably involve consuming ten more gallons of chicken soup. And then something even less to his liking for trying to lie.

“I know we have mutually agreed…” Sinew stretched over hands spreading out. “…not to keep any secrets between us.”

_Oh, well, there’s irony, now isn’t it?_

Will let his gaze fall to the tray in his lap, heart sinking. “Now…” He swallowed once, setting the glass of water aside. “Now you’re making me nervous. What have you done?”

_And who have you done it to?_

A mental checklist ticked off on his mind. He found no immediate embodiment of rudeness coming to mind. Other than his own. At least none resulting in anyone ending up in their freezer. This meant it was something else entirely. He groaned inwardly. He wasn’t well enough to have this, whatever this, conversation was about to be. He knew full well if he were to flop on the bed face first and tell Hannibal to leave him alone, all conversations, beginnings or otherwise, would cease. It would give him time. A postponement. Of the inevitable. He squinted at a speck of dust.

_Just one day. Just one._

Will glanced up. The older man was taking careful note of every micro expression flashing across his face.

“Spit it out.”

A nose scrunched at the insinuation.

And then they sat. Staring. Across from one another as they had done for years. Each trying to gauge the other’s reaction. Deciphering hints of shadow and sparks of light. Anything to pry at armor and catch glimpse of the fragile man beneath.

“It…” A millisecond flash of insecurity flooded crimson, voice fading. “Is it not…”

Steady hands tucked the tray safely at an end of the bed. The older man nudged him slightly, draping a knee over the edge, and settling in to sit closer. Hannibal reached out, trapping both his hands in warm palms, stroking and circling gently. He was touching to ground him. Will took a deep breath and held it. He fought against closing his eyes, to listen closely to breath and intention, to chase after the glimpse of mortality. He would wait. He wouldn’t tear down crumbling walls or peek under tattered veils. He would tell him. If he stood still long enough, he always heard Hannibal in the end. Felt him deeply without the necessity of conversation. He would learn to distinguish the tick of a heart outside of his own. Or offer up his own, promising it would only beat for him.

_If you promise to see me, Hannibal, I will learn to listen. Just…don’t look anywhere else, but me. I never knew how much I needed to be seen._

“Is it not…” Hannibal began again, grip tightening a fraction, struggling to meet his gaze, following lines of hands with fingertips. He was quiet. Quieter than the stillness of the room and whisper of their skin. Meek as if his words might hurt them both. “…considered tradition for a man to pledge devotion to his bride in a shower of gifts and elaborately schemed surprises?”

 _Oh god._ A stab of gentle pain clawed at his chest.

It was too much. He was never allowed to want, to need, especially nothing gilded in soft gauzy tenor promising he would never do so again. Flattening bent fingers to his mouth to conceal broken static, Will kept the heel of his other hand jammed into soft tissue of his knee and stared hard, till his eyes ached, his skull throbbed, and the image of Hannibal softened underneath a blurring veil. His chest tightened. The older man was wearing chipped armor of his tattered clothes, adorned in natural elements, and allowing himself to be seen once again. Betrayed by a singular tremor in his voice. The mere mortal vulnerable to brush of his hands and glint of his eyes. Asking to make their life together, to provide shelter and protection, from the safety of wild white lilies and burnt brambles.

“If you just referred to me as a bride…” From somewhere far away a wolf growled. “I am kicking you in the throat.”

Weight shifted despondently from the bed, disappearing.

He caught a wrist blindly and crushed it tight, holding, refusing to let go. He wanted it. Needed him more than life itself. Hannibal had torn down his walls, invited himself in, and he never wanted to feel emptiness return inside him, to learn what it was like to be alone again. Alone and resigned to a life of empty beds, hollow promises, and nothing except the certainty of his demise waiting. Maybe he needed Hannibal to be there to care for him, even if he was perfectly capable, to know he was content to hide in his arms or be dashed to pieces. Maybe it made him weak. A sparrow’s bones and a lion’s heart. And maybe…

_Maybe it’s fine. Maybe I need you more than I will ever be able to say. More than you’ll be able to say. And maybe… you need me too? We’ll be a pair, won’t we? Muted tongues searching for warmth to drink off all we can’t say from lips?_

“Will?”

There, _just there_ , a pitch of treble and bass rose to a b-sharp then drifted to blend into surrounding notes. He listened hard. Will’s eyes darted back and forth, nails digging into his skin. A single word. His name. Looped and looped in his mind. And he heard it. How had he never heard it? Christ, was he sentenced from birth to be both deaf and blind? Every second, every minute and hour, day, month, year after year, and moment they had ever shared crashed over him. One after the next. Wave after wave. The first time, a brush of cursive script unfurling, gilded gold leaf and pages crumbling from a struck match.

_I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off._

Will began to shake, barely aware of fingertips tracing over his skin to drag him to safety. And all the times after Hannibal had spoken his name. It was there. Always there, resonating in each syllable. He had been saying it for the last six years of their lives. Why? Why had he never heard it? Why had he been unable to listen then? _“Will.” I love you._

“N-n-no…” Chattered out from his teeth, weak and pleading, an echo of the past.

His eyes burned. He couldn’t see. He pushed at the wall of chest, shoving to break free with palms, as fingertips twisted in skin beneath fabric to hold close. Intonation of love breathed over him, low and foreign, pressed to the hollow of his throat. Another pull of hands toppled him, weary and shaking against a shore of embracing arms, where he could have safely rested in all the moments and years they had lost. Where he should have been. Where he needed to be. He didn’t fear death. He feared loss. The only place he felt truly safe was with Hannibal. It was where he belonged. What would happen if he ever lost him? What if he asked or needed too much?

“What…” A hoarse whisper tore out, lost to tears. “Oh god, what do you want from me?”

He blinked again. Hannibal was on both knees, clasped to his waist, gazing into the only eyes he longed to fade in to until the bell tolled and called them both to the end.

Sparking coals glowed red. “ _Everything_. I want all of you. Until there is nothing left.”

_It’s yours._

Another flood of tears blinded him.

_Blind, deaf, and dumb. I’ll touch your skin. Feel your blood hum and your heart threading, to understand how to give you all you want._

Strong arms caged him close, collapsing in a scatter of limbs and red rimmed eyes, willing to fade as quickly and deeply, until molecules coiled and released to become a whisper of breath. To become whatever Hannibal needed him to be. If only he would stay and let them blur in the resonance of his spoken name, for the first time in his life, listening to murmured reverberations of what being needed felt like.

“And I will give all you desire. May you tread lightly over the very heavens I will lay to rest at your feet to ensure I alone worship you,” Hannibal growled softly against his ear, fingers twisting in curls. “To face divinity of your righteousness, will I carve ancient ruins from the earth to resurrect your image, to bear witness and see if you destroy lives of the many or spare the few.” A palm enthralled the erratic rhythm of his heart, dashing itself against bone. “The stars beneath you. The world in your palms. It is yours, Will. If…”

Will arched vulnerable flesh of his throat against teeth, holding tighter still, waiting for the end of their beginning, outlines of his body shimmering in the night sky painted in words.

“If you will give me something in return.”

He breathed out. “Anything.”

Silver melted over a voice, frail whispered prayer. “In four days time, will you pledge your life to me, till death, in the midnight hours?”

 _I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the_ _hall of my beginnings_.

One hand wrapped around a waist then another curved against a shoulder. He listened. To the tremble of their skin. The murmur of their hearts. And they fell as one, entwined, at peace, to become the stars above them to guide the other to rest.

“Yes. Yes. Always yes,” Will choked out, pushing his way into Hannibal’s lap, trading familiar safety of forts for the unwavering protection of home. His home. Light burning against a darkened forest. “S-s-say it again.”

Hannibal tucked tearful eyes against his neck, holding tight enough to crush them both, softly murmuring, “Become mine alone, Will. Marry me?”

_Take me home. And tell me you will be there. Where I can always find you._

The swell of his heart broke across a constant shore of refuge. “Yes.”

Clasped close, they stayed rooted to etched wood of the floor, growing in and around one another, enveloped in blossoms of ruby amaryllis entangled with plumes of snow white heather.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the long and unexplained absence. I have been extremely depressed lately and haven't been doing much more than leaving my blanket fort for work.
> 
> Thank you for waiting. And I hope these two chapters will be an acceptable apology.


	145. Chapter 145

“Let us venture outside for a little while,” Hannibal advised softly, nudging gently with a tip of his nose. “Some sunlight might improve your condition.”

They broke apart to form scattered constellations, forever seeking the other across darkened velvet of time.

Underneath a bundle of blankets and steady hands around his waist, the older man ushered them outside leading Will slowly towards the beach. He leaned heavily into them, grateful for the constant pressure and murmured guidance. Winston trotted after, nose rutting through withered wildflowers, abandoned to the first kiss of autumn. A swallow tail sun dipped in and out of clouds rushing through the sky at mid-day. Tepid sand slipped underneath bare feet, drifting over broken seashells to return to the ocean floor. Salt mingled with a cool breeze of shorter days and longer nights beckoning from the near future.

Smoothing sand with a brush of a foot, Hannibal uncoiled the floral duvet from shivering shoulders and spread it out. The older man lowered to the ground and positioned Will between his knees, arms coming to clasp around his front and drape skin in comfort only he provided. The younger man knew he would need nothing else, to grow old listening to his voice and having him near enough to touch, to know…

_This is real._

Will watched the dog lumber after waves retreating to the ocean and bound away barking as they chased him in return. He listened to sea foam murmur over smooth stones. He closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing sun beating down on his upturned face and secure embrace wrapped around him. He was almost humming as fingers found their way to his hair and lips touched skin beneath his jaw. He wasn’t able to recall a time he felt calmer than when Hannibal was near him. Is this what he had been looking for? Sweet and easy peace?

_Home. I’m finally home._

“How do you feel?”

 _Safe._ He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. _I have always felt safe with you. Even with your knife twisting inside me and your arms around me, I knew you wouldn’t let me fall without you._

“Good. I feel…good.”

_One look from you and the sting of my wounds fade. The murmur of my nightmares dim. And there is light in your eyes of a future, where you and I exist._

Will hunched forward and took larger hands in his, turning them over to smooth deep grooves and trace etched lines in palms. He loved the feel of them, faintly warm and steady, promising to gild him in stars and strike enemies to their knees. Was his entire life mapped out underneath a curl of relaxed fingers? He studied carefully, searching for fractured paths to find where his life and the older man’s had first crossed. He pressed curiously at fresh calluses clinging to long fingers, too thick to be caused by the grip of a rocking blade. Rough and rubbed raw by friction of wood perhaps. He traced miscellaneous cuts marring flawless knuckles and curling around thick wrists. What was he up to? What else might Hannibal be persuaded to try? He tried to imagine the older man stooped over a rusted engine one day smeared in oil beside him as he worked, or kneeling beside an open fire crackling in the woods. He could smell burning wood, smiling, hearing a phantom rustle of pages turning as Hannibal read Emerson to him as he fell asleep. His hands sheltered inside larger ones, holding close, knowing he would watch the world burn before he would let go.

Bringing fingertips to lips, Will kissed each one, breathing in. Damp earth dripping in morning dew. Hints of lavender. And something else. Smooth and waxy like a molten crest blotted over a frail envelope. He trailed them over his face, down his throat, skirting them around edges of a t-shirt meeting skin. He saw them dripping in ocean water and covered in blood. He imagined them wrapped around his throat, gleaming in the faint light of the church, promising to steal the life from his lungs. Or shadowed in silken heat, bound and resigned for Will to do the same. They had never lied about the threat they posed to each other. The power they wielded to love or destroy completely. Honesty was something they had promised to share. Was he the one layering on armored veil while asking Hannibal to remain, exposed to half truths of his gaze?

_Let me see you._

_Then let me in._

He had to learn to speak. To say anything. Everything.

“I…” Will lowered his eyes to the floral duvet, slumping over to hug knees, lips twisting in a twinge of pain. “I’m sorry about our fight.”

Hannibal rested the peak of a nose against curls, arms over his, to secure him in a shelter of limbs, quietly replying, “I would lie peacefully battered and bloodied by your hands and teeth if it meant you would remain by my side, Will.”

He winced. He meant it. He would give Will all he asked. Offer his life at the tip of a blade. Haze of dreams washed over him, when Hannibal stalked him in the night to wake in a drench of sweat to escape being hunted. Or when a reckoning was brought to life with broken teeth and bloodied skin breaking across knuckles as the older man laughed up at him. The dead body of another pitched onto his table in offering. Or sacrifice. Or warning. He would not be replaced. He had not felt the lull of predator or prey for sometime, to exact punishment or flee from truth mirrored in eyes. Not since he had learned to accept. To love them both. Being pursued by Hannibal now meant the thrill of a chase, either his or the older man’s, one ending in mutual defeat and resignation. But he did dream. About claws and teeth. They no longer gathered to form feathered outlines of the stag. He wished they did. He longed for the toll of heavy hooves and a bloodied maw to watch over him.

_It isn’t you._

“Should we…” The younger man took in a shaking breath. “Should we talk about it?”

A corner of a lip twitched against his shoulder. “Do you wish to discuss the incident?”

_Which one? Last week? The church? The last six months I have asked you to wait on the other side?_

“Do you?”

“I’m asking you.”

“I am content with being near you.”

“You aren’t…” Blue eyes darted to lines of a mouth pressed thin and undecipherable. “…going to push me into moral ambiguity and open ended questions to dig it out of me?”

“I am not.”

“Why?”

Hannibal sighed, pushing silver strands from his eyes to whisk away a flicker of pain. “I gave you my word I would no longer seek out the tangled threads of your mind. Have I not practiced and shown an adequate amount of respect to make you think otherwise?”

Will twisted thin cotton against bent legs, grimacing. He hadn’t meant it as an accusation. Hannibal had been patient with him. More than patient. He had merely stood in his line of sight and waited, from the day they met to this moment in time, stranded against their embrace on an abandoned shore. He had not pushed. He had looked away from the pain in his eyes and held him near, to keep them from drifting out to sea and away from one another. Will didn’t want to look up to find it shifting across crimson sands, promising to hold on and wait until the bitter end. He didn’t want to keep them apart. He wanted them to be close enough to nestle inside the shell of skin and find comfort in chasing wounded shadows.

“It just…doesn’t sound like you.”

Hannibal placed a palm on his cheek, forcing Will to look directly into his gaze, steadily searching for a path to be revealed for him to safely travel down. “I am able to resist gazing into the mystery of your soul, Will.” A thumb tracked over his mouth, gently tracing shadows clinging to eyes to banish them. “You do me a great honor by allowing me to unravel what it is you let me see. Entrusting me to hold it with great care and affection. To place it neatly where it belongs inside you when I am finished.”

_Will you take this part out of me? Take it out completely?_

Clenching a jaw, Will turned on his knees, holding tight to fistfuls of knit, voice shaking out, “You’re offering me a choice again?”

“Yes.” Shadows stirred underneath a glide of pupils.

 

_“Please don’t say it.”_

_“Why are we not allowed to speak about what has been done to you?” A hand brushed away clinging curls, settling at the back of his neck, the older man nearly mute with broken softness bleeding into his tone. “About what I… let happen to you?”_

_“If you say it…” A voice shook out, limply sliding down the shower wall, eyes covered. “I don’t want it to become real, Hannibal._

 

It was real though wasn’t it? It wasn’t a dream. Or a vivid horrid hallucination. As much as he might try to close his eyes in the dead of night and bury it within caverns of his mind, when he prayed to wake from nightmares only to realize he hadn’t been asleep at all. Or when it came to him in the light of day, briefest hint of scent or sight or sound, and he held it down deep inside his soul hoping to watch it drown and pretend, pretend it wasn’t real.

_Then what might you consider yourself skilled at?_

_I happen to be very good at pretending I don’t exist, Doctor._

Pretend. And hope. Hope Hannibal didn’t see. Not what he really was. Fragmented and scarred and struggling to keep his head above water, while hoping someone might simply hold him under. What if he pushed him away after catching a glimpse of weakness?

Then Hannibal was looking up at him, into him, and it was more real than the haunting or fever plaguing his mind. He was waiting. All he had to do was let him in. Spill his blood out across their feet. And he would be safe.

Bending his face against a chest, Will whispered, “I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“Will, I…” Fingers stilled in his hair. “There is no need to apologize. We have survived each other thus far. I imagine we will be able to muddle our way through a few disagreements and arguments. Our forgiveness seems to be abundant when it comes to one another’s short comings.”

“Not…not…” Palms trembled over cable knit, crushed pieces scattering over skin. Teeth clenched. “It isn’t you I dream of. I dream of him. And I know you saw me. You know. I’m sorry… you know.”

Hannibal’s hand flinched against the nape of his neck before stilling. Not a single whisper of skin or breath inhaling answered fear stealing over him, through him. The older man said nothing. He felt eyes trailing over his hunched figure, quiet in careful calculation. Panic crested in his lungs. Will tried to jerk free, mind screaming for him to run. No one whoever truly saw him stayed. Why would he think this was any different? To give name to ugly wounds? What beauty was there in permanent scars of the soul? How could anyone love them when he struggled to acknowledge each one, let alone, stare at them until his retina burned and he lost his sight?

“ _I know_ ,” A firm reply answered, hands drifting to hold ones shaking against a chest, and pressed them firmly above a heart. “Have for quite some time.”

 _No…_ His bones shattered to dust, drifting towards the open ocean, a storm of tears brewing in his lungs. _No, don’t look. Don’t see. Just forget._

Will’s head snapped up, trying to focus on a steady rhythm instead of a hollow whisper, “You didn’t say anything.”

“What was I to say?” Tears filled crimson eyes lowering to keep him safe. “You would not let me.”

“I-I’m sorry,” The younger man ground out, throat tightening with pain, scraping insides raw and bloodied. “It was…”

_Wrong. Wrong. I’m sorry._

“It was what you needed. I will always give you what you need, without hesitation or question, Will,” Hannibal replied roughly, shoulders squaring and mouth forming the impression of a strong jagged line. “You returned to me. The rest is inconsequential.”

“That’s not true,” Will hissed, dragging nails over a jaw and forcing Hannibal to look at him, see him and find whatever remained of himself looking back, even if it was disfigured horrors of truth.

He couldn’t hide forever. He couldn’t run. How was he to escape what was in his own mind?

_Look at me, and tell me the truth._

“It is not untrue.” A long pause fractured space between them. “…It is not truth.”

“Say something honest to me then.” Fingers twisted knit against a collar bone.

Fires dwindled in irises, smoke retreating, struggling against the pull of an ocean tide. “Being without you nearly killed me.”

Will shuddered and looked away, pressing close. “Then…or…or…?” Heavy palms pushed him against a chest, head falling gratefully forward and breathing out, “Say something else. Truth.”

Then the older man was silent once more. No breath. Not even a heart beat. Claws released sloping shoulders, twisting into fists.

A lip curled, raw loathing snarl shaking free. “What kind of pitiful, decrepit thing fails to protect all he cherishes above life itself? To allow—“

A violent tremor shook Hannibal through and through as teeth snapped shut, biting down on a tongue and breaking the last sentence in two. Fire burned in his eyes and Will realized for the first time Hannibal was furious, mouth drawn taunt, cheek flinching, and struggling not to move.

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Lightning crackled. Tears rushed to blue eyes. Will held on to knit and flesh alike, enough to bruise, struggling to swallow bile and not his own tongue. His vision went dark. His bones rattled. All these months and he had never once considered... It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. He had pushed him away. Again and again and again. And begged him to understand. To wait. To stay. Hannibal held himself personally responsible for what happened. He heard the older man’s voice inside of his own and clenched his jaw to keep from sobbing.

_Had I loved you sooner, you would have come away with Abigail and I in the night. Had I loved you less, you would have remained safe and happy with a family of your own making. Had I protected you and offered my entire life, instead of my mere flesh to sustain you, would you have lived on in peace. Had I been more vigilant and aware instead of lost in your beauty, you would have never been taken. Had I merely reached you sooner, William, none of this would have happened. I should have never allowed harm to come to you. I am to blame. How am I to be a good man when I could not protect you?_

“D-d-do you want me t-to say it?” Chokes echoed. "What he d-did?"

Sharp breath inhaled, nails clawing against sand. “I would never ask to breathe life into the nightmares coiled beneath your pillow.”

“Does it…” Will slumped forward, clutching for support, and hoping to disappear. “…change how you see me?”

“Will.” _I love you as you are._

Scooping Will into his lap, Hannibal wound arms tight around his shoulders, placing a palm against the back of his head and closed teary eyes, soft whisper fluttering curls, “I have looked into your eyes and seen the birth of a thousand stars in the light and darkness of a hundred cities burning to dust in shadows.” A soothing kiss pressed against a tear soaked cheek. “Never did I know, did I see, and understand true magnificence, beauty, until I found you, William.”  

Will curled tighter still, face pressed to a chest, protected and shielded from even himself. He tried to steady pitiful hiccups wrenching free, a disaster trembling in arms.

“What if you don’t see me?” A hoarse whisper asked.

“I see nothing else.” _Forever, I will look upon you and see only beauty._

“What if you see…me as I am? Exceptionally rude and ill mannered? Tired? Grey? A little rusty and breaking?”

_“Just because it was a little old and half broken to begin with doesn’t mean it wasn’t perfect.”_

_“Not everything is_ _you_ _, Will…”_

A setting sun shimmered on the horizon. “Are you under the impression I do not see these attributes already?” _And love them all the same._

Strangled laughs worked out between sobs, brows scrunching and mouth lifting as Will looked up to find Hannibal, form traced in golden orange light touching a soft smile.

“You are the most marvelous intricacy of imperfection, William…” Hannibal murmured, whisking tears away with fingertips, autumn gaze wavering as a deep sadness trembled underneath waves of pure devotion. “I will gather your weary bones inside my arms and spend hours giving name to constellations shining through perfection splintering open to give me privilege to marvel at the celestial within your soul.”

“I…I don’t know how to say that to you,” Will confessed, blinking at tears, roughly shoving his cheek into a tender palm, eyes falling to sand skittering over the floral duvet. “It’s not enough. I’m not…”

A crook of fingers lifted his face, light giving way to a thousand shadows of rooms yet undiscovered, filled with vulnerable beams and peeling wallpaper. “You speak louder than I think you are capable of understanding, Will. I hear the quiet eloquence of your heart in the stillness of your body as we fall asleep together in the evenings. And I feel the poetry of your mouth with each press of lips and hands against me.” Tears washed over crimson, spilling over cheeks to tangle with a hollow whisper, “Without you…I am nothing.”

Will shook his head vehemently, throwing arms around the older man, until they both struggled to breathe. He bent his nose to a tense neck and kissed imprints of wildflowers.

“Hannibal.” _I love you._

Calloused fingers wound up between the layers of a t-shirt to press into fading scars, each caress a soft reverence.

“Will.” _I love you more than I can express._

“I know.”

Hannibal inhaled, holding his breath. “You… know?”

“Yeah, angel, I know.”

Will paused for a moment, locking knees around a waist, hands around a neck, and melted into a circle of protection, announcing softly, “I…I bought the cottage.”

“Pardon?”

“I made an offer to the Morrisons the week before last and they accepted. It is practically a crime scene and after having to put up with, well, everything…I thought. It made sense to me at the time.” Will scrunched his eyes shut, blush spreading, and forced his wild hand gestures to stop before looking into pools of crimson, fingertips chasing silver strands jostling in a sea breeze. “I don’t need palaces or rooms. Just moments in time where I know you are with me. And I like who we are here. Together. I want us to share this.” He bit his lower lip, eyes darting to and from a steady gaze. “Is it…?" _Enough?_   "Are you happy?”

Hannibal cupped his face, staring into eyes with a brief shadow of haunting, gaze flicking gently across and through his soul before replying. “ _Immensely._ ” He leaned in, brushing a whisper of a kiss against lips. “Though I will insist upon an update of interior decoration.”

Slapping a palm against his forehead, skin sticky with drying tear tracks, Will shook his head and laughed, tension and fears and doubt a low tide rushing out to open waters. “Of course you will.”

When the older man leaned in, knuckles brushing down his neck, he kissed Will with infinite tenderness, achingly slow until he was scrabbling to hold close, to feel them fading and blurring as one. They wound fingers in hair and against skin, pressing as close as their physical bodies allowed. A symphony of breath and gentle murmurs, held in lungs and touching lips.

Someone nearby cleared their throat. Winston barked, bounding across sand at a fierce gallop, scattering a flock of ambling gulls pecking at seashells.

Lashes lifted over blue eyes, peering over a cascade of mussed silver. A young man stood awkwardly on a slipping sand dune, rigid palm raised in salutation, and other hand jammed into a mossy green windbreaker. Will blinked a few more times before he realized who it was.

“Hannibal, I sure hope you were kidding about the addition of a priest,” Will growled down into bright eyes, nose wrinkling.

Kissing a corner of his mouth, the older man dislodged him and rose to feet, a smile crinkling edges around eyes. “Unless you would like to go through the trouble of blackmailing and procuring another officiate for our ceremony, my dearest, I am afraid this one will have to do.”

Will rolled onto his stomach, watching as both man’s best friend and what could be considered man’s best man, strode towards the priest. Winston bounced and pranced, excited to see any kind of a human being that wasn’t them.

_Probably trying to con his way into more treats._

Hannibal extended a hand, shaking the smaller one received with a warm smile. Father Elias was ushered farther up the dune to a bank of sandy grass, still within sight, but out of earshot. Will squinted, trying to read their lips as Hannibal gesticulated, smiling and talking quickly. The young man nodded, shoulders hunched forward, posture reminiscent of a giraffe bent at the neck. He didn’t look the least bit afraid this time, only resigned and slightly perturbed. Will tried not to make up ridiculous conversations he imagined in his head. A hand disappeared into a windbreaker, pulling something out, and handed it to the older man. Turning slightly, Hannibal waved at him and trotted off towards the cottage. Winston loped after, still in search of the mere hope of a treat.

“Hmm…”

Will rolled onto his back, flinging an arm over his eyes to shield from the sun, when he saw the young man weaving over sand to reach him. He also wanted to hide red rimmed eyes. But the sun was just as good as a cover as any.

An ocean breeze rustled his curls with a ripple of concern. “Are you well?”

“Fine.” He answered brusquely.

He waited for the crunch of footsteps retreating. His nature alone was generally considered off putting on its own to the general public. And most of those individuals hadn’t seen him drenched in blood, killing a half dozen men.

“Sometimes…” Laces wound free of muddied suede boots. “God tests us to see if we will be able to find our way safely through the storm he allows to rage around us.” The floral duvet shifted as the young man took a seat beside him. “Will you be able to find your way out?”

_Well…this is different. Shouldn’t you be running, screaming, or begging for your life?_

“Yeah…” Will creaked an eye open, lifting the shield of his arm away and glanced at the priest sitting cross legged, staring out, lost in the depths of the ocean. He looked like he was in pain. “Yeah, I think I’m going to be just fine.”

Violet eyes drifted to his face, widening and a look of sadness washed over pale skin. Will propped up on an elbow, brows drawing low, a sensation of having his skin peeled away to look within him tingling. Loss filled the gaze staring down shimmering into a tender understanding. Was this what it looked like when he saw others, felt them, and knew instinctively what lay beneath? The young man put a light hand on his shoulder to comfort, nodding once.

“I wouldn’t...” Will advised quietly, head craning to the side. “I bite you know.” He glanced up towards the empty bluff. “So does he.”

“I…” The hand increased pressure slightly as if to say, _it will all be okay_. “I gathered as much.”

When the pressure relented, the young man returned to staring out at the sea. He seemed to sense every wave before it crested and broke across the shoreline. His soul following the ebb and flow of tides. Desolate gaze scanning the horizon as if looking for something, for someone, emptiness pulling at a frown. Something pulled at his heart. He was lost. Tugging at uncooperative limbs, Will sat up and studied blotching bruises staining a sloping cheek. A sloppily stitched split above a left brow shone purple. The markings seemed abhorrent on soft features and inlay of pearl skin. Too young to have witnessed and experienced so much.

He reached out and touched a knuckle over the mark, quiet. “What happened here?”

His touch connected and pain dispelled from eyes sliding over to meet his.

“A misunderstanding with the police.” Father Elias noted, corner of a lip lifting before adding, “And a squad car.”

“Ah.” Will withdrew his hand, shuffling closer, barely able to hear a soft spoken reply, wind chimes rustling on a light breeze. “Apology in order? Or no?”

“God insists we practice forgiveness regardless of how _trying_ it may be.”

"Could have turned us in."

"And miss out on the opportunity of repeating a near death experience with the two of you?" A windbreaker shifted on arms rearranging over knees. "I have my reasons."

Will grunted, mind returning to the meeting on the bluff. “Gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Sworn to secrecy.”

“So you’re lying?” Blue eyes flicked over. “Isn’t that…a sin? Or at the very least inadvisable for a man in your profession?”

“ _Very_.” Lilacs swayed through light filtering over an open meadow. “However, I am fond of my heart remaining inside my chest.”

Will tried not to laugh, he really did. “Threatened to cut it out, did he?”

A fine nose wrinkled faint freckles. “What he described was…far more detailed.”

“I imagine.” A smile quirked, rippling once before stilling. “Patch it yourself? The gash.”

A shrug replied. “As I could manage.”

“Did a terrible job.”

“I might say the same,” The young man retorted, nose swinging up as he pointed to dissolving stitches on his leg peeking out from torn jersey pajamas.

“Ya know…” Will nipped at his tongue to keep from laughing again, amusement washing over him. “You’re a lot more interesting when you aren’t quaking in your robes.”

“And you are a lot less feral without a dizzying array of clashing prints and textures soaked in blood.”

"I think you mean my partner."

"I am fairly certain the same concept applies to hounds tooth, no matter how tiny."

"Did you...just insult my wardrobe?"

"Not in the least."

“Let’s take a look at that, eh?” Will stood, politely extending a hand, brows raised.

“Oh…” Father Elias shook his head, eyes widening, glancing around as if to see if anyone else was watching. “I would…rather remain where we are.”

He had seen that look a hundred times when a man was undercover, hoping someone was nearby perched on a roof or sitting on a park bench, just in case things went south.

“Father, I may be feeling under the weather, but I assure you it would be just as easy to strangle you with my bare hands on the beach then in the cottage.”

“ _Elias.”_ A hand slapped into his, violet eyes rolling. “Please.”

“Threatening your life makes us on a first name basis then?” Will joked, jostling the lighter man up and shook his hand. “Will.”

A chin jutted in the direction of the cottage. “And Hannibal.”

He raised a brow curiously.

“I am theoretically devote, not deaf.” The young man stooped to pick up boots.

Laughter bubbled its way up his chest as Will scrambled up a side the bluff with a sandy duvet and strange priest in tow. He tossed the duvet over a ratty hammock in hopes the breeze might rid it of a one inch dusting of shoreline. He took boots and placed them in a corner of the porch, scuffing bare feet over grass and a mat. Will held open the door and gestured for the young man to enter. Elias shook his head then followed. The screen door tapped after them. He peeled a windbreaker off slender arms and tossed it in the direction of the chaise. The young man hugged a thin v-neck navy sweater, wiggling bare toes against wood floors, gaze averting.

“Have you retired from baking to a crisp in the sun?” A voice called from the kitchen.

Will wasn’t surprised to find three glasses of freshly squeezed lemons arranged on a tray, next to a frosted pitcher. Of course Hannibal would ask him to stay. He was mildly amused, however, at watching Hannibal chip away at a block of ice with what looked to be a tiny skewer. He walked over to the freezer, popped open the door, pulled out a plastic tray of ice cubes and plopped four into each glass. Chipping slowed and then stopped. The older man looked up from his work, frowning.

“What? Now you can carve yourself a modern day Botticelli ice sculpture.” A towel snapped in his direction as Will danced out of reach, glasses in hand and gave one to Elias lurking in the doorway. “Also, I think I like this one after all.”

Maroon eyes narrowed, following. “Should I be concerned?”

“That I’m collecting strays?” Will sipped on cold lemonade, lips threatening to turn into a smile. “Or replacing you for a younger model?”

Elias choked on liquid, slamming a fist against his chest, sputtering as he turned a shade of a tomato on a hot summer day.

A skewer pointed their direction to emphasize a growl. “Have your amusement at his expense, my dear one.”

_Not so amusing, now is it?_

“Please don’t,” The young man begged weakly, clutching the half empty glass.

“Pretend to be polite for a change…” Will sidled over and placed a kiss against a glowering face, grinning. “…and take a look at his face, would you?”

“I am the epitome and very definition of polite,” Hannibal muttered, trading his abandoned ice block to hold Will against his chest. “And I believe my very livelihood and love of fine instruments was threatened the last time I tried to tend to the good priest.”

“This and only this, is the exception.”

“Your need for convoluted rules is truly constrictive, Will.” A glint of light shifted his way. “You really should relax.”

Will let his head fall forward, shoving at a chest. God, help him, loving Hannibal Lecter was going to be the end of him.

As Hannibal went to retrieve the leather medical bag, Will ushered the young man into a kitchen chair and returned to his perch by the kitchen counter, hopping up and swinging feet. Winston clattered in, whining and pushing a wet nose at his ankles. When not a single treat was to be had, the dog turned exactly three times and went to sleep beneath the rickety kitchen table. Hannibal entered, took one look at him on the counter and sighed, taking his seat at the table across from Elias. The young man chewed on his bottom lip, staring at bare feet, hands fidgeting against grey washed denim.

Antiseptic dabbed gingerly over wounds, scissors flashing to remove poorly placed stitches. “You ought to take more care, Father.”

Violet eyes darted up then away. “Elias.”

“Oh?” Hannibal tugged a stitch through flesh, glancing Will’s direction.

Will shrugged, pouring another glass of lemonade, teasing, “Practically old friends after all. Intimately acquainted one might say.”

“Your incessant taunting will get you everywhere, Will.” Dark eyes flashed his direction, scissors snipping. “Would you care to stay for dinner, Elias?” A bright smile was pointed at the young man as Hannibal set away tools, practically purring. “Or do you have former obligations for the evening?”

Will snorted. Hannibal looked at him. Elias looked at Hannibal and then at Will, before circling back around and doing it all over again with slightly more suspicion gleaming in eyes.

“Seeing as how the two of you have shuttered the doors of my church and surrounded it with a cloud of suspicion, I would say I might not have obligations, spiritual or otherwise, for some time.” Elias replied dryly. “Though I would appreciate leaving your home unaccosted and without incident.”

“Dinner, Elias, not a death sentence,” Will interjected, hiding a grin behind a glass.

Violet eyes glanced between the two men. “Here I thought this was interchangeable with you two.”

“You may stay or go as you please.” Rich laughter echoed in the small cottage.

For a few moments, Elias considered how many steps it would take to get to the front door and then studied Will, then Hannibal, and then a sunset casting burnt orange across the cozy kitchen. Will felt tendrils of pain emanating from the wisp of a figure. He was certain for a moment the young man was as disconcerted about the concept of family and home as he once was. Facing each day alone without anyone to say those words in return.

_Everything will be okay._

“He’ll stay,” Will announced abruptly, glass clanking against the counter.

Hannibal caught the fierce set of his jaw, thin line of his mouth, and understood immediately. He placed a light hand on a shoulder, leaning in, asking quietly, “Will you join us?”

_My kitchen is always open to friends._

The young man twirled the lemonade glass in his hand, pink gathering in cheeks as he nodded and stared at the floor.

“Beer?” Will hopped off the counter, peering into abyss of the fridge, one hand propped on its edge.

A palm covered his hand as Hannibal crowded close, kissing his neck behind the shield of a door, whispering, “Your kindness will never cease to amaze me, my dear one.”

“Well, he’s not running screaming so…” Will whispered, clattering items in the fridge as noise cover. “We owe him at the very least. And you have had stranger friends. Some of whom stalked you.”

A warm smile answered.

They locked hands for a minute before letting go.

“Or might you prefer wine?”

“ _Or_ …” Will straightened, draping arms over the fridge door, resting a chin on forearms and offered a lopsided smirk. “Are you on a strict water and stale bread kind of diet? Or does the Lord simply sustain you?”

“Am I a monk from the seventeenth century abbeys of Italy?” Elias crossed arms over a chest, peering at shadows entwined in a cascade of light. “A glass of wine.” He held up one finger, reiterating firmly, “ _One_ glass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't decided if I'd like to explore the dinner in the next chapter or jump straight into the wedding day. Reader's choice?


	146. Chapter 146

In the glow of two shot glasses of melting candlelight, the scene unfolding around Elias softened and blurred, whir of a lens trying to focus. Murmured voices wove in and around him between the occasional clink of silverware and swirl of red wine. Hannibal and Will sat on either side of him, either to provide equally lavish attention or ensure their guest of honor was far too well boxed in to escape. The two men seemed to be having an entirely different kind conversation of their own, perfectly attuned to vibrations of the inflection of voices or light flickering in gazes. He tried to listen to silence wisped over knuckles, two hands clasped across the creaking table as if it physically hurt not to touch. Mere distance between them too much to bear.

Eyes of fire and water found their way to one another, neither extinguishing the other but coming together to form something new entirely. How might it feel to encompass someone’s entire world as if not another existed? He had the strangest sensation of feeling entirely isolated from their interactions and an overwhelming inclusivity all at once. A spectator allowed to observe predators at rest without the looming threat of being devoured. There was something entirely comforting about dining with blurs of nightmares evoking easy smiles and light laughter, phantom blood staining hands and teeth. In the hushed quiet of candlelight, he was safe. At least, for the moment.

Blue eyes slid his direction and Elias forced himself to continue breathing. He sat still despite a tremor threatening to make him bolt. He kept the grip on his fork loose and relaxed, nodding with a half incoherent reply poised on his lips. There was something about the way Will looked at him. In to him. As if he saw every transient thought and feeling bubbling to the surface of his eyes, pulling each one out and examining it, careful not to disturb layers of dust lining his soul. He had always felt, more than seen, what rested beneath sinking depths of those around him, a static noise vibrating within. Their joy. Their suffering. Experiencing it all as if it was his own. He had journeyed into darkness of unspeakable horrors, unable to look away, even as it dragged him under.

When Will glanced up in the light of day, Elias saw fractured lines of a human heart struggling to beat. Where else had he seen those eyes? Haunted, tired, and struggling to meet his own? Slivers of half moons falling gratefully to earth to rest in pieces. It took his breath away then. Intimate agony shook him to the core, visage of rustling demons waking vacant eyes of Peter in the night. Something shifted inside shadows there, someone else, an unseen poison and he knew. Some thing had hurt Will, clawed deep into bones to tear gaping wounds open, and he had to look away to keep from seeing. From knowing. As if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of his personal haunting. Then he had looked once more and saw the reflection of himself shimmering in a glow of light and knew Will saw straight through to his own pain, as if he was capable of understanding every sensation trembling through him. He felt entirely too exposed to his gaze. Too attuned to knowing and being known.

_What is it you see?_

With a head tilted to the side, both Will and Hannibal were studying him with crystal glasses tilted to lips. Elias only realized he had been staring when the younger of the two gestured at bruising on his face, imprint of knuckles fading where he had been struck. More precisely where Will had struck him unconscious. And he wasn’t staring necessarily. Lost. Lost in the possibilities of what was looking back. Was he considered a friend? Prey? Foe?

_Do you see me as distinctly as I feel the whisper of your wavering soul?_

“Sorry about uh, well…?” Will floundered through part of a sentence, half shrugging, a feeble attempt to apologize.

Wine tipped precariously inside sweeping fingers. With a blink, his mind returned to the present and Elias rattled off a grocery list of possibilities without taking a breath. “Nearly getting me caught in the crosshairs? Blackmail? Vicious assault? Or being forcibly detained by the authorities for your crimes?” He sucked in oxygen to replenish aching lungs and added, “Or were you referring to the strange and rather disturbing threat to roast me over an open fire?”

“Technically,” Will retorted, tipping a glass in the older man’s direction, corner of a lip ticking a suppressed smile. “I threatened to let _him_ roast you.”

“In what world is…” Elias shook his head—they couldn’t possibly be serious—waving away the thought entirely. “This is common behavior for you then?”

“Fairly.” Pride filled Hannibal’s thick accent, hiding an indulgent smile behind a curve of glass, seemingly enamored by a flirtatious dance of fingers walking up his wrist before twining kisses against each one.

Will closed eyes, lips parting, seemingly lost in sensation.

Elias let his gaze fall to the table, flushing pink to the tips of his ears as if he had witnessed more than an innocent display of affection. He looked up at the older man for a brief second and saw nothing, no mirror images or reflections of stirring emotion, merely a slate of dark one way glass. Laughter crackled in his lungs before dying out. Elias glanced between the two men sharing another unspoken quip with a single glance. A shiver ran down his spine. His bare toes curled against the floor. There was something calculating, honest, in the look they shared. Enough truth in the threat or statement, idle or otherwise, to give him pause. Together they were much harder to read than when apart. He had seen the aftermath of their carnage. Heard it take place in minute by minute punctuation of screams. His fingers tensed on the chair, trying to still muscles in his face to keep from frowning.

_Still. Stay still and don’t make any sudden moves._

“Please never expound on that thought,” Elias murmured, downing wine and staring at an empty plate. To keep from measuring distance between toned legs stretched out on either side. “I have no desire to know any details.”

He felt two sets of eyes trained on him as if he might dart out the door to shout for help, tackled to the ground by strong arms, then tossed into a room to never see the light of day again. He found the idea eerily appealing, to disappear and become something, someone else, entirely after emerging. Elias continued to fidget, to remind himself not to become too comfortable. He wasn’t a part of their world. He was simply being allowed to visit.

Hannibal poured remaining red wine into a glass and nudged it insistently against curled knuckles. A blush rose in his cheeks, courage pooling heavy and thick in his belly. It was his third glass. They had never been allowed more than one after his training had begun. He shouldn’t. But something about the way maroon eyes looked him over warned Elias not to refuse. He took it and nodded thanks. The older man smiled, cheeks creasing pleasantly, tugging at a stubborn double Windsor knot, intricate swirl of blood red paisley clinging to his throat.

“First good choice you’ve made recently,” Will remarked lazily with a smirk, leaning across the table, corner digging into deep navy cashmere draped over thighs.

“And…” Elias’s eyes lifted a fraction darting from a line of gaping buttons tacked down a crisp white linen dress shirt, skin marble smooth beneath. He caught sight of an unmistakable line of fading bite marks. His blush rose, bleeding into his hairline. “Who are you to judge my choices?”

Will pulled Hannibal forward by the tie. “One might argue a god in mortal form.

A barely audible growl eased from an uncoiling smile. Eyes locked, lips a breath apart, as if they might kiss. Large hands flattened against the surface in thick tense lines. When was the last time someone had touched him? He recalled trailing heat of skin and blood scoring his robes, first one pair of hands, then two, and—No. He shook his head. He simply wouldn’t think about it. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t—lips brushed above him and he stifled a gasp, gaze darting up to find a chaste swirl of tongues disappearing inside mouths. The slot of their lips fit perfectly against one another, silken glide of trespassing, dusty and crimson rose.

Elias shifted as far back as possible, edge of the wooden chair digging into his spine, hunched forward to escape blistering heat radiating from a triangle of skin above, composed of thick thighs and lean torsos. Instruments of destruction to bring mortals to their knees. Hot blooded pagan idols emblazoned with sin. He was willingly draped in shadowed temptation. He played with a now unraveling hem of his thin sweater, suddenly wishing for the comfort of a bulky windbreaker to keep a cloth barrier between them. It truly was like he didn’t exist.

_“I bite you know…”_

A glimmer of pearly whites sent his gaze settling on twin splits healing over ruddy lips. The conversation rang in his ears like a needle skipping over a jumping vinyl record, practically flinching every time a plaid knee brushed his or a French cuffed wrist grazed wax coiffed hair. He blinked fast to phantom static electricity, to focus on anything except an exquisite undercurrent looming close, warm enough to burn.

_“So does he.”_

He gnawed on the inside of his lip, glancing furtively at light glinting off inviting jagged teeth, promising to drain will to fight or flee in a single bite. Hot breath flared his nostrils, jaw clenching to suck in a low whine. His grip threatened to snap the wine glass in two, a mantra of _breathe, breathe, breathe_ running laps to will away heavy weight gathering against his thigh. He had more self control than this. Didn’t he? Perhaps it was safer to join a golden ball of fur under the table after all. They didn’t seem to mind him either.

“Some might say…” Two long fingers hooked expertly in a knot, silk unwinding obediently free to trickle over palms. “…walking into a known killer’s home is risky at best.”

“Thank you, Will,” Hannibal rumbled, spark glowing faintly.

Thumbs tracked a shadowed jaw, bottom thumb swiping at wine stained lips, before tucking the tie neatly into a charcoal grey slanted pocket. Will returned an inviting smile. They shifted apart and Elias felt air return to the room. It felt smaller than before, walls pressing in as close as bodies had been a moment before. If he excused himself, he might be able to stumble out quickly enough to pass out in the hammock while only slightly buzzed, before tiptoeing a fine, alluring line of intoxication. He was no longer certain if he meant the wine.

Violet eyes flicked toward sloping cheeks to stare at the corner of an eye, slinging wine into his mouth, acrid reply easing out, “And some might consider slaughtering men in cold blood and entrusting it to a complete stranger a fairly idiotic plan.”

A heel of a dress shoe scuffed forward.

 _Oh…_ Elias hunched further in the chair as if making himself smaller might somehow make it easier to blend into the kitchen like a displeasing piece of scolded furniture.

They certainly made abrupt note of his presence now.

“Maybe…” Lashes drooped dangerously low over glowing blue as Will crowded close hands latched on either side of slumping shoulders, practically forcing him to the edge of the chair and into the older man’s lap. Humid sweet breath rolled from pink lips. “…you’re just attracted to dangerous men and prefer their company enough to keep that information to yourself?”

He audibly swallowed, shrinking, toes knotting around a chair leg to keep precariously balanced between the two men. _No, not attracted… curious. Curiously drawn to your doorstep to find myself invited in. And giving consideration to what it might be like never to be asked to leave. To see if I can survive burning alive inside dark gazes._

Elias froze as fingertips curled underneath his jaw, tilting his face up and Will gazed expectantly into the caverns of his mind. He felt him there, peeling off his skin, inch by inch to expose him. His lashed fluttered, struggling not to let his gaze fall further than a pinprick shadow on a chin, a sloping neck, collarbone set in stark relief. Faint nail tracks disappeared beneath a placket. He was truly flawless. And marked. Claimed by the elaborately stitched demon resting in his peripheral. His breath quickened slightly inside his mouth, desperate to appear unmoved by their proximity. He could practically taste salt of an ocean breeze wafting from his form. The younger man quirked his head once more as he had on the sandy shore, considering something, unraveling and knotting sharp pangs in his stomach.

“Darling…” A warning rumble sent storms scattering across the room. “Would you mind fetching us another drink?”

“ _Fetch_?” Pink lips pinched, canine slipping free.

Jaws glimmered in return. “If you would be so kind.”

 _Will they devour me after all?_ Shivers caressed his spine. _God, what am I saying?_

“Please.”

“Fine.”

Will pushed away, straightening, chin lifting at an indignant angle before disappearing out of his line of sight. When he did, Elias had to force himself not to gasp for air as if he had been held under the water for too long and left to drown. Beneath the thin layer of fabric he was shaking. This was dangerous. _They_ were dangerous. Curiosity be damned. He had to get out of here. Before it was too late. Too late for what? His skin itched from where fingertips had touched briefly, soft and insistent, trembling at the mere contact from another. Only Peter had ever touched him, to bring them close without expectation, to envelope them in connection of simple touch. He closed his eyes briefly, desperate to recite a litany of scripture to clear his mind. The love of his youth was even more dangerous to give a second thought.

Hannibal was smiling, a thin line of restraint, eyes warming slightly when the young man offered nothing except a mortified blush in return. “May we ask what crossroads of life lead you down the path of faith, Elias?”

“I believe…” Elias cleared his throat, straightening to clasp hands over a crossed leg. “At least in the beginning, I was looking for something.”

_For something. Someone. To tether my corporeal frame to the earth to keep from drifting to disperse as heavenly ether and vanish entirely._

The older man sat forward, unblinking owl creeping closer, voice hushed. “And what was it you were in search of?”

Low whines of distress stuck in hollows of his cheeks, whisper filtering out. “Family.”

Lightning crackled abruptly across a maroon desert, emotions too quick to be calculated or given name. Elias jerked slightly by the shoulder as a sense of irrevocable loss tore through his heart, numbing chill dousing him through and through as if he might never feel warm ever again. What was Hannibal remembering to cause such a storm to crack through his impenetrable mask of indifference?

He unconsciously wrapped arms around his chest, unbidden conversation flowing out across his tongue. “Home. A place to belong.”

An aching hiss echoed from somewhere in the kitchen. Another stab of pain ran through him. Will was remembering something too.

“Damp earth and fresh fallen snow filled the night air when it happened. Roads black and dark without a single light to guide us…” Elias choked on sensations of ice seeping in, curtained white melting over bloodied skin washed red in busted taillights and the never ending torment of a blinking light. “They were arguing…they…didn’t see the ice.”

Cold, cold, so cold. He couldn’t move. Had he ever been truly released from winter’s cruel clutches? Why was he saying any this? To them? Why couldn’t he stop?

“Until it was too late.” Tears pricked his eyes, vision of his mother’s body draped in emerald silk and unseeing eyes, mangled inside a halo of broken glass and diamond dripping curls. “I tried to reach her, to pull her free to safety, but..."

_She was already gone._

He clutched at his right shoulder, running fingertips over a raised scar slashing from shoulder to wrist bone. He saw the glow of dash lights wash over his father’s face hanging by a broken neck, blood dripping through thick raven hair.

He tried to speak through a cracking voice, head shaking. “My father…”

_They both died. And I never got to tell them I loved them. How I was sorry._

“I had nowhere else to go. I had…no one. The convent became my home.” 

_At sixteen, my entire world melted into the night._

Elias jolted, a fragile leaf rattling in his chair, as cool dry palms settled over ones clenched over his arms to pry them free, pressed in a steeple of fingers. He lifted his eyes, catching a glimpse of unwavering compassion rippling in dark ravines. A cry released as a warmer palm settled across his eyes to keep him from seeing, to keep him safe, head pressed back into a torso. A patter of a heart tapped at his skull. Panicked breath wracked free the harder he shook. Will at his back to shield him and Hannibal at his front to keep him tethered from drifting. Would they bind him to earthen runes at their feet?

“Be still,” Dark tones commanded.

His lashes fluttered helplessly against a palm, tears trickling.

He felt their eyes meeting, a sensation of light and dark in his mind, softer voice saying, “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

Palms squeezed comfort against his hands. “Our deepest condolences.”

It wasn’t pity. He didn’t _feel_ pity. Did they understand loss? Or him? He felt…understood? Accepted? As if he might belong.

Fresh skin wrapped in sandalwood lingered near his left shoulder, an arm reaching over. “Exactly how old are you?”

Clank. Clank. Clank.

“Or does life only begin once you’ve given yourself to the Almighty?”

Once his shaking subsided, his sight was restored by a lifting palm. Peace settled within him as hands released. He felt calm. Whole. Is this what they provided one another with a single caress? Softness greeted his vision once more. A gleaming crystal decanter clacked resolutely in the middle of the table, three glasses forming a protective half circle around it.

“Is it entirely relevant for you to know?” Elias countered, nose wrinkling then swinging up until violet eyes squinted and glared down its slim peak. “And what kind of half wit Wikipedia articles have you been reading?”

Was he doing it on purpose? Flirtatiously navigating his mind from darkened abandoned mountain roads? To spare them both?

Broad shoulders rolled in stretch of cotton as if indifferent to the answer. “Curious.”

His mouth ticked. “Thirty.”

Dark brows rose a fraction of an inch to show disbelief.

“Twenty-eight,” The young man grumbled, arms snaking self consciously around shoulders.

A glass stopper loosened with a pop.

“Final answer?” Will asked, draping his body elegantly in the chair across, scattering curls from amusement lighting ocean blue.

Elias hunched once more, huffing between bright blushes. “Twenty six.”

“Sorry?” The angel cupped a hand to his ear, brow arched.

Aroma of melting amber filled the kitchen glass by glass.

“You heard me.”

A corner of a lip lifted in a smirk. “I did.”

“You do realize I can still refuse to perform your ceremony, do you not?” Elias crossed his arms and glowered up at a radiant glow.

“Only if you recognize…” A wolf’s grin widened. “I can construct an open pit fire in less than forty five minutes.”

“William…” Hannibal chided gently, smiling over a curved rim of whiskey, tongue flicking out to taste adoration in the singe of the name. “You are absolutely incorrigible.”

Fingers pointed around a wiry glass stem, glowing blue beyond. “You like it.”

An intense sensation of crushing love rattled through him. How had they survived without burning the other up?

“Do I?” The older man challenged in a husky drawl. “One should not be rude to one’s guest.”

Elias tried very hard to ignore dress shoes tangling and roughing underneath finely stitched trousers hems under the presumed privacy of the table.

“Depends on the guest.”

“Hmm. Indeed.” Sweeping lines of plaid rose. “Help me clear the table and leave Elias in peace.”

“Funny,” The younger man quipped, tongue slicking across teeth. “I was about to say the same thing.”

“I could—“ Elias began, rising quickly, readying to gather plates into arms.

Was he too eager to please them? Or desperate to merely put much needed distance between the three of them? The faster, the better.

A firm hand on his shoulder forcibly seated him in the chair. “You will remain where you are. I have certain rules in my kitchen.”

“Would you care to find out which ones are his favorites, Elias?” An unmistakable wink sent him reeling.

“Only if you are willing to demonstrate, Will.” Hannibal shot dark curls a glowing look of displeasure, faint crimson painting cheeks. “Relax and enjoy your drink. It will only take us a moment to tidy up.”

 _God._ Elias sputtered, nails digging into denim. It wasn’t his imagination. They were flirting with him at the other’s expense.

He sipped on whiskey, trying to disguise sputtering chokes as eloquent coughs. Elias watched the men out of the corner of eyes. Even in the most mundane task they seemed to move gracefully, as one, perfectly in sync. Will and Hannibal cleared the dishes from the table quietly, fingers lingering over silverware and plates each time they touched. They returned to the sink side by side, shoulders touching in dim light. He watched a delicate ritual unfold, both men removing the others ring and carefully placing it in a shallow ceramic basin.

Hands plunged into piping hot water. A towel whisked over dripping dishes. Glasses of whiskey lifted occasionally to lips, hips brushing and moving to an inaudible rhythm. Steam billowed silvery white over the small window overlooking the sea. They stared straight ahead. And he wondered if they were speaking once more, mirrored in glass, reflections mingling to touch. How might they see one another? They were devastatingly beautiful lost in the other's smile. Would someone ever look at him the same way? His heart slowed. He tried not to breathe, afraid a singular sound might shatter the peaceful vision swaying mere feet from him.

They returned as quietly as they left, taking their rightful place on either side of him with gentle glances and raised glasses. Another half hour passed. Darkness crept in on the horizon. His vision went hazy once more and Elias knew immediately he had far too much to drink, shedding layers to reveal lopsided smiles. His molecules vibrated in response to laughter, crowding closer to voices and gazes washing over him. His own chimed in airy notes. A kind of melody entwining. As if he might belong part of their symphony, stranded between them.

A chuckle rippled whiskey.

Hannibal glanced over to find Will smirking into his glass. “Something you would like to share, my dearest?”

“I…” Will shook his head. “I’m sorry, but this…” He motioned to the three of them around the table, nearly a dozen drinks between them, and flashed a crooked grin. “This has to be some kind of a bad punch line. A cannibal, a former FBI agent, and a priest they blackmailed into marrying them, walk into a bar.”

Elias struggled to form sentences, let alone cohesive thought to examine the statement closely. “Have you always been this…?”

Blue eyes flicked his way in a twinkle of light. “Insufferable?”

“Intriguing?” Ruddy lips curved.

“Enchanting, perhaps?”

“He may very well find us endearing, Will.”

“Close.” Violet quartz rolled. “Have you always been this close?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Hannibal began, whisking an upturned palm on the table to his mouth. “Will and I were always intimately entwined, even from the very beginning.”

“By intimate, he means I hated his overpriced therapy and equally as ridiculous three piece suits.” Will stared at lips pressing to skin, lashes blinking slow.

"Are you suggesting you did not like me when we first met?"

"I'm saying I hated your obscene wealth and suits." A bright smile offered. “His form of romantic whims usually included clever manipulation and threatening my overall well being, stability, and lives of my friends for years at a time.”

"I only wanted what was best for you."

"Yes, Hannibal, because everyone wants their significant other to murder their friends and have them incarcerated. You know, because prison is such a grand gesture of utter love and devotion."

"Must I apologize for the error of my ways yet again?"

"Absolutely not."

“You are a…” Elias wrinkled his nose. “A psychiatrist?”

“Well, don’t sound so displeased, Elias. Was. For a time.”

“ _His_ psychiatrist?” He pointed at Will, eyes widening. "Did you even try to help him?

“Never officially,” The younger man quickly noted. He blinked, laughing suddenly. "Finally, someone who agrees with me."

A glimmer of teeth flashed. “One could almost say Will pursued me. At one time, across oceans to offer his love at the point of a blade.”

The younger man snorted. “And the pinnacle of our relationship didn’t really evolve until he took a bone saw to my skull.”

“Our lives together began in earnest when Will decided to abruptly take us over a cliff,” Hannibal bickered sweetly, eyes lighting up.

Their fingers entwined at rest on the table once more. The priest blinked, more confused than he had been before they started speaking. He wasn’t certain what to take literally or figuratively. His eyes flicked up to a scar hidden by curls. Or was it all literal?

“Violence and manipulation are not generally considered a solid foundation to build a lasting relationship on,” Elias considered with a glimmer of confusion, concern warbling his tone as another full glass pushed into a palm. “Is it going to be irresponsible for me to join you in union?”

“It would be irresponsible for you not to.” Predators lurked in each word punctuated by dilating pupils. Hannibal looked at Will, shadowed lips solemn and reverent. “There are far greater means of influence to hold over someone than violence…”

Will trailed fingertips over sharp cheekbones, glass tipping precariously as they nestled into another shared moment. “I always wondered where she got that line.”

Swallowing a burn of whiskey quickly, Elias averted his eyes to twirl the glass in sweating palms, voices fading to twilight, softer and softer.

“Guilty until proven innocent?”

“We both know you’re far from innocent, Hannibal.”

“Yet you stay.”

Hushed whispers as if lips touched lightly answered. “Difficult to leave once you’ve found religion.”

In the reflection of glass, he spied the two men gazing deeply into eyes, fingers stroking through open spaces to explore knuckles and texture. What would happen if he was merely a part of the kitchen décor and nothing more? Would Will lean across the table to reach out, discarding a half empty tumbler for seeking palms? Or might Hannibal lure him into his lap with a crook of fingers to kiss his mouth as gently as he spoke his name? Would they strip each other as bare as they did with their eyes and move as one against the tiled floor?

Elias bit down his tongue, blood filling his mouth, and cleared his throat. His glass tapped loudly on the table.

Their gazes broke reluctantly apart, hands remaining firmly entangled.

“Sorry.” A simper flickered.

“We are being inexplicably rude, Elias, I do apologize,” Hannibal added, tearing his gaze from Will.

“Was that last little bit about religion considered blasphemous?”

“False redemption does not suit you,” Elias snapped coldly, fingers curling around a glass.

Where on earth did that come from? He was a guest, not a petulant child seeking attention.

“I have to say I must agree.” Amber filtered through red lips before an empty glass joined the table.

His tongue slurred out another ill placed reply. “I am beginning to understand why the two of you have no friends.”

Will laughed, arm leaning over the back of the chair, legs stretching out. Surprisingly sober for a man five glasses deep. “Heard that, huh?”

He sounded pleased. Smug. Completely comfortable with being the sole attention of Hannibal’s universe. As if there wasn’t any room for anything, or anyone else. For some reason it suddenly bothered him to feel like an outsider looking in.

Elias frowned, electricity stirring his blood. “Heard more than I might like to admit.”

The younger man blinked, mouth opening like a fish flopping on a boat deck before shutting it abruptly with a clink of teeth. Cheeks flickered shades of blossoming carnations giving way to deep red roses.

Dark eyes narrowed, rose gold watch scraping across the table. Legs of a chair dragged forward. Elias sensed a threat before the older man reached out. Hannibal flattened a palm against his heaving chest, pushing it up to splay tense fingers around the base of his throat, thumb plunging over his racing pulse.

“Are you interested in confessing?”

A sharp breath inhaled as fingers squeezed and held him in place against the chair, teeth nipping into a bottom lip to remain quiet. No abrupt movement. Not a sound. Just quiet. Very quiet. And still. On those lips, anything could sound like a sin. He was a frail corpse of a butterfly pinned to red velvet, admired under a thin protection of domed glass.

“Were you entranced beyond reason or revolted by sights and sounds thrust upon your delicate ears, Elias?” The older man growled, left hand snaking between crossed legs.

He froze, hands flying from the table to grip scuffed wood of a chair, nearly falling out of it.

“Or have you decided to slake your curiosity by remaining in the company of godless heathens?”

His legs parted effortlessly, willingly, despite fevered mental commands, falling open to a palm sliding to rest against his inner thigh, thumb swirling inches from a gathering thick line pushing at taut seams.

 _Good Lord…_ His mind buzzed by the blatant sliver of a tongue sweeping over each insinuation in silken heat.

“By his silence, I’m going to go with the latter,” A balmy drawl eased out as Will pulled his chair near, gaze flicking curiously between the hand on his thigh before tracking up rigid legs and perfectly straight shaking arms holding him upright.

They certainly knew he existed. And he was now the sole beneficiary of their attention. Eyes met and Elias knew in a flicker of a second, he was in very serious trouble, weakly trying to drag legs together and move, away from them and out into the night. They moved as one.

The younger man pushed strands of close cropped hair at his scalp, running knuckles down the side of his face and pressing bruises. Each stung one by one. An index finger ringed the neckline of his sweater to expose milk white skin. His eyes closed involuntarily, trembling against rough pressure of palms on his neck and thigh, carefully balanced by tender caress winding down his torso.

“Open your eyes.”

It was spoken softly. But the voice was a clear wisp of a knife, authoritative and threatening to command, to force his uncooperative form to do as it was told. He didn’t have a choice. Or a chance. Resistance melted and Elias felt his eyes opening, breath rushing out as hands turned his face to fall into bright blue.

“Which of us do you find more intriguing?” The younger man inquired, pad of a thumb parting his lips and forcing him to breathe.

He made a weak noise. They were toying with him. Or each other?

“Tell us…” Dark velvet whispered across his cheek. “Have you always been inexplicably drawn to trappings of sin incarnate in the dead of the night?”

Freckled shoulder blades draped over his narrow bed formed, magnolia seeping in his lungs, when Peter would flatten him to the mattress in lonely hours, seeking comfort of arms and lips to soothe a throat hoarse from screams, nothing more.

_“P-p-peter, I c-can’t.”_

_Silver moons lifted. “I know.”_

_“Ah, please, please I—“_

_“I know.” A wet tongue glided between parting lips, wrists locked in a tight grip. “I just want to touch you. Let me.”_

Will settled a hand over the thick one continuing to knead, slotting their fingers until they swirled up the apex of his thigh. Hannibal and Will fixed him with unblinking gazes, clawing open flesh to survey the structure of his bones, continuing to caress him and each other lightly in unison. He was beginning to hyperventilate, stimulation becoming too much. He needed them to set him free. To release him. Not taunt him with something he had never been able to have. Never would have. Fingertips barely brushed his length curled safely against the inseam of his jeans. He nearly moaned out loud.

“I-I-It’s late.” Elias stammered, body going liquid as hands pried legs open, hard edges of the chair pricking back of his knees. “I ought to be going.”

They both leaned in. He felt their breath on his face, tinged gold. Smiling teeth promising to take him apart inch by inch.

“Is the idea of being possessed by earthly demons simply too much to resist?”

Cold metal of a watch rested on the nape of his neck, predator looking out from crimson skies. “Are you inclined to discover the answer?”

_Heaven help me. Heaven help me._

“I…” Elias gasped for breath, gripping the edge of his chair as if it might keep him safe, afloat instead of being dragged under, shaking and breathing hard. “P-please.”

“Please? Please what? You will have to be more specific.”

“That’s it.” Stormy blue sliced across the room. “I’m cutting you off.”

Hands, breath, and eyes vanished all at once. They each returned to their place. Elias gripped the chair harder, black burrowing into his vision, threatening to make him faint. Every inch of him ached. Tears welled in his eyes and he closed them to blink them away.

Hannibal grinned darkly over a quarter of whiskey at Will, languid motion draping his form to the chair as if it had all been a dream. “What a delightful pun, dearest.”

“Give me that.” Will swiped crystal decanter and glass from nimble fingers, glaring. “It’s whiskey, not a juice box. And you’re drunk.”

He didn’t sound drunk. He sounded perfectly poised and capable of launching into a delicate speech at any moment to lure Elias in. He needed to leave. Now. Heavy feet remained glued to cool tile.

“I am hardly even…” A rough thickened accent struggled to search for words, an elegant sweep of a hand waving it away.

Dress shoes clicked ominously as Will stalked around the table, sweep of fingers burning along the priest’s shoulders. Black eyes narrowed. Hands braced on the far wall, trapping the older man between them. “If you would quit trying to drink me under the table…” A bruising thumb jabbed under a sharp jaw. “You might still be able to hold an actual conversation, Hannibal.”

A red tongue flicked across a soft slur. “Still perfectly capable of other things.”

In a whirl of color, Hannibal pounced, flinging Will into the chair and dropped heavily to knees, hands at a narrow waist ripping a dress shirt free. He began kissing every inch of barren skin, divots of fingertips sinking in soft sides.

“Christ! Hannibal!” The younger man cried out, struggling to break free, rough hands shoving him back into the chair to keep him still. “I-I-I…I’m sorry about him. He’s—”

A low groan elicited as a tongue swiped over a thick scar sweeping above a navel. Wide blue eyes met his, fingers jerking at silver strands unsuccessfully, blush spreading from face to neck to chest.

_How does it feel? To be needed?_

“I…I should go,” Elias slurred, tugging at the neckline of his sweater while fumbling for keys to his rusted ivory Volkswagen. “Thank you for…?”

It was cloyingly hot in the kitchen. Too small. Too confined. Trapped. He needed to go. He needed fresh air.

“No, you shouldn’t!” Will insisted through gritting teeth, yanking keys away and slamming them on the table.

Elias jumped, swaying unsteadily and catching himself on the table.

“You look like a half baked lobster stumbling drunkenly across an ocean floor and he’s…” Blue eyes strayed to the older man now draped peacefully around his waist, head nuzzled against a thigh, half asleep with a faint smile. Will shook his head, bemused, tunneling hands into hair before kissing a temple. “Fucking hopeless.” Eyes swung up and Elias went still, a deer caught in the headlights of impending doom hurtling straight toward him. “I’m putting you both to bed and that’s final.”

Mouth falling open, Elias stared at him, wave of dizziness sending him sprawling back into the chair. Surely, he didn’t mean. No, of course he didn’t. Not in that way. Not in any way. He was being polite. And unnerving in the most kind way imaginable. His breath quickened once more. He wasn’t a guest. He was a visitor. A loose end at best. Something to be dealt with later.

A fair brow rose ever so slightly against a disheveled dress shirt, eyes remaining closed. “Surely our bed will not accommodate all of us.”

“See?” Will dragged a palm down a tired face, eyes rolling in his skull. “He’s so hammered he forgot to threaten my life or yours in great detail at the idea of inviting someone to stay over.”

“Though…” Hannibal stretched like a lazy cat, rolling until he was positioned between knees, glassy eyes tipped up as fingertips stroked up the vulnerable arc of his throat. “If we were careful about the geometrical arrangement we might find it comfortable enough.“ His head fell to a forty five degree angle, mouth pulling into a serious line. “Do you prefer the left side of the bed or the right?”  

Elias let out a shaky whine, eyeing winking amber as he gestured wildly with his hands, tongue tripping over every single word. “N-n-no, I can sleep in the car. It’s fine. Fine. Really. _Really_! It’s no trouble at all.” 

He needed a drink. At least three more. Anything to ensure he blacked out.  

“What do you think, Will?” The older man curled fingers in his sweater and pulled Elias forward, gaze flicking over sullen eyes dimmed by panic and fragile hope. “Or might you rest peacefully perfectly slotted between us, _mažasis_?”  

He almost let himself fall this time, to burrow into both their arms and hope to stay until first morning light.

“Christ, Hannibal, you can’t just invite him into our bed! Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” Will thumped a reprimanding fist against a broad back, pausing mid swing, and blinking. “Wait. Did you just give him a cutesy nickname!”

“One should display affection for another in the form of chosen language.”

A pink mouth formed the words in a grimace. “Affection?”

“You softly intoned endearment over him by calling him ‘the priest.’”

“He _is_ a priest, you damn fool!”

A wobbling pout formed. “I do not like it all the same.”

“P-p-please—“

Will’s eyes darkened, stooping over the body in his arms, voice roughened by hints of alcohol. “Jealous, baby?”

“Very.”

He ceased to exist once more. They were kissing again, fingers wound in hair, pulling forcefully and twisting to slot their mouths as tongues flicked out curiously to taste. Hannibal seemed perfectly content to remain at Will's feet. A jolt raced through him. Elias stared blankly, openly, knees shifting apart to ease pressure of a throbbing length. He was close enough to touch them. To follow the path of a hand easing a jacket from shoulders, slipping buttons apart, to whisk over a thicket of grey hair lining a chest. Another hand slipped to a throat and clenched for a moment. He touched his own, pressure digging in, safe from being seen by closed eyes. Pleasure hummed in his blood. Hannibal arced his chest, gripping calves, moaning unabashedly into Will’s mouth as fingers dragged oxygen from lungs.

Seemingly pleased by the response, the younger man nipped at lips before returning undivided attention to Elias, flushed pink, grip threatening to crack and splinter wood.

“This is not a domed silo out in the middle of a cornfield to create your design, Hannibal, and if you don’t stop teasing, Elias will go into cardiac arrest or black out. And you aren’t sober enough to resuscitate him.”

He shivered. The way his name sounded on swollen lips. It was too much. He wanted to hear it again.

“In the state of my…?”

“ _Wildly_ inappropriate and drunken behavior,” The younger man suggested with a wry grin.

“In…In…” Fair brows furrowed low in rippling creases. An index finger pointed rigidly, eyes widening and lighting up. “Incapacitation.” The older man muddled with a proud grin. His face fell to a somber expression, tugging Elias even closer, hands cupped around his face. “Might you offer to take my place and give our dear friend the priest the kiss of life?”

 _Soft? Rough?_ His breath hitched, touching his mouth unconsciously. _Teeth or tongue?_ _What would it be like to lie between you, turned and kissed, until I breathed no more?_

“I …” Will roughed teeth over a bottom lip, hands lifting to fall limply against legs, staring insistently at the ceiling, addressing someone else entirely. “Just tell me, where did my life choices go so terribly wrong?”

“Oh god…” Elias cast a tongue over dry lips, lowered gaze following fingertips pulling teasingly at the hem of his sweater, skirting his rib cage.

“You and Will both have the unnerving habit of praising a fictitious deity when flushed with arousal.”

“Christ! _Hannibal_! I am so sorry.”

The older man swung around on a turn of knees, sucking a bruise above a hip bone, murmuring with skin clenched in teeth, “Try again with a bit more of a throaty moan if you wish to reenact the way you sound upon the precipice of pleasure, darling. You missed the lovely aria before release.” Crimson slid over a broad shoulder to glance behind at their enraptured audience. “Unless you would prefer a _live_ rendition, Elias?”

His eyes fell to thick cocks outlined in elegant stitching, garbled protest releasing as Elias struggled to cross his legs to hide his own interest. What was the tally at this point? A hundred thousand Hail Mary's? Or would not even that save him from purgatory? Or was he there already...was this purgatory?

“H-h-hann—“ Will’s head fell back into the wall as he moaned, visibly trembling from an assault of quick fingers undoing buttons and yanking at a belt buckle.

That single sound was too much.

“Yes, just like that. Perfect.”

It was louder and far more devastating than screams of the dying. His racing imagination conjured up the image of Hannibal kneeling between legs sucking Will inside the crowded confessional as he had promised.

“Why? I let you drink once, just once, and—“

“Might you find more enjoyment in listening with the use of your imagination or observing with the option of participation, Elias?”

His mouth went dry. “C-c-c-an’t.”

“Fucking hell.” Will breathed out, reddening, and swatting at hands curving under his thighs to grip his backside, tongue laving wet stripes up a bare chest. “How are you even still managing to talk right now?!” He fumbled to do up buttons quickly, growing redder by the second. “I’m sorry! He’s not… _ever_ like this. We don’t…He is usually much more—“ The younger man squeaked out the rest as teeth bit soft flesh, rising to a loud shout. “ _Civilized!_ I swear to God.”

“I am perfectly civil,” Hannibal groused, offended by the suggestion, lapping lightly at a new bruise.

“You are….No. No. Just. I can’t even deal with you right now.”

“Will, you are sending our guest and I very mixed signals at the moment,” Hannibal whined, stilling as hands clasped his, gazing up with wide eyes. “It is _very_ rude to blatantly lie to a dear friend’s face if you recall.” A mouth trembled as tears formed, throat tightening to release a warbling slur. “One who thought of only you in every waking hour. Who cared for you from afar. Who…waited for years and years. For him to look. To see.”

“I’m not—“ Will’s mouth fell open, shock snapping him upright and flinging arms forward to hold Hannibal tightly against his chest, knees locking around a torso to envelope. “Please, please don’t.”

Struggling to focus, it dawned on Elias the tiny sounds he was hearing were muffled sobs. He felt tears rising, heart threatening to wrench from his chest, and forced himself to focus on a dusty corner of the floor.

“Shh…shh, I’m right here.”

“W-will you leave me? Return to them?”

“No.”

“Will you ask me t-to leave you? To lock myself away once more? Where I cannot see you or—”

“ _No_.”

“What if you…wound me, hurt me, as you once did, William? Withering from starvation as you refuse to let me touch or kiss your mouth?”

A strangled choke echoed. “I-I won’t. I won’t. Never again. I promise.”

"Don't let go."

"Here, baby. Hush now."

Will’s mouth flinched in a snarl, standing abruptly, nearly knocking over the chair. Anger flashed in eyes. Both Elias and Hannibal startled, gazing up at a thunderstorm rolling in. The priest tried to rise, to move to safety.

“You.” Will shoved him into the chair. “Sit.”

Elias tried to rise again. “But I—“

“Sit. Down.” The younger man growled, lip curling. “You heard me the first time, priest. Don’t make me say it again.”

He sat with a heavy thud, blindly obeying, blinking through a mist of confusion.

“Bunch a lightweights, the two of you.” Will hoisted a limp body from the floor, hands struggling to find purchase in layers upon layers of plaid, stumbling into the wall by the sheer weight of the older man. “You…baby, what a wreck you are...” He spoke softly, touching damp cheeks lovingly, gathering a swaying form close. “Arms around me, come on now. That’s it. I’ve got you.”

“Nnn…”

With a grunt, Will and Hannibal weaved unsteadily from the kitchen. Dress shoes skidded and scuffed. Wood of a chaise cracked upon impact from a heavy body. Another joined it in quick succession.

“Ummpf.”

Elias flushed at the wet glide of lips resounding.

“Mmm, Will…you taste divine.”

“Uh huh.”

A belt buckle jangled, leather slipping free. “May I have you for dessert?”

“Christ. Wait here. Try not to pass out and swallow your own tongue, eh?”

Elias twitched uneasily, squeezing legs tight, hoping to be forgotten. There was no way he would be able to make it to the car now. He could barely shuffle free from the chair. Would they let him sleep on the kitchen floor? Winston seemed to find it comfortable enough. 

Will loomed in the doorway, extending an arm in the direction of a hallway. “This way.” The priest rose on wobbly legs entirely formed from rubber, squinting to keep from seeing double. He stumbled. An arm caught around his waist. Warm air puffed against his cheek, “Steady now.”

“I…I cannot impose,” Elias slurred, weaving from wall to wall as hands steered him down the hall. “There is an inn…”

“And _I_ can’t have you driving drunk and ending up wrapped around a tree,” The younger man snapped, jostling them into a dark room. “You really drove all the way out here from wherever the hell you came from and thought I would, what? Tell you to fuck off and get out?” A click and then a blinding flash of lights went on. “I’m a sarcastic sinner, not an asshole.”

He looked up, too aware of hands tucked around his waist, and how Will’s eyes looked like falling stars, beautiful and tragic. “I never thought you were anything except kind.”

The younger man muscled him into a chair beside the door, averting his gaze, lips pressed in a thin line.

“And a bit…terrifying. And completely out of sort in a wardrobe tailored to your person rather than your personality.”

A flurry of sheets and pillows followed. They formed a cushy mountain on the wood floor.

“Riffing on my clothes again I see?

“You seem…” Elias considered, eyes sweeping over a stooped form. “More comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt than what you’re wearing.”

Lines crinkled around blue eyes. “Well, don’t tell him that, okay?”

Will stripped the bed layer by layer before disappearing. Elias wondered if he was meant to gratefully fall into blankets on the floor. He wouldn’t mind. He couldn’t expect them to offer the place where they slept together. Especially when they were sleeping on a thousand year old excuse for a couch. The younger man returned, cream bedding stacked in arms from a closet, casting a curious look over him. He proceeded to remake it, jabbing hands into corners of sheets and jamming pillows into cases. The room filled with a scent of fresh linen and lavender.

Melting into a warm haze, the priest slumped in the chair. “You’re good at this.”

“Making a bed?” Amused tones blurred in light.

“Yes.” Elias blinked, head shaking. “I mean… taking care of others? It seems to come naturally? Second nature? Have you always been under the guise of caretaker?”

“Huh, something like that. Until recently.” Will scooped him effortlessly from the chair and transplanted him on an edge of the bed. “Don’t expect anything grand. I’m sure you are used to a lot nicer things than this, from far kinder people.”

The threat of tears returned, flooding eyes as Elias looked away, fists curled against a soft mattress.

“Hey, I only meant…” A hand lifted, hovering over his shoulder, hesitating before applying a comforting pressure. “Are you okay?”

He replied with a fierce nod, voice cracking. “You have his eyes.”

“Oh…” This time Will looked away.

Elias covered a palm on his shoulder, fingertips stroking over rough knuckles. “It…pains you for someone to know, doesn’t it?”

_To know what has been done to you without asking?_

Silence settled over the room.

“Is it so easy to see?” Skin trembled as a mouth flinched.

“No,” The priest replied softly, toes slightly curling when Will allowed him to hold his hand and didn’t pull away. “If you become intimate with what is looking out from another’s eyes, you merely learn to recognize outlines of tormented souls.”

“You saying I’m possessed by demons?”

“I’m saying you’re human. Haunted by something far more real.”

"Seems a little contradictory coming from a man of God." Will sucked in a breath, holding it for what seemed like hours before releasing it. “Does it…does it get better?”

“An answer I cannot give you.” Elias sagged forward, shoving roughly at hair, nails digging into a palm. “I was never around long enough to find out.”

There was another pause. “Miss him?”

With a feeble shake of his head, Elias begged him not to ask, for fear he might answer. Will seemed to understand, to hear him, shifting closer and slipped fingers underneath the hem of his sweater. He went rigid, stiffly lifting arms to comply. The younger man wanted him to be comfortable. That was all. Peeling the sweater free, blue eyes roamed up the vicious scar flowing over an arm, fingertips following curiously. He flinched, shoulders jerking away.

“Hm...” A throat clicked. “Don’t like being touched, do you?”

“I…I am not…” Elias hugged arms around his naked torso, staring at toes. “I am not accustomed to it.”

Curls fell over a face, weight lifting from the bed. “Yeah, I understand.”

His hand moved on its own, snaking up an arm, curling over a bicep, lashes fluttering in time to an aching whisper. “Will?”

“Uh huh?” Will turned his head, something in his eyes and face immediately crested, falling away.

Fingers skirted up the side of his cheek. Longing stretched like dusk settling across a barren field, empty and waiting for the first rays of sunlight. Elias clutched at the wrist, haunted gaze sweeping up, trembling. Blue eyes looked on steadily, unwavering, thumb brushing lips. He bent and Will placed a kiss against the gash split open across his brow. Soothing warmth rushed through him.

“You aren’t alone, Elias…” The younger man whispered, pushing him gently onto the bed and drawing sheets up to shoulders. “Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Lights doused. “T-t-thank you.”

“Sure.” Framed by the door, outlines of a body stood still, touching the back of a neck self consciously, nodding. “Any time.”

Shoes clicked down the hall. A breath snuffed out two candles. Soles scraped and kicked free in the living room. Elias was left to stare up at shadows rustling across the ceiling, to listen to soft whispers filtering like glances of the moon touching clouds.

“Make some room, you hopeless drunk.”

“Rude, darling, so very rude.” The chaise creaked and groaned. “And you know how I feel about this kind of behavior under my roof. Would you like to choose your punishment, or shall I?”

“Yeah.” Limbs chaffed against fabric. “I feel you alright. Help me out of this, would you?”

More rustling followed, clothing falling away. The priest drew a pillow against his chest, chin tucking in, thinking of Will curling around a broad back and holding Hannibal close.

“Is he well?”

“I think he will be. In the end.”

“Do you speak of Elias?” Silence reigned for an eternity. “Or yourself?”

A sigh answered, followed by a long pause. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Christ…” Will sounded like he was about to cry, pleading. “You _can’t_ look at me that way.”

Lips glanced off skin. “How is it I look at you to offend so?”

“Like…”

Tension rattled a windowpane in the bedroom. Elias felt muscles coiling, gathering, to protect before breaking.

“I’ll never want for anything again,” A breathless confession answered.

“You won’t.” A shadow assured roughly. “Not under my care.”

Need scattered goosebumps over his skin. Another creak of the chaise indicated the men were shifting, knees turning and arms holding, lips locked in tender touch.

“You taste like…”

“Mmhm?”

“Expensive.” A southern accent lilted, rising. “A fine gentleman lost to four walls of a dilapidated Louisiana speak easy.”

“Did you often find yourself in many questionable establishments surrounded by older men drawn to the uniform of a young off duty police officer?”

“You really like the idea of me as a cop, huh?” An easy laugh followed. “Is it the uniform? Or the idea of being caught?”

“You have always been an illicit form of danger, Will.” A zipper whirred open.

Muffled cries bounced off walls. “H-hann, you have to st—“

Elias went rigid, flopping onto his back, eyes wide and clutching fistfuls of sheets to keep very, very still.

“Would you have let me purchase you an expensive drink with a discreet roll of bills?” A demon called out. “All eyes upon you, a hand curved at your waist, as I mouthed vows against your ear to become my kept boy, to want for nothing.”

“C-christ.”

“Would you have taken me home and invited me into your bed?”

“No…” A deep moan answered. “I would have dragged you to the bathroom stalls.”

“Filthy. I would never have agreed to it.”

“Oh, I think if I dropped to my hands and my knees, you would have. Sucked you slow and shallow till you begged.”

“Jesus,” Elias whispered to himself, rolling onto his stomach hoping to ease throbbing between thighs.

“A—oh Will—disgrace to the uniform.”

He flopped face first into a pillow, hot breath rushing out. This position was worse. Wet spread on the inside of his thigh, soaking through denim and into sheets.

“Another lie.” Someone hissed, chaise creaking in a precise rhythm of rolling hips. “The stretch of pleated fabric across the curve of my spine. Holstered gun around my hips. I think you wouldn’t have been able to resist. You would have let me catch you and have my way.”

Elias propped up on one elbow and knees, fumbling to adjust his length digging into a zipper. Anything to release some discomfort. His fingers popped open a metal button. His breath hitched, blood rushing hot. Zipper teeth snagged. He palmed himself through damp jersey boxers, biting a groan into his arm.

“I need to fuck you, Will. And I cannot do so with a guest in our house.” Hannibal growled, couch groaning as a heavier body thrust. “Do you have keys to the car?”

“In the bedroom,” Will moaned, throaty and breathless. “You wanna fuck me in the back seat, huh?”

The priest collapsed to the bed, gripping metal bars until they rattled lightly, forcing himself to breathe, to forget, to sleep.

_Just go to sleep. Just—_

“Want. _Yes_. The prospect of tonguing you open and plunging into your wet heat is now impossible, seeing as how someone carelessly left our keys out of reach.”

“What’s my punishment again?”

A palm slapped skin.

Elias flung sheets off, racing towards the adjoining bathroom and hurled himself inside darkness. Heat prickled over his face. He wouldn’t touch himself. Not in their bed. Not at all. It was wrong. His hand scrabbled at his throat, back pressed to the closed door, sucking in air and struggling to escape from voices reverberating through thin walls.

“Stop. Stop. We can’t…nnn. Please stop.”

Teeth snapped. “You have never meant anything less.”

“Ah, again.”

“Ask politely.”

Lust hit hard, doubling him over a sink.

“Your tongue, _please_ —just like that. Oh god, more.”

Elias slammed a palm over his mouth to muffle a moan, nostrils flaring as he breathed harder, forehead pressed to a cold surface.

“I want, nnn, I want you inside me. Let’s go outside.”

“I will not be reduced to rutting against you like a wild animal in the dirt.”

The priest trembled, knees knocking against cabinets, nearly crumbling to the floor. His length strained against a tight waistband of boxers, each throb spreading wet stains dripping through a thicket of dark curls. He touched heavy weight, cupping and palming, knees parting as he tipped his head back to groan.

_Is this how you touch him, Hannibal?_

“Oh angel, you’d like it though. And you would do it for me. If I asked nicely.”

A dark snarl elicited, light smack resounding, another deep moan shoved into cushions. “And when your screams wake the entire county and bring police to our door?”

“It’s my fault…” Creaking drowned out a muffled reply. “…you fuck so good?”

“If I cannot be inside you then I want us in your hand, Will. Do I not deserve it? Have I not faithfully taken care of you?”

“We can’t.”

Elias grabbed an edge of the counter, hand jamming unsteadily inside roiling heat. He ran blunt nails through curls, swirling further. He gathered balls into his palm, squeezing experimentally and let out a gasp as fluid rushed from a swollen head.

_Is this how it feels when he touches you, Will? Uncontrollable heat?_

“Will.”

He wriggled jeans down hips, sliding two fingers through cheeks and pressed curiously at a ring of muscle, teeth sinking into his lower lip. He returned to a bobbing length, gasping and hissing at each light sensitive glide of fingertips.

“Asking for a reward for good behavior, Doctor?”

“This is not a request…ah Will, _mon dieu_!”

Loud sucking rang in his ears as if Hannibal and Will were right beside him, thrusting into mouths and hands, skin flushed pink with sweat and semen. He thumbed fluid over a slit, legs spreading. Elias gripped his cock, braced on the sink and began to jerk fast, eyes flying closed. He tried to keep quiet, breath puffing hot fog over a glass mirror.

“God, you know how loud you get when we do this?”

“Smother me if you must.” A throaty groan rose higher and higher, chaise creaking, a light choke following. “Don’t stop.”

“Say it.”

“ _Man viskas apie tave patinka_.”

“In multiple languages no less? At least use ones I understand. Shh, you’re going to wake him up.” A fierce whisper edged over soft laughter before lowering to velvet. “I wonder if you’d like that though? To have someone hear how I alone bring you to your knees and give you exactly what you want.”

Labored breathing rushed to quickened scrapes of a chaise lounge banging lightly across the floor. He could hear them gasping for breath, lost in sensations of pleasure, no longer caring if he heard, let alone if he was in the same house.

“A little harder, baby.”

Elias clutched the sink, rutting harder and faster into a tight palm, sticky in sweat and come, white sparks scraping up his spine and gathering in his vision. Was Will on top, head full of luscious curls thrown back? Was Hannibal rolling thick thighs and cock against him, teeth scraping over delicate shoulders? Pushing fiercely away from the sink, Elias sucked air in through his nostrils, eyes closing to recall those hands on him in the kitchen or inside the church, searching and blistering. He pushed at the ring of muscle again in time with his hand, moan escaping as pleasure built. Would they take turns touching him? Kissing him? Maybe even…

“You have such a lovely cock.”

He sobbed into a wrist, stumbling unsteadily, envisioning crimson and ocean gazing up at him. Then silver hanging in a darkened room flickered. If either of them had been less afraid, if he had been anyone else, would Peter have made love to him, to lose themselves in each other?

A low rumbling snarl sounded the older man’s release. Higher pitched moans grew with intensity. Louder and louder, nearing hoarse screams.

Jagged teeth scraped against a throat. “Come.”

He gasped, red flashing behind his eyes. With a snap of hips, thick ropes of white streaked across the bathroom sink. His knees gave way. Dizzy from pleasure and then an ache of dull pain. Elias banged into a side wall, slumping immediately to the floor. Shock washed over him. His mouth trembled, clarity returning from a heavy fog. A weak noise escaped, pushed against knuckles.

All other sounds dimmed to a sudden stillness.

“Shit,” Will whispered. “Do you think we woke him up?”

“A moment.” Water hissed on in the kitchen, feet padding across the floor. “Here.”

A light knock on the bathroom door sent the priest scrambling to the other side of the room, crouched between a glass enclosed shower and the toilet, knees gripped to his chest.

“Are you in need of assistance, Elias?”

“N-n-no.” Hoarse stammers shook out as the priest reached over and flushed the toilet, pressing shaking palms flat to the floor, praying they would go. “Too much to drink.”

“Found them.” Keys jingled to the melody of a teasing whisper before pausing. “He okay?”

“Says…” Hannibal did not sound convinced by his story, hushed as if the softer he spoke, the less likely he was to be heard. “…the drink has made him ill.”

“Jeez…” Guilt flooded a soft voice, footsteps stilling. “I should have been more careful.”

Hannibal hummed agreement. “ _We_. We ought to have been more attentive.”

Will scuffed closer to the door, projecting his voice louder. “I’ll bring you a glass of water, okay?”

_No, please, just go._

Shame flooded his cheeks. Glass tapped in the bedroom.

“We will leave it on the nightstand.”

“If you need us, we’re right down the hall.”

He tried to answer. To be gracious. He couldn’t. He was afraid if he did, sobs would claw from the depths of his stomach and break free.

"Are you not coming?"

“Can you…wait out here for a minute?” Will tiptoed across the floor, resting a forehead on the other side of the door. “Elias?”

He stared at it through tears, head shaking. He didn’t want him to see him. Not like this. Anything but this.

A floorboard creaked nervously. “I know I don’t have any right but, if you heard us…” The younger man sighed, pressing a palm against wood. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’ve been taught or what you believe, or if you even believe. It’s natural, okay? There’s _nothing_ wrong with the way you feel. About us. About him. Peter. The attraction or the…? I…” A frustrated hand ruffled curls. “I know it’s difficult sometimes to understand or accept. We don’t always choose who we love.”

Elias buried a face in crossed arms, silent sobs chattering teeth, grateful for darkness to hide him as it always had.

“It’s…you are going to be okay.” Shadows of feet shifted forward. “Do you, do you want me to help you back to bed? We don’t have to talk. I won’t even look if you don’t want me to. I…don’t mind if it isn’t the whiskey? And I don’t mind if it is.”

“No,” The priest weakly pleaded, red rimmed eyes lifting. “Don’t. Please.”

“Alright, well…” Fingers tapped lightly at the door, hushed sadness on the other side. “I meant what I said. We’re here. If you need us. And please don’t…”

_Cry?_

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

_Is there not? Do you not look upon me and see sin? Only humanity?_

His voice trailed off, but he heard it, a broken crescendo. Will knew.

“Take me to bed, Hannibal.” Exhaustion muddled a whisper.

“Are _you_ well, dear one?”

Crawling back towards the sink, Elias forced shaking legs to lift him, steadied by hands gripping a towel rack. He unfurled a soft washcloth, plunging it into cold water. He ran it over his face, pressing at sore eyes, before making a small sound and cleaning himself and the sink. Shame bubbled in his throat.

Fierce whispers rose and fell from the hall.

“I…I don’t want him to be alone. I hate it! I don’t want him to feel like, like—”

“And…how does he feel?”

The priest lifted his head, listening.

“Like he is fading from this earth without a fight.”

He clutched at his chest, tremor raking from base of his skull to tip of his toes. It was like Will was reaching into his mouth and pulling words from his secret corners of his lungs. He knew him. How did he know him? It wasn't possible.

“Do _you_ propose to fight for him? Rise to be his champion?”

“I want someone to! He is alone and crying on the bathroom floor, and it’s not right!”

“He is not a stray, Will,” The older man reminded softly, gently, touching cheeks and shoulders.

“It’s _our_ fucking fault he is upset. He is our responsibility!”

“You cannot ask him to stay.”

“But…” A wounded howl shook from trembling lips. “I… know what it’s like to hate yourself. To suffocate, hoping someone, any fucking person, will notice and reach out, to take you in and give you a home. You’re my home and he…why doesn’t he deserve that?”

Opening the door a few inches, Elias forced himself to stay on the other side, instead of barreling forward and clutching at the two men with a tear stained face. They didn’t even know him. How could they possibly…? He was a transient visitor in their life. Nothing more.

“Then he will not be alone,” Hannibal answered firmly, jaw setting in fierce resolve, to dispel fear and loneliness from wide eyes. “I will set him a place at our table and offer him the warmth of our hearth. He will have my protection, and yours, if you will it.”

Another swell of tears clogged the back of his throat and Elias padded noiselessly to the bed, wrapping sheets tight to keep from shaking.

“Tired.” Will curled inside of arms, forehead resting against a chest. “Carry me?”

“You are perfectly capable.”

“So are you.”

“With such a vivid and compelling argument…” Hannibal whisked Will into arms, nosing at soft curls falling in damp eyes, murmuring, “How can I not give you all you ask if it dispels shadows and returns light to your life?”

“Why do you think I’m unhappy?”

“Are…” Brambles stretched out across a forest floor, shuddering. “Are you? Happy?”

Soft lilies bloomed underneath a blue moon. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

"Yes."

"Then you already know the answer."

Exhaustion rushed over him. Scent of lavender enveloped by briars and shielded by a valley of white petals filled his lungs. And for the first time in eight years, Elias slept soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy reader's choice went over so well. Thank you. (Maestromorena, hopefully this ticks some of your requirement boxes. xoxo)
> 
> I know I don't need to apologize, but here it is any way. I appreciate you waiting, your patience, your kindness. Writing is usually very cathartic and helps me cope. But it can be difficult when I don't feel enough like myself to be in the right frame of mind. Your support helps me immensely, to know I am not alone even if it's a struggle, we'll get through it together. 
> 
> I hope these thirty some pages will make you laugh and smile and bring hope, dear readers. I, too, find the three of these characters interactions and dynamics intriguing~possibilities of friendship and allowing someone into Will and Hannibal's inner circle for the first time. Particularly someone leaning on the spectrum, able to read and sense them both. Let's further speculate, haha. Elias really didn't keep to his one glass minimum here, did he? And poor Hannibal just cannot tolerate whiskey. (Also, I loved reading everyone's comments about who Winston's favored composer would be from the last chapter.)
> 
> Rough Lithuanian Translations:  
> “Or might you rest peacefully perfectly slotted between us, mažasis?"  
> (little one)
> 
> “Man viskas apie tave patinka.”  
> (I love everything about you.)
> 
>  
> 
> Way Down We Go x Kaleo
> 
> Father tell me, we get what we deserve  
> Oh we get what we deserve
> 
> You let your feet run wild  
> Time has come as we all oh, go down  
> Yeah but for the fall oh, my  
> Do you dare to look him right in the eyes?
> 
> Cause they will run you down, down til the dark  
> Yes and they will run you down, down til you fall


	147. Chapter 147

Will pressed a steeple of fingers against a smile touching ocean salted lips. There was something serene and intimate about watching Hannibal lost completely to throes of deep sleep. Since they had made their way to the cottage across the sea, he had made a habit of waking before the sunrise for several reasons. He liked clearing his head with a hard run in the cool air along the beach stretching in the distance. He wasn’t running from anything. Not any more. With Winston spurring him on, he was running towards something, to someone, to return before the day broke across the horizon to take it all in. He couldn’t recall a single day he wasn’t filled with a sense of surprise to find the older man resting in the tiny bed they shared, fast asleep and reaching out for the impression of his body on the other side.

In those few moments, he could look for as long as he wanted. Study every tide washing over and through Hannibal. Or feel the sensations of their life weaving intricate connections threading them together across every possible version of their lives. Every minute was a gift of borrowed time they had struggled to have and fought to keep. He didn’t have to think about today or tomorrow or the next week. He simply had to gaze across the room to find Hannibal still beside him and know it was more than enough. If he was there in this life. It was enough.

_If I ever woke to find you gone in this life, and closed them once more to find I had one more moment…_

Shifting quietly in a chair, Will swiped mist from his eyes and listened to their moments thrumming to a steady swing of pendulum in the grandfather clock beside him.

_Would it be selfish to kiss you for the first and last time in a smoke of ashen pyres and ask you to stay without knowing the depth of how much I need you? Or let me be painted among the constellations to rest beside you in whatever is beyond this life? Would you find me even then as you promised?_

His gaze fell across dove feathered lace curtains swaying over the chaise, playing on a light breeze. Light and shadow filtered through delicate woven shapes forming rose petals, veil rising and falling across a peaceful face resting against an upturned palm. There was something so familiar about the moment. Where had he seen it before? As if he had witnessed it another room, another time, another life. The moment rustled inside his skull and he closed his eyes, felt the heat of Hannibal’s palm on his shoulder and a low voice soft against his ear.

_In time, this will be the only story any of us cares to tell._

He smiled once more, eyes opening. He gazed at the older man dispersing among shapes of floral and torn paisley, light and dark touching his face. They had been behind the blackened veil of the office window and stood side by side in the night, thinking of their lives together as a family.

_Tell me a story. Our story. How we once lived. How we died. And how we survived to find one another after._

Will nearly rose to sweep both hands under a neck and lift an upturned mouth to murmur love against it until they were forced to surface for air. When they were inseparable, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, was when he felt most complete. No longer a jumble of ill fitting jigsaw pieces to be solved, but placed together, bit by bit, to be admired and tenderly looked after. A knotting heart told him he was falling more in love with Hannibal every day. His breath caught every time he laid eyes on him. Rising suns sweeping to glance at him in quiet moments, to fill his life with light, shuddering only when Will looked up in reply and found himself content to be blinded by all he longed to exist, to be given privilege to see. There was something frail in worlds staring out from beyond and he wanted travel each one with light feet to leave nothing except love in his wake. Until the older man was surrounded by all he was, every darkened corner and moth eaten page, cherished and adorned in all he could offer, just as feeble and fragile. Love.

And how he loved him, more each day, every unruly and unkempt bit of the man resting inside a glint of a tailored predator. The younger man stifled a chuckle behind his palm. He had never seen the perfectly presentable doctor more disheveled. Never a single strand of hair out of place. Now wild silver hair mussed over closed eyes and stuck out haphazardly at impossible angles, partly from static of a tattered tapestry and partly from, well, too forceful fingers pulling. He was half rolled out of a blue and crème knitted afghan tangled over naked hips. Broad shoulders draped perilously near an edge as he hugged a pillow to his chest, frowning slightly. Will smiled again. He imagined it was a lumpy substitute for his body, where he lay an hour before. He was an utterly kissable disaster and it made Hannibal entirely more handsome in his eyes.

_I’ve turned you into my lovely little disaster. I think I’ll keep you._

Will was anything if not predictable when it came to Hannibal.

Launching from the chair, the younger man navigated across a floor and in a single leap, hopped right onto a chest and planted a kiss directly in its center, announcing brightly, “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Hannibal woke with a startled howl, blindly reaching for a weapon to thwart his would be attacker.

A lumpy pillow thwacked Will on the side of the head, blue eyes sliding towards it before both brows rose, amused. “Now, had this been real and not a drill, you would have been made into crab cakes by some serial killer already.”

“Will…” The older man groaned, glaring then squinting then pushing the pillow on his own face to block out the light. Or end his life by suffocation. Ever the dramatic. “It is hellishly too early to put up with your antics.” Hands ran up thighs covered in plaid jersey pajamas, snapping at a waistband to show displeasure. “You are cutting off my air supply.”

He wanted to ask how much of his displeasure had to be wrapped up in the idea of being turned into a vulgar East Coast staple. And how much had to do with him not being entirely naked and lying obediently beside him. He stifled laughter. Who knew Hannibal would turn out to be the loudest groaning antique the morning after?

“Uh, I’m not the one trying to smother myself…” Will replied mildly, plucking the pillow away to peek beneath hideous gold tassels. “I’ve been told you get used to that feeling once you’ve fallen in love.”

“Far too bright.” A red mouth quirked.

"Oh, really?" Blue eyes flicked over to the grandfather clock. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“ _Please.”_ The older man winced, heel of a palm grinding into an eye. “There is no need to shout!”

Oh, he could have offered to build him a blanket fort of misshapen pillows and ancient knitting. Or he could have given him about six different kinds of coffee, one after the other, followed by a deluge of water glasses. He could have kissed his head and told him it would make it all be better. Key words being, ‘could have.’

“Aw, Hannibal.” Will conjured up his best look of sympathy with impossibly large eyes, tucking a chin between forefinger and thumb, leaning in as if to offer condolences on pensive lips. “Welcome to having your first legitimate hang over.” His mouth wriggled uncontrollably before he busted out laughing. “Let me know if you enjoy your stay, huh?”

For a blundering cannibal with a massive pounding headache, Hannibal was surprisingly spry and quick to exact his revenge. Will found himself pinned on his back in under a split second of hearing a snarl resonating above his peels of laughter. He couldn’t help it. When did he _ever_ have the opportunity to tease the older man about unfortunate life choices when he was so terribly perfect?

“Ay! Ay! Retract your claws, please!” Will shouted, hips and legs bucking against a heavy torso, nails and fingers mercilessly assaulting sensitive sides until he was laughing so hard he was nearly crying. “Unless you want to be sent to bed without any breakfast.”

_Worth it. So worth it._

“Uuu…” The older man washed a sickly shade of grey green granite, ceasing all movement abruptly. “Refrain from mentioning food in my presence.”

“Oh…” Will nuzzled a kelp bed of sagging limbs into a cushy corner of pillows and draped himself with care over a lap, kissing tops of bleary eyes. “You are in a bad way, aren’t you?”

“Dare I ask…” Hannibal bent his face into a dark corner of arms, breathing out painfully. “What happened last evening?”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ remember?” The younger man asked, rising his voice to just the right pitch to sound concerned. He placed a hand above his heart to sell the act of shock. “Wow, I’m not sure if I should be offended or grateful.”

A squint of threading red rose a fraction.

“You mean to tell me, Hannibal Lecter had the best sex of his entire life and doesn’t even give it an after thought?” A mop of curls tossed over shrugging shoulders. “Too bad. I mean after the logistics it was pretty fantastic.”

“L…” Maroon eyes tipped to the left and the right, sweeping back and forth to formulate a non-existing semblance of recollection. “Logistics?”

“Oh you know.” Will whispered like it was a secret. He was laughing hard on the inside, struggling to keep a straight face as he distracted with a swirl of nails through a thicket of hair on a chest. “Who goes where. Who does what and when.” He tapped a sharp nose fondly. “You were an excellent instructor. Elias turned out to be surprisingly skilled for a novice.”

In a split second, Hannibal whipped upright, teeth bared with a storm of violence darkening every feature. Glowing eyes darted across fresh marks from teeth, lovely predator seething. Will’s mouth nearly formed an adoring ‘aww.’ Hands gripped his shoulders. Laughter rushed out in a groan as he was nearly thrown over an arm of the couch. The older man inspected angry scratch marks crisscrossing from shoulders to hip.

“Whose marks are these!” A demand snapped from teeth.

“Yours, idiot! ” Will shook with laughter, shoving Hannibal back into place, kissing him before he began foaming at the mouth. “Possessive much? Surprisingly gullible in the aftermath of your poor decisions.”

Nostrils flaring, the older man bolted up and pointed furiously down the hall, growling, “ _Bed_.”

Will considered feigning terror at the implied threat of punishment voiced by a savage wolf standing over him. It was rather difficult to take seriously. Rather difficult to concentrate at all. Especially given the afghan had abruptly unraveled as soon as Hannibal stood. Now it lay at feet with nothing at all between them. A pink tongue darted out, nipping a bottom lip struggling to hold a smirk still. View wasn’t bad from this perspective either. The younger man rested both arms across the couch and let his eyes travel down bronzed skin to settle between flexing thighs. Masterpiece. Gallery worthy. He could kiss a thick vein pulsing and twitching just below the tip before glancing up. He lifted his gaze instead. The older man was holding his breath, red gathering in peaked cheeks and running down the bridge of a nose.

“Want something?” The younger man purred lazily.

With a single grunt of frustration, Hannibal twisted on his heel and stalked through the living room, picking over a disarray of mangled shirts, trousers, and dress shoes. One leathery pair happened to be cuddled in jaws and paws of a particular family member stashed in the kitchen. But Will thought it best to keep that secret for now, at least until he was fully satisfied in watching a pert ass sulk out of view. Now if that wasn’t the sight of what a ‘good morning wake up call’ should be, he didn’t know what was. His cheek flinched from holding in laughter. Elias might not see it that way. Or rather, might not live long afterwards if he did. He might disintegrate into a pile of smoking ash right then and there. Will could sympathize with the feeling of seeing Hannibal naked for the first time, or any time.

Skirting quickly around discarded possessions, Will whisked arms around a waist and pinned Hannibal between two askew palette knife paintings of the sea. “And where are you going in such a hurry? I’m sorry to tell you, but Goldilocks is currently taking up residence in our bedroom.”

“Would you mind forming some kind of consistency with the selection of your fairy tales, Will?” Hannibal sucked in another breath, eyes easing closed, hissing an exhale. “You are either a prince or an ill tempered bear in this scenario. And you cannot possibly be both.”

“The only ill tempered bear I see is you.”

He felt a brutal dagger gaze drifting behind eyelids. Will wanted to kiss him again. Could a man of his distinction be considered adorable by any standard when practically forced to the brink of threatening his life?

“Unless…” The younger man slid a hand between legs and gently palmed a thickening cock, carding fingers and a thumb into a tense neck. “…you’re still hoping I’ll acquiesce to your drunken suggestion of a three way. Or for him to watch.”

He increased pressure on both until red lips parted and a sigh released.

Lashes drifted open over open coals. “I would _never_ suggest such a thing!”

“Given you can’t seem to recall, I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The older man was unacceptably tense. He shot a withering look to the antique relic to blame. It would have to be replaced. There was only room enough for one antique and the younger man rather liked cuddling this particular one of flesh and blood. Kissing a neck, Will draped him apologetically across a battered tea stained wing back chair and nestled behind him on knees. Hannibal groaned, head falling into cushion as he dragged thumbs from neck to shoulder, along the length of his spine, and skillfully attacked a cluster of offensive knots in a lower back.

“My god, you would not shut up last night. I nearly had to stuff my dress shirt into your mouth as a safety precaution.”

A hand caught his forearm and brought it to a frowning mouth. “You are entirely too sober for my tastes.”

“You’re just mad I am not suffering the same lot as the two of you,” The younger man teased, shrugging and moving to see to their guest. “Speaking of…”

Pained annoyance trailed after. “Will!”

“I am not a coin operated masseuse,” He threw back over his shoulder, smile lines scrunching around eyes. “And put some clothes on, heathen!”

He found Elias in about the same condition as he had found Hannibal. Except much worse. The priest had rolled off the bed at some point in the middle of the night and was sick in a metal waste bin. Water on the nightstand remained untouched. Sheets were half dragged off the bed and rolled around an upper torso, cheek pressed flat to wooden slats of the floor, mauve mouth hanging slightly open.

“Hey?” Will crouched beside the body littering the crime scene and tapped a shoulder lightly, voice soft. “You alive?”

A pitiful mewl replied. “Nnn…”

“You still breathing?” The younger man tilted his head closer to listen, one palm over shoulder blades and another cradling the back of a head as he rolled him onto his back.

He wasn’t really hoping to have killed their first amendable guest who had come over willingly for dinner. What kind of track record would that be?

Lips quivered, eyes darting back and forth beneath lids in a state of dreaming. “P-peter?”

“Was that a death rattle?” He tapped a shoulder again, brows furrowing.

“Oh…” Liquid lavender hardened into opal moonstones, glazing over with a shimmering emptiness. “It’s just you.”

“Rude. Everyone is so rude this morning.” Will rocked back on haunches, scuffing a hand through ill mannered hair, head shaking. “Not sure if I should be offended or let that one go?”

Elias winced, struggling to press his spine into a corner of the bed frame, eyes remaining low and straying to a knee to keep red rimmed eyes hidden. He gathered a cloak of sheets around shoulders, one red imprint of the floor burning bright on practically translucent cheeks. Will squinted. He couldn’t tell if he was sleep deprived, hung over, or had been crying. A stab of guilt weighed in his stomach.

“Could have…” A hushed ache scraped inside his voice, gesturing to the bin. “…told us you still weren’t feeling well, you know.”

“I’m sorry…for the mess,” The priest answered softly, guilt then shame trembling out. “I will take care of it.”

Will sighed, standing and snatched the wastebasket away. “That isn’t what I said.”

He stalked over to the bedroom window. It ground a quarter of a way open before sticking. Will growled at it, shoving it open with a shoulder and a rough fist. He cursed its very existence under his breath. It shuddered open on the third heave. He then tossed the basket outside on the front lawn. It rolled three feet under the hammock and came to a stop. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to prove. He would just have to go get it later anyway. Elias gaped at him, jumping as the window slammed closed.

Will brushed passed, shoulders squared. "There. Taken care of."

“Wait!” The priest sprang from the bed and latched onto his wrists, eyes darting up. “Where are you going?”

A thumb jabbed at an area directly behind them. “To the bathroom. I have to piss.”

“I, but, but—“ A flush spread like wildfire from cheeks to a throat and down a pearly chest covered in a sheen of sweat.

The gods, or whatever the hell was up there, were blessing him with opportunities. And he liked getting a rise out the priest and teasing him. One day he would be a better person and apologize. But today was not that day.

Sidling close, Will grazed thumbs over a soft face, until wide lilac swept up, searching a whisper in his gaze. “Would you like to join me for a moment alone? Is that it?”

“ _No_!” Elias all but screamed, scrambling and falling against the bed, light body bouncing.

“Too easy,” The younger man quipped, smirking before turning away.

A bitter mutter under breath followed. “Apparently not easy enough.”

_Oh. _

Will blinked once, before pretending he hadn’t heard it. He wasn’t surprised necessarily. A little amused the priest had been caught off guard enough to say something out loud. He wasn’t able to confirm one way or another the night before without actually laying eyes on Elias. Now his posture told him everything he needed to know. Shoulders slumped. Face bent in and away to keep from direct eye contact. He wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him it was fine. Everything was okay, just to say it again and hoped that some part of him heard, and understood. He looked scared, dark lashes fluttering as if hoping to disappear.

_It’s okay to be lost. Sometimes we don’t always know the way. But we can't stop. We have to keep looking._

The younger man jammed a hand in a pocket, tongue gnawed between molars. “If you want to join the other invalid, he is currently plastered to the living room floor.”

Somewhere from inside the house, a bear with an unacceptable temperature of porridge, roared. “I am not an invalid, Will!”

“Could have fooled me!” A wink scattered in the priest’s direction.

“Oh, sweet mother in heaven, _why_ are you yelling?” Elias wailed, clamping one hand to his ear and another on his head, blankets tumbling, gaze falling with it. “Oh! Did you…?”

The priest gathered limbs to his chest as quickly as any clothing he could have put on, gaze dropping immediately to the floor, as if being shirtless was more embarrassing than sleeping in the nude. He was rather charming, splashing around and helplessly floundering. Will wanted to say them. To put him at ease with the saying, 'we're all friends here' rattling on his tongue. The words stuck in his throat. It wasn't exactly true, was it?

“Nothing I haven’t already seen,” Will noted fondly with a light smile before rummaging through dresser drawers. “Of either of you, for that matter. I mean, I've seen Hannibal in various states of undress and nudity, it all practically blends together.”

"Rude!" A chair scraped, followed by a low groan.

Will grinned. The priest inhaled sharply, withering daisy stooping to hide. He glanced over his shoulder at a rigid figure, arms curled around a thin chest, to gauge his size. He was entirely too small. Did he ever eat? Did he eat well? Did casting off one’s personal possessions equate to surviving solely on the Holy Spirit? All of their clothing would be too large. Was there enough room for other garments in their dresser? Will paused in mid-swipe of a sweater, head quirking.

_That was an odd thought. Excuse me, I know you don’t know us, and what you do know probably gives you nightmares and in need of years of therapy, but. Would you like a drawer for your clothes on the off chance you become black out drunk with two killers and need to spend the night?_

What was wrong with him? He didn’t know anything about Elias. Didn’t know him period. Aside from he had lost the love of his life and his entire family. Who was he to offer help? When he still struggled to ask for it himself? If anyone had offered shelter or a place in the past, Will was certain he would have told them to, in no other surly terms, ‘kindly fuck off.’ He could take care of himself. That was, unsurprisingly, his polite response. Did he want them to ask? Sure. Did he want to say yes? Probably. But he would have felt…

_In need? Helpless? Ashamed?_

What did he know about friends any way? It wasn’t like you simply walked up to someone, particularly not someone you threatened, and asked if they liked you enough to be a friend. What kind of abysmal courtship was that? That required him to be sociable and socially equipped to handle the first requirement of being social. He had only one or two in his entire life, true friends, not acquaintances. The kind of people you could call at any hour and know they would come, even to save you from yourself. Both had conveniently waltzed into his life with quips about his sanity and glossy smiles. Hannibal had been one of them. Beverly, the other. Was there room for one more? His eyes strayed to a mousy shadow shifting on the floor. There was something about the young man gnawing at the pit of his heart.

He pulled out a t-shirt and shook his head. A chill was in the air. He wanted him to be comfortable. Not become sick. Well, at least, not as ill as he was sure consuming far too much alcohol felt like. He plucked out a heather long sleeve Henley shirt. He made a quick check for grease spots and nodded. It would do.

Thrusting clothes behind him, he waited. “Here. You can wear this. Or not.”

Elias stood there, shivering, one foot curled over the other and stared at it like the shirt might suddenly transform by demonic possession. Another flush turned him a shade of sliced raspberries on a sponge cake. And then, a terrible grey sadness flooded his eyes. Will suddenly knew what was bothering him. It was like looking into an embodiment of himself, in his youth and in later years, a misplaced piece of scenery waiting to be seen and hoping no one ever did at the same time. His own personal haunting. He heard his own voice, a memory of too many self inflicted conversations with himself.

_Smile. You’re not smiling enough. Look away. You’re staring. Don’t let them see what you are. Don’t let them see you’re slowly slipping away. Melt into the background and fade._

“Unless…” Will let his voice drop low and husky, backing Elias into the bedroom door, one hand placed by his head as he tipped forward. “You would like to stick around and join us for a shower too? Or with just me?”

Will could offer this. This quirky imbalance of teasing and lighthearted gestures. Even if Elias didn’t ask. Even if he didn’t want it. His friendship or ludicrously inappropriate social interaction. Whatever chased away that terrible, familiar aching pain, like a mirrored reflection.

“H-H-Hannibal!” Elias ducked, voice cracking as he called out, snatching clothes into arms as he ran in a blur out to the living room.

Well, now he was running for certain.

Will held an aching side as he laughed, shouting after, “Amateurs. The both of you!”

“Come to me,” A rough voice answered with the sweep of a nose tipping up. “He is being exceptionally cruel. I will protect you.”

After relieving himself, Will wandered to the living room and leaned against a corner to find two pitiful patients consoling one another. Or commiserating about their ill fate or how terribly mean their charge nurse was. He rolled his eyes. Hannibal was stretched lazily on the floor with a pillow under his head hiding from a patch of sun. He was regrettably dressed in trousers from the evening before. At a diagonal with feet pointing towards the clock, Elias rested with his head on a chest staring up at the ceiling as fingers swept and swirled through hair. The priest looked like a melting rain puddle with a steeple of fingers tugging at Will’s shirt drooping over his form.

“You two have looked better,” The younger man observed with a wry smirk.

In unison, they shot him an irritated glower.

_How cute._

“If you are not going to provide sustenance, William, than you may keep your near screaming commentary to yourself,” Hannibal scolded, mouth forming a perfectly indignant frown.

“Everything hurts…” The priest moaned, one eye squinting shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“There, there, Elias…” Fingers swirled soothingly over a scalp. “Do it for our guest, if you will not attend to me. He should not be forced to suffer.”

Will felt a near pout pulling at his cheeks. He wanted to plop himself down on the floor and grumble beside the two of them while Hannibal played with his hair too.

“Not attend to—“

Will’s eyes narrowed, stopping himself from climbing on top of Elias just to get a rise out of Hannibal, or wrestle the older man to the ground and forcefully remind him exactly how his attentions were being taken for granted from the night before. He had been perfectly thorough in every possible way. Twice to be exact. The second time he really was forced to smother Hannibal with his palm.

Arms crossed over a chest. “Maybe I will give Elias my unbridled and fully focused attentions from here on out.”

“I am still far too drunk…” Elias let his gaze flicker between the two men, hunching to rise. “…to be tossed about like an ill gotten plaything.”

“You are not a plaything, Elias,” Hannibal growled, tugging him down to rest once more.

“He’s right,” The younger man agreed solemnly. “What he meant to say was, he likes toying with his food.”

Lurching forward, Elias clamped a hand over his mouth, color in skin draining from white to grey, scrambling towards the front door.

Will stretched out an arm and caught a waist, voice lowering to a soft tone of reassurance. “Kidding, kidding. Take it easy.”

He swept him up and placed him back on the floor with the older man. The priest weighed exactly the head of a pin and not an ounce more. It seemed like he belonged there. As if the imprint of his shadow had burned into their floor long ago.

Maroon and blue eyes exchanged a look.

_We really should stop placing him where we think he should be._

_Yeah…_ Will shrugged. _Probably. Maybe he’ll take the hint we're not trying to kill him? Just weirdly offer him our...This. This. Whatever this is? A place to belong?_

A muffled warble eased out from slender fingers covering pink cheeks. “He had more to drink than the two of us combined, didn’t he?”

Warming eyes drifted to the side. “Infuriating, is it not?”

“God…” Elias looked like he was on the verge of crawling on hands and knees to pray to be delivered. “ _My head_.”

Will tapped his skull, grinning. “Mine feels just fine, thank you for asking.”

“He simply _cannot_ be real.” Elias collapsed in the same position he was before, grumbling at the ceiling.

“I am afraid to say…” Hannibal sighed, eyes closing as if he would pass out from exhaustion at any second. “…the sentiment does not fair better with time.”

“Christ.” Rolling his eyes, Will turned towards the kitchen. “The two of you.”

For a few minutes, he stared into the refrigerator with the door wide open as if it might magically produce a cure for the men ailing on the other side of the wall. He let cold caress his bare skin. His gaze flitted from orange juice to lemonade then down a row to a bowl of brown speckled eggs stacked neatly on top of one another. He peeled back wax paper from a half loaf of rosemary infused bread on the bottom shelf.

A hushed voice filtered in under the buzz of a light bulb. “I…I fear I must apologize for my behavior last evening.”

“We do not generally keep a tally of forgiveness in this home.”

“Are you letting me off the hook?” Someone shifted uneasily on a creaking floorboard. “Or yourself?”

Will gathered the loaf of bread in the crook of his arm, honey apple butter in one hand, and a glass jar of sparkling water in the other. He closed the fridge with a switch of a hip.

“I am not responsible for what my body chooses to do in its unconscious state.” Hannibal advised evenly, voice falling to a conspiratorially whisper. He could actual hear his smile. “Ergo, neither are you.”

The younger man tried to disguise a sharp chuckle as a cough. He suspected they could tell the difference and went quiet for a few minutes. He lay out all the ingredients on the counter. Drawing out a long knife, Will rustled the wax paper obscenely loud and they began to speak once more.

“And how might Will feel about this assessment?”

“Given our history, I can predict with a fair amount of accuracy he will only let it go on our deathbeds and even then with some residual struggle.”

It was the truest statement he had ever heard. Will nodded in agreement, swiping a thin layer of butter over three slices of bread.

“Wonderful…” Elias sounded crushed, unseen blushes wavering over a trembling tone. “I was hoping to make a blatant disgrace of myself as a first impression.”

A head shifted on a pillow to look down. “Does how others see you often burrow under your skin with so much resolve? To make you see yourself in the shadow of their perceptions?”

Guilt filled a gust of air rushing in from the window. “Some perceptions carry weight. Judgment.”

“And some are merely distortions of light,” The older man advised firmly, accent thickening to a rough fierceness. “Sometimes the only thing inherently wrong with us is how we see ourselves through a fractured lens crushing the spirit of who we are, and not who others wish us to be.”

“What do you see when you look at him?”

“Will?”

“Yes.”

Standing very still, Will set the knife down on the counter and listened as if he might never be able to hear another sound again, lungs shuddering with sighs. He would be content to listen to nothing else. Just to hear Hannibal speak.

“Hope,” Hannibal replied softly, a mist of rainwater tapping on glass. “I have always looked upon William and seen hope.”

He pressed the back of his hand to quivering lips, shoulders jerking forward to steady himself as the seaside framed by their cottage blurred in a rush of tears.

“And…” Fingertips trailed through light filtering in. “When he sees you?”

“I cannot say with certainty. What I hope he sees?” An aching sigh touched edges of the room in light, kissing every tear streaking from Will’s eyes as he stared at the ceiling and held tight to keep from crumbling. “A frail dying man praying to give his life to the last remaining beauty in his eyes. A chance to have his sins washed away to become the man he deserves.”

_God, I love you, all of you. In life. In death. We'll go together._

Will stooped over the sink to let his tears fall, clenching a wrist to keep hands from shaking apart on the counter, heart wrenching and pulling, begging to go to Hannibal and kiss away the pain in his voice. He didn’t care who saw. He needed to touch him, to hold him, to have him close.

With a sway of the pendulum, the conversation abruptly switched. Hannibal always knew when an avenue was unsafe to travel down, steering in an opposite direction when nerves became too raw.

“Did sleep find you well?”

“It…” Elias seemed to search for words. “…found me quickly.”

“Does it often elude your presence like the touch of dusk falling upon the earth?”

“…Something like that.”

Curiosity presented in the form of an easy smile. “It is often easier to find rest when we slumber with the knowledge of not waking to the day alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have…”

“Faith?”

Silence resonated. Bare feet shifted, signaling the priest was rising to move away.

“You might stay here the day if you are feeling too ill to travel,” Hannibal extended the offer without a moments hesitation.

Forlorn sadness whispered in return, “Have to face the harsh reality of daylight at some point.”

“This might become your reality.” A body settled against the chaise, palm patting for the other to sit. “If you would allow it.”

Will straightened, rubbing tears away with a forearm and began clattering cups and plates across the kitchen counter, pride and love swelling inside his chest. Hannibal, that good fucking man, was the most beautiful person he had ever met.

“You…” Elias sounded every part of the wise skeptic, reigning in blooming hope. “…both offer a lot to someone you don’t even know.”

“We see enough to know you. And we had planned on renovating the extra space as a guest room at any rate.”

“Space either way?”

“Something like that. Yes.” Another soft smile rose before fading to a serious tenor. “You must realize you need only ask.”

“Ask…” A throat clicked in a swallow of unanswered questions trying to spring forth. “Ask for what?”

Clouds drifted over a sun hanging low in the sky. “What we might see in you.”

Will ushered Elias quietly to their small dining room table, pulling out a chair and settling him against it. Hannibal trailed after them a spectral vision of downcast eyes and unsteady hands. Will clutched at a trouser pocket and the older man stilled mid stride. They both watched their hands caress a moment, trailing between open spaces. A thumb brushed at a wet corner of his eye tenderly. The younger man swallowed a lump of pain in his throat, pressing his nose firmly against the back of a neck and crushed his chest to a spine for a moment before abruptly letting go. He hoped it conveyed all he was unable to say. Hands skirted down his trembling shoulders, sensing need roiling through him, tugging gently.

Without a word, Hannibal pulled him through the open door and around the corner, breath rushing out as Will crushed against front. He buried his face against a clavicle, breathing every bit in to hold inside his lungs, arms locked around a waist as if he might vanish. He wasn't that person anymore, adrift and alone. He had Hannibal. A pained breath shook free. Tears filled the older man’s eyes and he wrapped him in strong arms, lifting him an inch from the floor and rested his mouth against the curve of a throat. It seemed like they stayed that way for hours, suspended, holding one another as need coursed over their skin and through the other. They reluctantly gave each other one light kiss and pulled apart, joining their guest in the kitchen.

Winston ensured Elias was not alone, resting a head on bended knee, chocolate eyes lovingly staring up.

"Is..." Feet shuffled to a stop. "Is that my Ferragamo absconded beside the fridge, Will?"

"I'm sorry." He feigned innocence. "What is a...? What now?"

Will pulled out a chair for Hannibal, shivering as softness filled maroon eyes. The older man sat. He made quick work of their breakfast and cared for each in turn. Plates clattered in a trio. Three cups of bubbling water joined. Two pairs of white aspirin pressed into palms. They were swallowed with a grimace and a pout. Crumbs littered plates and knives occasionally clinked. The three men ate their breakfast in silence, idle small talk shifting easily in the form of ebbing tidal waves. Will held Hannibal’s hand underneath the table the entire time.

Elias was the first to rise, quivering wand pulling delicate notes across the bow of his lips. “I think it’s time I should be going. I wouldn't wish to impose.”

“Of course.” Hannibal was the next to rise, smiling and sweeping a hand towards the front door. "Though one is not an imposition if they were invited."

Will was the last. He wasn’t sure why his heart felt heavy, stuck to that chair and staring at the two empty spaces. He thought of Abigail and sighed inside his mouth.

For five minutes, Will scoured the living room floor for the green windbreaker and found it balled up behind a pile of pillows on the chaise. He retrieved it, snapping it in a lazy attempt to ease a hideous amount of wrinkles. Not even an iron was going to take care of it. A shoulder lifted to shrug an apology. Elias was less than amused as he reached out and took the jacket.

“Here,” Will said, eyes lighting as he pressed a palm to a forehead to check for fever, chin jutting towards the open front door. “Now you can get out.”

_Or stay._

Elias shot him a level stare, sarcasm rolling off his tongue with an almost practiced ease. “I thought you were a gentleman, not an asshole?”

“My, my!” A wide grin spread across his face, presenting a mocking bow. “Color me impressed. The priest is given allowances to swear?”

Fury flashed through a violet sky. “I do n-n-not need permission to do as I please!”

“Are you sure? I think your devote brethren might take some issue to letting out their _fledgling_ unsupervised after midnight.”

“I am twenty six years old!” Elias howled, fingers curling at his side, face red.

“Really? Because—“

The priest pinched the bridge of his nose, hissing and growling at the ceiling. “God give me strength.”

Hannibal glanced around as if someone was listening, gesturing skywards. “Do you imagine He might mind you spending time, ill gotten or otherwise, in the company of two men in the night? It does make a rather pleasant triad formation, does it not?”

“The Holy Trinity? Really, Hannibal? Christ, if Hell is real, we ARE going to it. You know that, right?"

"Purgatory, darling one, purgatory. It is entirely different."

More sputtered ensued. “I d-d-did not—“

“Look, he’s blushing,” Will cooed, knuckles tracking bleeding red.

“It suits him,” Hannibal agreed, following the other side of a face with fingertips, mischievous gaze finding the younger man’s. “As it does you.”

Elias abruptly extracted himself from between the two, eyes wide, and nearly ran straight in to and through the screen door. “God willing _I_ do not find it desirable to throw myself off anything in hopes to avoid the two of you…”

Hannibal and Will leaned close to one another, chortling behind their hands like school children as if that would somehow hide them. It was almost more fun to take apart a man by ruthlessly tormenting with bright smiles and suggestive teasing.

“I will see you on Thursday!” The priest crowed indignantly.

“W-w-wait,” Will caught Elias by the elbow and the priest looked like he might faint then and there on the stoop if he wasn’t allowed to leave soon. He tugged open a drawer and pulled out ridiculously over sized black plastic circle glasses, popping them onto an embarrassed face. “Put these on, little bird. Or your eyes are going to melt out of your frail skull.”

There was no way to be sure if a sweet little granny was glaring at him with murderous intent or if it was the priest.

After a few moments, Hannibal managed to choke down laughter and extended a hand politely. “It was a pleasure to have you at our table, Elias, and in our home.”

“It was…something.” Elias took the hand and shook it warily. “Thank you?”

Framed in static grey light falling over pearl skin, Elias looked almost angelic, delicate features glancing over the jacket slung over one shoulder. He was soaked in ocean tide rushing after from two pairs of eyes looking upon him. He struggled to look back, at them, at the home he was leaving behind. Graceful lashes fluttered uncontrollably over lavender, desperately trying to raise his gaze. His posture sagged, shoulders rolled forward, with one hand jammed in a jean pocket.

How many times had Will himself stood in someone’s doorway, or in his own, and half heartedly hoped to be invited in? He moved closer to Hannibal, grateful for the arm curving around his waist and reeling him to safety. As Elias walked out their front door, Will had the absurd desire to pull the young man between the two of them and tell him to come home.

“Color looks great on you!” The younger man called after, making shapes of eyeglasses with his hands. “It’s very ‘in’ this year.”

Elias brazenly ignored him, stalking down the dirt road to a parked Volkswagen. Pink crept through a dark hairline. A hand tugged something free from a pocket. Silver flashed bright in the light. A simple cross swung between slender fingers before falling resolutely over a bent head and settling against a slim neck.

“Give it up, Elias!” Will cupped hands over his mouth, shouting, “You have potential alcohol poisoning, not vampirism! That won’t _do_ anything for you!”

A middle finger flipped over a shoulder and the priest kept walking.

Will held splitting sides as he laughed. If he hadn't just seen it with his own eyes, he would have never believed it.

Hannibal kissed the seam of a shoulder, arms around his waist and let his chin rest beside him, cheek to cheek. “You possess a startlingly amount of power to wreak ill manners on two men, my dearest.”

As the car swayed and bumped away in a cloud of dust, the younger man felt his heart still, breathing out, “Think he’ll come back?”

_Is this what it would feel like for friendship to fade?_

A frown rippled against his cheek. “He will if he would like to perform our ceremony in a far more professional and comfortable way than at knife point.”

“I think he’ll come back.”

“How can you be certain?” Hands squeezed his.

“He said he was looking for something, didn’t he?” Will watched the car round a corner and disappear from sight. “Maybe he’s found it.”

The older man regarded him with a blank side glance. “With you?”

“With us,” Will replied with a gentle smile, turning in arms and rising on tiptoes to kiss a forehead.

“An opportunity then?” A gentle smile made his heart flutter.

“A possibility, a room, for us to find friendship. We could...use a friend?”

_Someone else to call family._

“If it pleases you…” Hannibal trailed hands down his face, gaze dark and unwavering with promises. “Then he may very well be a welcome addition.”

“Would you like me to tuck you in bed, angel?”

The screen door tapped behind them.

A larger hand reached out. “Will you join me?”

“Sure...” A smaller one slid in, fingers nestling close.

Quiet footfalls trailed through the hall, one after the other.

“On one condition.”

Tapping skitters of nails and wagging tail pranced after.

“What’s that?”

“You bring an _entire_ bottle of aspirin with you.”

Laughter filled the small cottage by the sea, sunlight glinting off tiny windows and coming to slumber beside a blackened moon on the sway of a drifting bed. In the distance, an old car idled at crossroads of winding streets, blinker flashing over a sleepy town. A silver cross swayed to and fro in the rear view mirror to mark off each second of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I couldn't help myself. The opportunity was there. For a morning after. And herein lies, another thirty pages because I adore you all. 
> 
> (Cute bear references with affection for my new 'bear' of a friend!)
> 
> For god sake, Hannibal and Will, the two of you need to be separated and sat in opposite corners to think about what you have done. Elias is not going to survive this wedding and neither are we if you don't stop chasing him about with a fistful of daisies and a flask of whiskey like boys in a schoolyard! Behave yourselves! (We're not mad at you at all. It's delightful. We just want you two to get fucking married already! I think I'll begin writing the wedding in parts because I want it to switch back and forth between both Will x Hann's POV so we have an entire scene and range of emotion.) 
> 
> It has been kind of a terrible few weeks~so this is my way of sending some sunshine and smile to all of you, my lovely friends, and give you a few hours of a decent weather forecast of our lives. 
> 
> Your beautiful, beautiful comments mean SO much to me. (More than I can say, which...fairly certain there's some irony in that somewhere.) It really resonates within me to know how much this story helps you and brings you comfort as it does me. More importantly, you guys, help me through some dark times.
> 
> If you are ever feeling down, remember that I think you are a pretty awesome fucking human, and I will tell you so and then pin a bright gold star to your shirt and tell you how proud I am of you. Because sometimes the Fates are just utterly amused by messing with you and life is goddamn difficult, and you deserve to know that if you keep getting up in the morning to face it...Well, I think it's pretty brave. <3 
> 
> All my love and affection to you guys! 
> 
> Mood Music: All The Pretty Girls x Kaleo
> 
> All alone, alone again  
> No one lends a helping hand  
> I have waited, I have waited  
> Takes it's toll, one's foolish pride  
> How long before I see the light  
> I have waited, I have waited for you to lay me down
> 
> You know it's hard, heaven knows I've tried  
> But it just keeps getting harder
> 
> So won't you lay me, won't you lay me down
> 
> Oh I'll wait, I'll wait, I'll wait, I'll wait for you


	148. Chapter 148

Waning twilight of strewn pearls filtered over the landscape, freshly fallen rain ascending to the heavens quietly one dewdrop blade of grass at a time. Hannibal tried to steady a rapid heartbeat with each lungful of sweet earth chiming a hint of decay. His molecules shifted with each feeble vibration, blood humming to a sonata of the coming night. He glanced down for a fourth time at his gold rose Patex peeking out from a narrow burgundy cuff. Floorboards of the stoop creaked nervously as he shifted weight from one foot to the other. He listened to hushed presence of light drifting from one room to the next inside the small cottage, quietly drawing closer.

He placed a palm over a slanted jacket pocket, ensuring blood red silk and two crisply folded notes blackened in looping script remained safe from sight. He had checked for the marriage certificate three times before forcing himself to wait outside and nearly calming a fevered pace to a halt. He felt restless, anticipation coppery on his tongue as if moments before a kill. Instead of a settling calm he felt an unexpected rush of undecipherable emotion, a net thrown across his body and ensnaring him in a woven web. He felt hunted for the first time since he was a boy when war raged around them and he was not yet the nightmare lurking beneath beds. He was caught between a humming thrill and chill of uncertain fear.

Fresh fallen snow melting on firewood filled his lungs. He gripped the banister for support without meaning to, throat clicking in an effort to speak. He felt Will somewhere at his right, cooling rainwater gaze washing over him, flooding ravines in his soul and reaching corners of his eyes. Would he ever grow used to the idea of fearing loss of all who had known him so completely? Only to feel the younger man at his side, gazing fondly at gestural brushstrokes of brittle bones, remaining to care for him all the same.

With concentrated effort, Hannibal turned to find Will standing on the other side of the screen door, hands tucked in trouser pockets studying him with a quizzical expression. Damp curls were slicked back high on his forehead to reveal a thin band of pink fading to ivory where a blade once touched. Something shadowed and feral wrestled in the pit of his stomach. He reached to open the door to usher all he loved into the violence of his embrace, hand hovering above the handle. He hesitated, gaze straying to lashes flitting over pools of sad recognition then falling to a sullen line of a mouth. Will was safe on the other side, kept from him behind lock and key, the only other he had allowed to possess his choice of freedom. He had given it away. There were no more barriers between them. Not now and not ever. He was helpless to the ocean tide beckoning for the last air in his lungs.

_You would deny me my life?_

Will pushed open the door and stepped out. Hannibal took a step back in perfect unison, one hand curling around the banister intent on keeping space between them.

_No, not your life._

Blue eyes drifted over his rigid posture before flicking up to search for something within. One hand skittered over the side of his face. The other curled in a lapel. His blue eyes were tender, his softened touch cruel.

_My freedom, then?_

The older man resisted a moment longer, breath rushing out in a whispered name, before tides pulled and wrapped him in its final embrace.

A smooth shaven face rested against a shoulder, lips drifting along a starched collar, murmuring, “Are you…” Will considered something for a moment, pulling unspoken words across a tongue before swallowing them down. “Are you okay?”

Trembling hollows of tree branches replied, arms stiff at his side. “You have the visage of a man on his way to the gallows instead of blissful matrimony.”

“Just…” The younger man let out a shaky breath, almost a laugh, gathering arms around his waist and holding them tight against him as he had before the fall. “…a little nervous.”

_To give yourself to me completely? Or to realize I have taken it from you already? As completely as you have stripped me of my possessions of walls and left my heart bare and beating outside my chest._

Their golden ball of fur whined and nudged its nose against the screen door, eyes wavering sadly.

Hannibal wound arms around the smaller body until his grip threatened to crush his dearest hopes, as if he might close his eyes and find their lives together nothing but a fevered dream. “We ought to take Winston with us.”

He had waited. Patiently and without hope until the night on the cliff. Instead of peacefully lulled by embrace, he clutched to the earth as if he might find the lives they had built together entirely eroded. Would they stand on solid ground at midnight, prepared to fall once more, bound to each other by soft spoken rites and metal bands?

“We’ll be back in a few hours?” Will answered, voice strained from emotion or the embrace, kissing delicately along a salt and peppered jaw trembling. “He could stay here.”

There was no way for the older man to come up with a reasonable explanation without giving away the reason for having Winston accompany them. He thought of tireless hours in the church safe from the pull of an ocean tide, palms rough and clothing stained by thorns, leaving with a dirt smudged smile. He considered reservations he had made near the _Ferring So,_ a small silver and stone blue flat overlooking a brick red lighthouse perched on the edge of the North Sea. Reflections of ocean water rushed across the ceiling there, waiting for their union to be blessed by its cleansing touch and blessing of moonlight. His gaze fell to Winston. It was a weekend trial separation. It had been a year of running, hiding, and unspeakable trials. He longed to take the younger man abroad for a few months, to a warmer climate where he might drink humid ocean from his mouth and steal him away to bed in the light of day. Where they might rest weary hearts beside one another and find comfort alone in the caress of their soft spoken voices. It was far less dangerous to travel quickly and quietly while their remaining child was in steady hands of the god fearing.

“I…thought it might comfort you to have some form of family at your side,” Hannibal offered after a few minutes, kissing a scarred cheek.

Will pulled away slightly, spark of stars rising, lip lifting in a curve of the sun. “Going soft on me? Or getting used to a life of lint rollers and dog hair?”

Fingertips brushing gingerly at the faint line on a forehead, Hannibal recalled a wolf he found in the woods stumbling to the Lecter estate, half starved and strength dwindling as a boy. Then he saw it, the first sign of beauty in many winter months beckoning him close. Black sleek fur gleaming on the forest floor, yellow gold eyes majestic and glowing in the moonlight. They had admired one another for a long time before a single snarl signaled intent. From which one them had never been clear. Hot breath on the nape of his neck. Spit dripped from snapping canines. How lovely it had been in the moments before death tried to claim them both, rusted hunting knife splitting from sternum to ribs, bloodied carnations spilling out. His teeth followed, belly filled by haunting of a savage spirit. Would he drag Will along side him, draped across his skin, as he had done the pelt of the beast who had given him life and shelter, permanently scarred and only beautiful once more in death?  

“Will, are you…?” Hannibal choked on a frail splintering guilt and selfish need, crushing a faded turquoise flannel shirt by the hem, too afraid to let go or see if he might destroy all he held.

_Are you certain you wish to stay? To become mine?_

Breathing in, Will shook his head slowly and drew a palm down an arching cheek, whispering fiercely, “Don’t.”

The younger man opened the door and clicked his tongue for Winston to come, ambling down the grassy drive and casting a single cursory glance over his shoulder to beckon Hannibal to follow as he always had. He stood motionless, paralyzed by the inability to call out and ask Will to wait for him. In the same way he remained pinned to the bed without words waking from a dead of sleep, afraid the noise of a distant engine was taking away his love. Each time felt like dying, bleeding out from a gaping wound in his chest, until his eyes fell on smooth freckled shoulders lying beside him and he kissed the younger man awake to remember he was still among the living. The idea of mortality had never bothered him, not until he met Will. But he had never been more afraid of waking, of taking his last breath alone and divided from the other part of his soul, than he was in those moments. The thought terrified him more than the crisp darkness of his cell when he lay awake at night, knowing he might never see Will again, festering wounds eating at his insides.

Now that he had come to know what it was like to have him, to hold him, to take his life away and return it…How could he ever live without him?

Sunspots lingered black and red in his eyes, throat tightening and knuckles blanching white at his side. Was he the wolf disemboweled and howling in darkest hours for all he needed to stay, cherished life draining away final moments? A car door opened and then banged shut. Determined footfalls crunched across stone and grass. A rough thumb swiped across his cheek, fingers hooking around the back of his neck moments before Will dragged him forward and crushed a grimace from his mouth. Hannibal groaned as a tongue pried open taut lips, slipping in to forcibly cut out any lingering doubts.

As his fingers skirted through curls to hold close, the younger man jerked free, lip twitching in a half formed growl, “I think you need to measure the consequences of your actions and decide if indulging cold feet is in either of our best interests.”

He tried to speak, blinking fiercely when he was cut off once more.

“I let you go once already. I will not do it again…” A thousand storms gathered in darkening eyes, voice a clash of thunder fading. “Get in the fucking car or I will ensure you travel first class face down in the trunk, Hannibal.”

They rode in silence. Occasionally a crinkle of plastic signaled Winston shifting around in the back seat. Hannibal tried not to grimace. This too would require a reasonable summation of why it was preferable for the dog to nap elsewhere and not on two garment bags. He thought of new wrinkles on recently ironed and steamed bespoke suits, sighing inside his mouth. There was nothing to be done about it now. And he could do without two family members staring sullenly out windows at passing scenery blanketed in dimming light. He tried twice to ask if he might hold Will’s hand, to feel warmth instead of a cool stare, and ended up commenting on the irregularity of the weather. He cursed a fumbling tongue when a glint of blue returned a reply. He went stock still a moment later when the younger man shifted across the car and kissed a patch of skin a quarter inch below his jaw. The car idled at a deserted four way intersection of gravel as they regarded each other, saying nothing, before continuing down a bumpy road to a graying beach.

Winston faithfully led the way to the church for them both. Garment bags slung over his shoulder, Hannibal kept a wary eye on Will trailing a few feet ahead of him contemplating sinking rays of sepia caramel and burnt orange of a setting sun. He studied the column of a neck resting on a pair of broad shoulders rigid with a fierce fluidity of a man facing his untimely and fateful demise with upturned eyes. He tried to form words in a blank mind to give name to loss welling inside his chest, whispering, _everything I have ever wanted is beside me,_ over and over _._ The older man wished to lay Will to rest against drifting sand as he once had. To drag soft tenderness over his tongue and breathe life into orchids nestled in lungs with languid kisses, until he was able to be heard without speaking, mute and unable to beg for Will to come back to him, to cough up ocean water and live.

 _All I ever wanted is beside me. And I am…_ Bronzed amber eyes fell to a figure stooping to remove shoes and socks, breath hitching as a cold wave bubbled around bare feet. _…terrified I will not survive the fall. To touch your lips with mine and whisper my love for you as death comes to call on us both._

They walked like that for some time, slow and measured, apart from one another. They were shrouded by descending darkness. Slivers of moonlight revealed glimpses of Will walking bare foot along the beach and looking behind him to ensure a predator of the night was within sight, obediently following and watching over him. Hannibal balanced garment bags on one arm, shrugging out of the plaid jacket and shivering from a rustle of chill whistling on the wind. Was Will looking for him as well or seeing ghosts of their former selves in the distance? To ensure he stayed at his heels to offer up teeth and claws to destroy any lurking in the forest? Or lay down the protection of his skin to be honored by a worthy hunter? Or was he waiting for them to be pulled out to crushing depths of an ocean to become? The ocean had tried to claim the younger man once already. It would not have him. Not as long as he lived. Another rushing wave sent him at a near run, arm locking around a waist, and hoisting a lighter body to dry land.

“You will catch your death…” Hannibal scolded darkly, wrapping a charcoal grey woolen jacket around shoulders.

Will swayed unsteadily forward, silvery eyes lifting, voice soft as fingertips pushed long strands of wild hair from narrow eyes. “I will only ever catch you, Hannibal. And…” The younger man kissed him with infinite softness, growl of a knife melting as a face turned away once more. “If you try to run, I will find you. You belong to me.”

Hannibal shivered as he was lead across the beach, gazing at the hand holding his with longing. The same hands had been at his throat and touched every inch of him tenderly beneath a cascade of sheets. He watched the hunter adorned proudly in thick tailored lines of his skin move with ease through gnarled underbrush of a black woods. Twigs snapped beneath their feet. He had never belonged to another before Will. Never had any desire to belong to those unworthy of what he truly was. He touched his thumb against a metal band, eyes flicking up to catch a glimmer of teeth. He was entirely vulnerable and exposed, carefully and lovingly deconstructed over the years until all was barren to blue eyes. Pinpricks of light shone in the distance as they drew closer to the abandoned church. Hannibal watched its glow touch the younger man’s face, breath catching, and knew he wished to be claimed by no other. His equal. His love. His life.

“Good evening.” A blinding lamp lifted to reveal a pale moon face emblazoned against solid oak doors. “For the sake of all, I might say I never wish to see the two of you after this ever again.”

Will ambled to a stop with Hannibal beside him, regarding the priest blocking entrance to the church in a swath of ivory robes, drawl of a smile following. “Well, we all know that’s just not true, Elias. You did agree to have dinner the week after next, or had you forgotten?”

“Are you suggesting we are an acquired taste, Will?” Hannibal extended a hand and a level stare into violet eyes to ask a silent question.

_Is everything as I requested it to be?_

A thumb tapped once on the lantern, other squeezing the offered hand. _Yes. Though I would have preferred the request not be asked under threat of death._

“Is that what I’m suggesting?” The younger man shot back, glancing between rings of light peeking out from makeshift tents strung up by the neck in bows of trees opposite either side of the ancient structure.

“A fair bargain, Father.” Two long fingers descended into a breast pocket, offering a driver’s license with a flick of a wrist.

The lamp swung in Elias’s hand as he reluctantly took the plastic card and slipped it out of sight, muttering, “I don’t suppose there is a return policy on one’s soul as well.”

Hannibal felt a thin lipped smile reveal a row of jagged promises, drawing forth their marriage certificate and a midnight blue fountain pen, offering, “It might come under consideration if you were to sign your name on the indicated line.”

A salacious wink retorted. “Keep in mind, you’ll have to make an entirely different bargain with me.”

Elias placed a palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress, wincing from either pain or exasperation. “Does anyone have any aspirin?”

“Actually—“ The younger man lit up, searching pockets, palms patting over seams and creases before pausing above hidden contents. “Oh wait. No, sorry.”

Violet eyes fell over draping folds of plaid then to the older man. “Other jacket?”

Hannibal quickly snatched the jacket off shoulders, folding it safely across his arm, before any disastrous discoveries were made.

“Other life…” Will eyed him suspiciously then launched into a breathless tirade of their accounts. “Funny story actually. See—“

The priest let his head thud against a heavy door with a sigh, single index finger pointing fiercely at one of the tents. “Get away from my church before I burn it to the ground with me still inside of it, Will.”

“Your church?” A nose scrunched above a rippling smile. “At best this is a dilapidated building made of some pebbles in a goblin infested forest.”

“Come along, William,” Hannibal chided, head shaking. He had to concentrate his efforts on not chiming in to sigh or roll his eyes, hands parting a beige tent flap and nearly throwing Will in. “We ought to let our friend prepare with as little interference as possible.”

There was nothing more unnerving than reading anxiety in a voice clamoring through humor and smiles to show how fearless he wasn’t feeling.

Starlight flickered after their retreat. “…Friend?”

 

*

Will nearly broke his nose running straight into a broad back upon impact, playful rant dying on his lips as he took in narrow surroundings. He was grateful for the jolt of reality. He wouldn’t have been able to stop talking without it, floundering to dissipate tension between them. He glanced up at thick twine running through and over branches acting as support beams of a roof, admiring each well placed and sturdy knot. His heart swelled with pride and adoration. Hannibal had actually listened to him during an impromptu lesson on rope knotting.

Gauzy light formed beneath thick arms and a chest stooped to turn on an electric lamp, for a moment giving the older man the appearance of holding a glowing heart. A single wooden folding chair reminiscent of the Norman Chapel was perched next to a slim full length mirror propped against a thick tree trunk. Hannibal laid a garment bag delicately across the forest floor before standing, resting the other across a shoulder. He recognized the bag immediately as one hanging dormant in the back of the closet, out of his reach but within sight for months. He had kept his word and hadn’t taken a peek.

“So…” The younger man felt the impression of unidentifiable objects pressed into his palm and fingertips from moments before. “What’s in the bag? Or your jacket for that matter?”

Shadows formed under liquid amber tracking him from a mirrored reflection. “Never you mind.”

His fingers twitched at the idea of flattening the older man to the trunk of a tree and binding him with ropes as he once did in a dream, to look upon him forever in a delicate balance of light and shadow. Suspended between life and death and the heart he had not yet offered. He might touch him whenever he wanted, to chase away echoes of their voices from the past calling out.

_Where are you, Hannibal, if you aren't with me?_

“Then what’s in mine?” He knelt, fingertips skirting along metal teeth zipper curiously. “Seeing as how I was forbidden to look before.”

A hand snatched him from the ground by the collar. Will landed with enough force to tip a chair over, eyes whipping up as strong hands latched onto his shoulders. Hannibal loomed over him, staring at parting lips hungrily, obsidian stones glittering in faint light. He visibly swallowed, suddenly parched and waiting for a kiss to sustain him. He needed nothing, no one else, as long as the older man was near. He ran a thumb across a bottom lip, pulling at it to reveal sharp teeth, lifting his mouth and waited.

_Come closer. Let me see you._

“I am afraid I will need your ring,” The older man whispered, easing away with a flinch of shoulders before holding out an upturned palm.

“Oh…” Will curled fingers protectively over the wedding band, gaze faltering and hoping Hannibal didn’t see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I solemnly promise to return it you at the altar.”

He twirled the ring once, tugging it off hesitantly and held it between forefinger and thumb. No tarnish remained. He had worn it every day since the afternoon of seawater and a high sun. His cheek flinched as he gave the ring back, near dread clawing against his ribs as if Hannibal might never return it. As if he might not return. He felt its presence like a spectral vision, only the faint imprint of a tan line suggesting it ever existed.

“Wait, where are you going?” Will knocked over the chair as Hannibal turned swiftly, disappearing from the tent in a mist of fog, taking Winston as well.

“It is considered grave misfortune to see the groom before a wedding.”

Had he seen tears in his eyes? Or was the lamp light playing cruel tricks?

“Really? Now you are going to start believing in something?” He shouted, heat rising in his face and stinging his eyes. “A superstition no less!”

Panic seized his heart. He was alone. When was the last time they had truly spent the night away from the other?

_Wait. Just wait._

Will stomped after, jaw clenched and hands swinging. He came to an abrupt halt outside the other tent, glaring down at a protective circle of light keeping him on the other side. He couldn’t go in. Not this time. He wasn’t allowed in this room. An uninvited guest. He listened to a garment bag rustle to its rightful place. A hushed _tsst_ sent paws scampering away.

“What if…” He forced trembling to still into a waking calm, fingers flexing before curling even tighter. “…I asked you to stay? That I was afraid of the dark.”

Shrouds of mourning replied. “Then I would ask you to hold fervent vigil in the night and wait for me.”

“Like you waited?” His eyes remained on a sliver of a shadow standing still in the light.

_All those years for me, seated across from one another and then separated by glass. To accept myself. To accept you._

“I will see you in an hour, William… now go.”

His heart sank. The older man sounded as though he was grieving. Head bowed, Will jammed shaking hands in pockets and strayed to heavy church doors. These too were closed off to him. He placed a palm against its knotted surface before turning away to seek the only protection left to him. He righted the chair and sat heavily against it, head dropping in his hands. Why was it in all the languages and words he now possessed, he was unable to tell Hannibal they didn’t need to pray over one another in hopes they lived? He wanted to shout across the barriers until he was hoarse: _I’ll stay, I’ll stay. Forever. Just keep your promise. Make me yours._

_Leaves rustled above the tent. “Awfully moody in here. Looks like you could use a friend, Graham. Aren’t you supposed to be blushing? Or giddy? Or something?”_

His eyes rose to find silken stars of white fluttering over dark skin and ravens hair twined neatly against the nape of a slim neck. Beverly stood still, right hand lifting the corner of a tent entrance to gaze out at light slowly filling the church one broken stained glass window at a time. She was the lithe counter image of Adonis waiting patiently in the night to guide him.

A garbled noise of an aching heart rustled from his mouth, “He thinks if I don’t marry him I’ll leave. He thinks I’ll leave even if I do. What if…? He’s changed his mind. About me. About us.”

_Velvet skies drifted over a bare shoulder ringed in tassels of gold chain. “That is without a doubt the most dishonest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”_

He scoured a bruising knuckle of a thumb across his brow. “I haven’t said it enough. Not enough for him to believe. Doubt floods our mind in the hours of silent subconscious. He sees what we were. Not what we are. What we could be together.”

_Beverly drifted noiselessly across the fallen leaves, arms crossed, mouth drawing to a frown. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Will! You made your choice. Maybe you just don’t want to face your own consequences of allowing Doctor Lecter to be wedded to the same man who tried to end him. Or maybe you’re bored and you don’t want him now that you have him.”_

“That’s not—“ Will grit his teeth, blazing fury lifting in blue eyes as his voice shook out, “I have _never_ wanted anything more in life!”

 

*

Breaking twigs echoed retreat of doors closing in hallways they had walked together side by side to the beat of what sounded like another goodbye. It required every ounce of strength Hannibal possessed to ask Will to allow them to part. It took everything remaining to stand still and listen to footsteps shuffling in the distance. He felt the younger man’s hurt without even seeing him. He felt emptiness returning to occupy each vacancy rattling his bones. Only with Will pressed against him did the damp cold retreat and his breath even to soothe old wounds of frost burn painted in lungs. He wanted to step out and draw the younger man to him, inside his arms, and dispel both their unspoken fears.

_I don’t want to think about you anymore…_

Seeping ice cold remained in his heart from withering hours in Wolf Trap, seated alone in a veil of falling snow watching a silhouette of his heart move on inside the little boat in the night without him. How words had stung, cut deep, hemorrhaging from the inside. He had waited for Will until the last moment, icy ground seeping into his knees, hands on his head inside blinding light and guns, for him to change his mind and say, _Come inside. You are all I ever wanted._ And then nothing. Not even a sigh of recognition for his sacrifice. When he had gone three years without ever hearing the sound of his voice or laying eyes upon him, an hour seemed like an eternity to be separated.

_“Hanni, why are you so sad?” Snowflakes drifted over tears somewhere in his mind._

Turning sideways in his chair, Hannibal observed the stooped figure of his little sister in a faint blue organza dress with ribbons in her blonde curls. She was chasing after imagined fireflies hovering over a dimly lit lantern.

“I am not…sad, little one,” The older man lied quietly, running shaking fingers through long hair and sending it scattering over his shoulders. “Merely resting.”

_“You’re not ready though.” A perfectly pink pout formed on Mischa’s mouth as she squatted down by the garment bag, unzipped and left to gather dew. “And you haven’t even put on the rest of your pretty suit. Will’s gonna be mad.”_

She was right of course. Hidden inside folds of wafting cedar chips and thick plastic rested Will’s declaration of white linen cashmere stitched in red silk, not to fix the fractures between them, but offer tender promises to become whatever kind of man Hannibal needed. And in a mere moment following called him a good man.

_Warm honey glowed up. “Don’t you want to be his prince?”_

“I want only him…” As his voice faded, Hannibal realized it was the most frail and human thing he had ever said. “Nothing else.”

_“What if Will gets scared while you wait?” His sister asked, peering into her palms to admire twinkling wings. She looked up as the firefly vanished with a flit of wings, sucking in a bottom lip and placing both hands behind her back. “Are you…scared?”_

“I do not…” Hannibal covered his face with both palms to hide a well of tears, breath hot and radiating across his cheeks. “More than anything.”

He could not bring Mischa back. But after all these years, he could have Will. He could have him. And keep him.

_“Close your eyes, Hanni, and think of your favorite stars...” The little girl curled up against a resting dog, frail lashes closed on freckle starred cheeks, tiny sigh puffing out. “I always felt better after.”_

Mischa was the smallest thing inside the tent in that moment. Smaller than wavering lamp light desperate to touch corners of dark. Even smaller than effervescent glowing of fireflies. A tiny frail imperfection of humanity he had made room for in his heart and let take root many years ago. Where Abigail and Will had later joined her, cocooned against one another, until they were all he knew.

Inhaling sharply, Hannibal clicked his teeth together resolutely and rose, snapping buttons closed on a burgundy dress shirt. “I see everything more clearly, mapped out across time.” He cradled the ivory suit jacket in his arms, running its shawl collar through fingertips before settling it over broad shoulders. It felt like Will’s embrace, tailored close around him. “It brings me little comfort to foresee what Fate might offer us.”

_To wonder how much time we might have on this earth together._

_“But…” Mischa wobbled to knees, rustling through the bag and cupped two silver cufflinks, starbursts of red and diamond offered up. “…why?”_

“What if he…” Hannibal sighed, twisting each cuff link in with great care before winding a white silk and red paisley tie around his throat. “…grows tired of me, little deer?” He refused to meet his wavering gaze in the mirror to see a trembling figure staring back. “What if I cannot give him enough?”

He tried to knot the tie once. Then twice. After a third try, he let out a growl of weak frustration. His fingers were shaking hard. The silk fell through his grasp. The tie uncoiled and looped against the forest floor defeated.

The older man bent his head, vision blurring and felt his knees threatening to give. “What if…”

“What if _you_ are enough?” Another voice asked gently.

Elias stood behind him in the frame of the mirror, tie offered in upturned palms, wild lilacs swaying in kind eyes.

“What if I am not?” The older man returned softly, eyes closing.

The young man steered him away from the safety of the chair by an elbow and kept his gaze lowered, lifting a starched collar until white silk slipped obediently into place. An impeccable double Windsor tugged neatly against a bobbing adam’s apple. A palm slid down his right arm, resting at a wrist, a light squeeze of reassurance given to calm shaking.

Elias picked up the lantern and gestured towards the dark. “Come along, it’s nearly time.”

Hannibal struggled to take a breath before leaving behind the only man he had known trapped in the mirror. He was not that man. Will had changed him. And he would change him once more in the end.

*

Will wore a bare patch of dirt in the ground as he paced back and forth from one end of the tent to the other. He tore off a bow tie and pitched it away to the abyss of a corner. He popped three buttons loose on a crisp white shirt. He couldn’t breathe. His hands shook over a pure black suit jacket trimmed in deep silk accents of a narrow peak lapel and bias trimmed pockets. When the light hit the silk just right a patterned shadow of entwining branches appeared. A leather belt latched tight over slim black trousers. Silver teardrop diamond links quivered inside double French cuffs.

Everything fit like a second skin. Every angle and curve was starkly pronounced by delicate seams. Why bother wearing anything if he was going to feel naked? Perhaps that was the point. Of course Hannibal had made him a suit. He knew somehow the older man had selected each material down to the ebony opal buttons on jacket cuffs and the silver trimming on the inside. He tried not to catch his reflection each time he walked passed the mirror, afraid to find the suit ruined by damp palms and excessive wrinkles. More afraid to see a scared reflection of wide blue eyes and a pink mouth gaping back.

 _Oh god._ He skidded to a stop, eyes squeezing shut as he sank nails into a forearm to focus pain radiating from his heart. _I have to stop shaking._

“Do you fear you will disappear into him entirely?” Iron and silver glinted in darkness. “Or that you might finally devour him whole never to be seen or heard from again?”

A trembling jaw clenched and Will turned to find the low voice was not one belonging to the quiet stream of his mind.

“Chiyoh…” He blinked several times to make sure she was not a hallucination. “How long have you been here?”

Empty almond eyes studied him in a sweep of lashes. Her hair was looped high and tight to her skull. Her lips were painted the color of crimson roses. A camel colored wool trench coat skimmed over her arms and swayed against tall black heeled boots. A right hand rested in a deep pocket. Will kept his eye on the hidden hand, tension drawing his shoulders back as he stood even straighter. She looked exactly the same. Were her intentions any different?

“Long enough to determine your state of being,” Chiyoh offered slowly with a curving smile. “As unwell and mercurial as always I see.”

The smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Teeth ground. “ _How long_.”

“A month or so. Hannibal has always been difficult to track.” She glided forward with inhuman fluidity, head cocked to the side. “A feral animal is not often found slumbering in its gilded cage. You have weakened his instinct to survive, to continue moving, and remain unseen.”

Will stood his ground, gaze darting from the concealed hand to the entrance of the tent. “He know you’re here?”

There was only a foot of space between them. What kind of wound might she inflict upon him now?

“He knows I rest at his back should he need me.”

 _He doesn’t need you_. _He has me now._

“So he doesn’t?” The younger man sniped, lip curling.

A languid shrug replied. “I thought it best to have a form of guidance present at this…gathering.”

“His shaman and his keeper now? An impressive resume,” Will mocked, pinning her with a level cold stare, advancing until they were close enough to feel hot breath on cheeks. “Or… do you prefer to be his only keeper, Chiyo? Is that what this? Here to take back your keys? Come to strike down the impending threat?” Blue eyes glittered down into black stones. “He would never forgive you.”

“I do not need or require his forgiveness.” Chiyoh smiled again, thin lipped and unapologetic, drawing out a glimmering narrow snubbed pistol. “I require his survival. He has been mine to look after and my sworn duty to protect for many wandering years.” The pistol tapped restlessly against a thigh. “One should always be vigilant against poachers wishing to stamp out existence of the endangered.”

“I’m really sick and tired of everyone’s shit tonight! And maybe you forgot about killing the last man you had under your protection,” Will snarled, shoving passed the woman and barreled forward. If he was going to take a bullet to the back, he was going to see Hannibal first, just like last time. “He’s mine to protect now. Hannibal gave himself to me.”

“As you have forgotten.” Chiyoh caught him by the elbow and whirled him around, gravelly voice ebbing louder to an accusation. “You made him into more than the proverbial caged beast, did you not?”

“Take your hands off me.” He bared teeth, chest puffing out as he loomed over a glassy face. “That was _his_ decision to make. I didn’t ask him to go.”

“You also did not ask him to remain.” Nails sank into his skin. “Is a starved and wounded dog often without influence of its master?”

“You’re not welcome here.”

“Was it his decision to face countless deaths and resurrections at your hands?’

“What do you _want_ , Chiyoh!”

She ran smooth fingernails down a jagged scar on his cheek, letting the pistol fall into a coat pocket, to wait for worthy prey. “To pay my respects to the dead.”

Shoving the woman aside, Will marched across to the other tent, a man hell bent on a fight and flung open a cloth entrance.

“Hannibal!” He roared.

If the older man knew about this. If he had invited her… Oh, they would exchange more than vows tonight. Some might include a prelude of fists. He was not beneath biting and wrestling in the dirt, ludicrously priced suits be damned. Chiyoh was not going to take Hannibal from him. Hannibal would say he belonged to Will and send her on her way. She would have to find someone else to traipse after country after country, turning up like a bad penny along the way. Will was not going to endure anymore bullets from that woman. It took his brain a full sixty seconds of stuttering and restarting to take in the surroundings.

The tent was dark. Garments bag and chair had vanished. Winston was nowhere in sight. And Hannibal…

“Hann…?” A shaking cry left his lips, eyes darting to peer into the darkness, as if Hannibal might pull his very soul out from the shadows and appear.

It was empty.

“Where…where is he?” Full blown panic clawed at his lungs until Will was whirling around, hands cupped to his mouth and shouting into the forest. “ Hannibal! Hannibal! Where—“

 _No. No._ He choked on tears, raking hands through his hair, barren ring finger burning. Will looked for tracks, for a scent, for anything to follow. He looked left and then right before barreling blindly out into the woods. He jumped over fallen logs. Whiplashes of tree branches struck his face. He dodged a tree stump and stumbled. If he ran fast enough… He had to catch up to Hannibal. _I’ll find you. I’ll find you. And you’ll tell me to come home to you._

“Will! Will!” Someone was calling his name, telling him to stop, to let Hannibal go and leave him in peace. “Wait! Will, please!”

A piercing yelp drew his attention and Will stumbled, catching himself on a mossy boulder. He glanced behind him. A white tailed deer was caught in a wilted blackberry bramble, thorns scraping over folds of billowing skin, struggling to break free. He blinked and saw the priest in its stead, panting for breath, beaded crimson opening a corner of a lip from an embedded thorn.

“Please. _Please_ stop running,” Elias begged, violet eyes wide and helpless. “He’s waiting for you.”

“He…he’s…” The younger man bit down on his inner cheek to stifle a splitting ache in his chest, steadying himself on the boulder as unbearable heat rushed over him. “He’s waiting?”

_I haven't turned away to find my home in ruins? Vanished from sight?_

“Yes. Hannibal is waiting for you, Will.”

_Take me home._

*

When a church door ground open and shut, Hannibal was not at all surprised to find a spitting image of a silvery wolf shimmer and take the shape of soft cheeks and threatening dark gaze. He smiled, amused to find Chiyoh looking at him with unblinking eyes and an impassive frown. She strode to him and took her place behind him, at his right side, hands behind her back and stared straight ahead at the church doors.

The older man regarded the profile of her face curiously. “Here to dissuade my decision?”

“Only to look after you as I always have.”

“Do you have some objection to whom I have allowed to take over your role?”

“Some.” A red cornered lip ticked. “I will hold my tongue if that is what you’re asking.”

“That’s my girl.” Maroon eyes drifted to the side. “I would hate to hold it for you.”

His head snapped up. He distinctly heard Will shouting his name. He sounded frantic. Was he hurt?

“Will—“

“ _No.”_ She gripped his arm, bruising tender skin beneath, face remaining unchanging. “The china doll said he was able to handle the situation on his own.”

She had always been unmoved listening to the screams of men and beast alike.

“Situation?” The older man repeated, chill resonating his blood, heart clenching as another cry pierced the air. His feet snapped into action and took him quickly towards the doors. “He is distressed. I need to go to him.”

Chiyoh placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stilling him in his tracks, reminding him what her hands were capable of and spoke softly, “You will wait. And do as you are told.” Silver glinted before smoke hissed compassion inside soft candlelight. “Don’t you remember what I told you? He will come to you in his own time. When he is ready."

 

*

“Here.” Hands guided weak knees back to a patch of dirt in front of church doors. “No, no. Stand right here.” Dirty dress shoes scuffed forward and to the left, pushing at robes. “Will, are you even listening to me?”

The younger man heard a distance murmur of his voice pleading underneath a sting of tears. “I want to see Hannibal.”

“I know. You will.” Elias reminded calmly, picking decaying leaves from hair and sighing. “But you have to wait.”

“No. _No._ I need to see him.” Will tried to move forward, weaving this way and that, small and firm hands nudging him into a sacred arc. Psyche forbidden to view his lover, threatened to be left alone should he succeed. “You don’t understand. You don’t—”

“Will…” Elias placed palms on a paling face, leaning close and staring deep into muddied pools of blue, murmuring, “Have I any reason to lie to you?”

He shook his head weakly. “N-no.”

“Then will you take a moment to steady your breathing and hear me when I say... Hannibal is waiting for you just on the other side of these doors?” The priest placed his hand over lungs slowly inhaling and exhaling, until he did the same, breath flowing over and through him. “Your fiancé will be violently cross with me if his vision of this evening is not entirely up to standards.” Violet eyes hummed with a hint of amusement. “I really have no desire to become a Hawaiian roast, Will. So do you think you can wait here a few minutes longer? Until you hear the music?”

Will cracked a vague smile, hoarse voice answering. “How do you feel about being a raspberry sorbet then?”

A kind smile rippled as Elias dabbed at forgotten tears with an edge of a robe. “If you wish.”

He thought of the crumpled note in his pocket, worn weary from damp palms and wringing fingers. Of all the hours he had spent staying up late into the evening and trying to put into words all Hannibal was to him. All the promises he would make to keep him. All he had killed to have him. He thought of all the others before. Each vow more inadequate than the last in the week's leading up to it. Three weeks and nothing had come out right. A garbled laugh escaped. Six years and not a single sentence rattling around in his foggy brain to say more than, _I love you._ What else could he say? When he didn't know the words? There weren't any to describe them. How he felt for Hannibal was pure and unabashed need, knowing he would never be alone, each imperfection cherished. Isn't that what it meant to be alive? To be truly seen and loved all the same? 

His hands began to shake again. “What if…what if I can’t?”

_Be what he needs?_

“You can. And you will.” Cashmere scrubbed dirt from a corner of a cheek. “It is clear to anyone catching a glimpse of you, the two of you have been searching for one another’s soul since the beginning of time. You belong together, Will. Have a little faith.”

“Faith…” Will glanced skyward and rolled his eyes, focusing on finding their lives in the constellations above. “Right.”

“Now. Take a deep breath. Good. And count to one hundred.”

 

*

_This is all I ever wanted…_

Crimson fire warmed by hundreds of candles rose to meet trembling ocean blue hidden by a veil of bramble curls. Calm filtered over the church on a phantom ocean breeze, cooling blood and arms holding close, eyes closed as two shadows became mist in the night.

_For both of us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :whispers: I'm so sorry. I've been swimming upstream against currents of my mind to come back. 
> 
> How many chapters is this and they're finally at the altar? They are such a mess without each other. 
> 
> Songs for Will: Corpse Road x Keaton Henson 
> 
> And I'm so damn scared  
> Of dying without you,  
> But I've come prepared  
> Resolved for my life to wear a funeral suit.
> 
> And don't lie, don't lie,  
> Don't lie, I know we're fixing to die.
> 
>  
> 
> Songs for Hanni: Milk Teeth x Keaton Henson
> 
> Darling, your arms are worn backwards you know  
> Course you know  
> Darling, you wake for my love and it shows  
> Let it go
> 
> One day you'll drink from my bones  
> And scream as you rip out my throat  
> Don't let me, don't let me go
> 
> And it hasn't hurt you yet  
> And this is your home now so don't you forget  
> Is it love you regret?


	149. Chapter 149

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : cue the lovely cello and piano instrumental of "Earnestly Yours" x Keaton Henson :

From a dusky corner of chipped stone and overgrown weeds a brassy gramophone needle gave life to muted classical notes. Its whir of woven melody rose to high ceilings and rotting beams split from a fallen tree to reveal a bright crescent moon. Wax dripped on hundreds of ivory candles tucked beside passive carvings of saints, faces lifted to pray to reflected past etched in broken stained glass. Gentle light swept over imagined transparent pews bolted to fresh earth stripped of wild foliage. Suspended on the arc of shadow and light stood a figure of dark tones blending against oak, piercing blue pools looking out across an aisle leading to a moonlit altar.

Will struggled to breathe as he took in the once abandoned church, overgrown with tall blades of grass and thick stems of queen anne's lace crowning sanctuary to creatures of the underbrush. Careful preparation and hours of labor had transformed it into a vision of its former glory. Instead of wildflowers, patches of pitted cobblestone wove to and fro, revealed and worn thin from years of rain and ice. Round tea lights dotted either side of the aisle to guide him through flickering burgundy and ivory. A wooden scythe leaned inconspicuously in a dark corner, weary and restless from clearing a path for untamed steps. Discarded torn suede gloves rested over the point of a dull blade. The handle was worn smooth by a steady grip and blotted in dried blood.

The younger man looked up, weak noise perched on his lips and took one step forward. He swallowed hard to keep a hammering heart safely inside his chest.

_You did all of this… for me?_

Breath shuddered from his lungs once more. Softened memories trapped in amber caught light underneath a sweep of lashes. Hannibal extended a palm, waiting for him on the other side of the shimmering path, dissolving inside woven pure snowy cashmere folds and blood red silk. Inside all Will had promised and lain in his arms wrapped in parchment. Long silver strands were tucked neatly behind ears, pulled to the nape of his neck. Halo of piercing red roses and lilies lit his face from a bouquet arranged on wrought iron altar.

_I want to become... for you._

Will stepped forward. Nothing was more beautiful than Hannibal veiled underneath the gaze of a constant moon.

 

*

Hannibal felt a glimmer of tears in his eyes when a brittle crunch of stone drew his gaze down from the heavens. The fallen angel shuffling towards him in bleary tones of silver was shaking. He uncurled fingers from his own trembling hands and stretched one out to draw Will into the light. His heart was slamming at an uncontrollable pace beneath the still mask of his exterior. He was nearly certain its drumming beat could be heard above the lulling notes of piano and cello drifting through the church.

Black silken forest enclosed around Will’s form as he neared, fine stitched lines woven through gnarled branches and peaked lapels. Skin flushed pink from exertion was laid bare underneath parted buttons marching down a dress shirt. The bow tie had clearly been lost somewhere amidst the clamor of a hunt. Riddled decay of fallen leaves and shimmering webs clung to briar thorns of dark curls. Small fresh cuts etched underneath shadows clinging to bright eyes of blue calm, untouched by trembles rippling over disjointed shores. Hannibal had drifted through hundreds of galleries and never seen anything more revered than Will, candlelight glowing on his face and in his eyes.

The older man smiled faintly as shaking ceased for them both the moment their hands rested inside the others. Certain of the other to catch their fall. He pulled Will alongside him, fingertips skirting up cheeks and gently tugged at nature holding fast to the wilderness pressing into his touch. A shroud of the untamed lifted from an upturned face to reveal a moment of fear as if Hannibal was, if even for a moment, unreal.

Hannibal rested his cheek against a temple, holding Will against him and murmured, “Were you looking for me?”

“When have I not?” Palms hot to the touch moved from his neck and flattened on his chest to feel the response of his heart.

 

*

Will inhaled softly against a starched collar and he could taste the rush of metallic blood causing the heart to quicken beneath a press of fingers. It matched the erratic rhythm of his own. He touched a single red rose pinned to a breast pocket with the tip of his nose. He felt the older man’s grip tighten at the small of his back and tug slightly on his hair as if to memorize the imprint of their bodies. Peace washed over him the moment Hannibal touched him as it always had, disquiet of his mind receding and melting into cracks of stones beneath their feet. A gentle palm pushed and they parted, gleaming tips of shoes mere inches apart. Heat lingered against his collarbone where a hand had once been. His gaze rose. Rough knuckles and fingertips brushed his to keep them connected. He returned the gesture gently. 

Scenery blotted out by Hannibal’s presence came in to focus. A red lipped shadow stood just behind the older man with a pair of dark eyes. His cheek flinched. A draped beacon of cream trimmed in sun gold stood with clasped palms near. Winston stayed on quivering haunches to their left. Suspended in dust of starlight rested shimmering figures of their loved ones looking on. Mischa sat in Beverly’s lap, hands clasped by Hannibal’s mother and father on either side of her.

Two crooked fingers brushed beneath his jaw, to return his thoughts and his vision sharpened.

Will stared steadily into Hannibal’s eyes, catching a glimmer of pain, a soft voice commanding, “Do you see me?”

“Only you.”

As the world melted away, Will and Hannibal remained, standing in front of one another, holding close with nothing except unwavering devotion of their gazes.

 

*

“If you would exchange rings in show of your commitment to one another…”

“Very well.” Hannibal nodded reassuringly, clasping Will's hand in his. He longed to hold no one else's for all his days. 

He unconsciously touched the tanned line of skin on the younger man’s ring finger, smoothed by a band of protection. A stone weathered gently by a quieting storm. He would keep Will safe. The older man inclined his head, catching the glimpse of a throat working down a threat of emotion. Letting out a whistle, Winston sprang into action and wobbled excitedly around their feet, shivering from restraint of not jumping on either of them. It had taken nearly a week and ludicrous amount of treats to achieve the desired command.

Will’s laughter chimed through the church as Hannibal stooped and removed their rings threaded onto a matching band of red silk. He would never tire of the sound. He handed one ring to Will before straightening. The younger man stopped laughing, one hand pressed to an eye as Hannibal lowered his mouth to skin and sealed it with a silent promise, slipping the frail band on an extended finger.

“Something old,” Hannibal noted quietly, bending fingers against his mouth to brush along a rough patch of skin. He slipped a hand into a jacket pocket and removed a pale blue box, placing it carefully in a palm. “Something new.”

Will’s hand began to shake again, fingers enclosing around it as blue eyes widened and he croaked out, “S-s-superstitions again?”

The younger man pried open the box as if it might release creation or destruction upon the entire world. He froze and Hannibal resisted the urge to lean in to taste sweet bitter violets of Will falling apart beneath his care.

 

*

Glimmering onyx was intricately carved, a tangle of thorny branches curved to form a delicate ring. A single red ruby was embedded in its center. It caught fire with each tremor of his hand. Inside the band a matching carving of the date they met lined the inner band.

Strands of silver fell in Hannibal’s eyes as the ring pushed up his finger to join the other. Its branches gently embraced his mother’s ring. Will nearly had to grip his wrist to steady his hand long enough to slide on the one he had bought for Hannibal. He wanted to whisper something beautiful. _With this ring, I give you my life..._ He thought of the crumpled vows burning inside a trouser pocket. He thought of all the words roaring and tumbling through his mind, all wanting to be heard, and none untangling long enough to escape.

Red silk appeared from a jacket pocket and bound together clasped hands at their wrists once.

“Do you, Count Hannibal Lecter, take this man, Will Graham, to be your lawfully wedded husband till death do you part?”

Nothing sounded more alluring than the sound of their names being spoken as one.

Will stared at the rough outlines of ruddy lips, breathing out, “I do.”

His heart nearly stopped, swaying forward from a dizzying need.

Silk bound them together a second time.

“Do you Will Graham, take this man, Count Hannibal Lecter, to have and to hold, in sickness and health till death do you part?”

He wanted to crush the bed of roses and lilies lined on the altar with Hannibal beneath him, drowning in scent of trembling notes and warm taste, to fade into the nature around them and return as rooted trees wound tightly around the other never to be parted.

A tightening throat released a trembling, “…I do.”

Silk knotted them tightly together, fingers threading and gripping hard enough to bruise skin and break bone.

 _Oh god…_ Will looked up, begging Hannibal in a wave of tears. _Please don’t say anything. Don’t read me any sonnets. Don’t remind me of how imperfect my sweat stained vows and inadequate devotion for you is blotted on its surface. Just say I'm yours.  
_

 

*

_Would it truly surprise you to know I am bound to you already? In my heart, I have called you mine for many years. This last year has been the happiest of my life…_

Hannibal chased after breath quietly through his teeth, drawn closer to Will to watch over falling stars slipping down cheeks. Each one more fragile than the last, tearing out answering ones in his own eyes.

He balanced one on a thumb and brought it to his lips, whispering, “I am wed to you, Will, bound by sacrament and vows more precious than any recognized by man.”

“In life and death, your hands are bound by the purity of union and trust.”

Will reached out for tears welling in maroon eyes and shook harder when he felt Hannibal trembling beneath thin layers of a suit.

Another knot pressed their hands tighter together.

“In your own hands do you hold the fate of this union.”

Blood looped into a fifth knot.

“Beneath the mist of the stars above and the presence of the Earth below you, may your love be constant light and foundation where you might shelter one another for all your days.”

A sixth knot joined their souls together at last as red strings of fate entwined and melded to bring the past and the present in perfect unison.

Blood poured from a mouth softly, “Will…”

The younger man shook his head, corner of his lip flinching, eyes pleading.

“William…” Hannibal cupped Will’s face, flicking at tears and brought him into his arms, as he traced every scar both real and unseen tenderly. “You…” He bent his mouth close. Perfect blue eyes wavered beneath a flutter of dark lashes. Hands clenched around wrists, threatening to snap bone as the younger man held on as if a blade was cutting him open. “You are all I have ever wanted.”

 

*

Will tugged on the silken ribbon binding their hands as if he might trap Hannibal against him, wrapped up in the mystic knots and inelegant tangles of their own making, past and present suffocating them both. He wanted to be bound to him. To none another. In this life. In what might lie after. Every minute of every day. He wanted to be with Hannibal. He jammed a rumpled card into a hand curving around his neck, pleading whimper escaping. He hoped. He hoped it would be enough.

 

*

Hannibal glanced down at the plaintive plea thrust into his hands, eyes flicking over inkblots indecipherable through looping scrawled words.

 

_“My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving – I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you … I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you.” ~John Keats_

_I died for you a thousand times, at your hands and at my own. And I would happily lay down my life once more, Hannibal, for I have never been more at peace in life than I was in death. Only to be reborn beside you in a disquieted stream. To find I loved you all the same. When I could not breathe without you._

_You have changed me. I want nothing more than your arms around me, beneath a smoke black sky, on the edge of our love and tell you, “You are beautiful.”_

Trembling fingers released. He watched the blue lined note flutter away inside dimming vision, catching flame on a burning candle, ash and smoke rising skywards.

 

*

Will nearly shook Hannibal when he stopped moving, stopped speaking, and merely stared at him as if he was a ghost. Vow mangled parchment of flame disappeared.

Tears began to stream from maroon eyes and pool against parting lips. Vacant loss and then a flicker of light began to grow brighter and brighter. Will was lost to it, fire consuming them both from the softness of eyes rendering him helpless. 

“W-william…” The older man sighed, hand clutched against his chest as if his heart was physically splintering into pieces across a floor. “William, _I love you_.”

The world went dark. And Will could feel blood bubbling up from his heart, filling his throat, and spilling over his mouth and into cupped palms drinking in every drop of his soul.

“Will, I have loved you since—“

Fingers snarled silvery hair and Will crushed his mouth against Hannibal, skidding across wobbling stones, and devoured the tenor of all he had ached for in the dead of night to rest within him for eternity.

 

*

“Given we have disregarded every other proper arrangement for this ceremony, including blackmailing the officiate….” The priest scrawled his signature across parchment, muttering under his breath at the two fools completely lost to one another as soon as their paths had crossed. "Go right ahead."

_You may now kiss the groom?_

Hannibal was a shaking mess, hands balled up against Will’s shoulders and waist, as if they may not survive the separation of their hands or lips. Will was crushing the older man to him as if to ensure it.

_The bride? Each other? I did not think this last line through. The good news is they may have forgotten the human barbecue threat._

Elias sighed with a gentle smile, averting his eyes toward the rotting beams in the ceiling to look at the moon and stars above. He listened to the soft cries and broken murmurs skip in time to a jumping needle of the gramophone.

“S-s-say it.”

“I love you, my dearest one.”

Home was the shadowed imprints of two men falling away against a horizon of black sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :cue catching bouquets and crying: 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter does justice seeing as how long all of you have waited. (I feel much like Will that it is inadequate and I don't have enough words to give you.) A ribbon binding ceremony did seem appropriate~six times is to show an infinity of unity and harmony as one soul. 
> 
> One more chapter and then, as promised, choose your own adventure endings. I'm going through a life transition right now of work and moving to a new location~hopefully this will bring me to a better state mentally and emotionally.
> 
> (Post Edit: What's more charming than follow_the_night_light seeing an image and sending it to you because it reminds them of the church? I'll tell you what. Seeing it was the *exact* image I used as inspiration reference! This is actually a church that exists in France. http://ellacalm.tumblr.com/post/148044667652 )


	150. Chapter 150

“Will, where are you going?”

“Getting a head start!”

“Yes, but why are—“

Hannibal didn't have to wait a second longer to find out the answer to his question. A droplet of water splashed in the corner of his eye. He tipped his glance upward towards a roiling grey sky and wondered if his cunning boy was a purveyor of predicting the future. He reached for the car door to retrieve an umbrella. His fingers curled around the handle. A deluge of rain hissed down. The older man grimaced. He caught his reflection in the passenger window, suit and hair plastered indelicately to his skin. Laughter echoed from a blurred figure scrambling up the bluff passed the brick red lighthouse to a building with a peaked roof beyond. Not a teller of the mystic after all. Just an earth bound sea nymph capable of sensing the turn of tides and the depth of weathered skies waiting to drag men to their willing deaths. Tucking the now useless wood carved umbrella beneath an elbow, he trudged after in the wake of Will’s utter delight. He seemed more content in the miserable elements of nature than beneath a roof. The older man’s legs were heavy with the weight of sleep calling. Corners of his mouth struggled to remain in a thin line of displeasure, creeping ever upward to form a smile. He knew he would always give chase where the young man was concerned. Wherever Will was, he would follow.

 

*

_Will rested a cheek on Hannibal’s shoulder, larger hand curled over his heart. They swayed against each other in the dark forest, back lit by a small fire tended by two stooped figures and the outlines of a trotting dog. The older man nuzzled against the side of a face, softly humming a waltz his mother used to sing when he was a child. He remembered the light in her eyes when she looked at his father, gentle in all her ways, lost in their lives together. He imagined he must have looked the same with his eyes closed and Will held against him, wishing the moment might stretch on forever and never dissolve into the next. Nothing would ever be more precious than the stolen time they shared._

_“I’m stepping on your toes…” The younger man murmured, drawl drowsy with content._

_“Are you?” Hannibal tipped his lips to a forehead, kissing a furrowed brow. “I had not noticed.”_

_How did I manage to notice anything else in all our years besides the softness of your lips and the dimming light of your eyes?_

_From the moments their hands touched in the church, Hannibal felt an unparalleled rush of stillness wash over him. The prayers of the devote answered. He had been lost the moment he had seen Will. When his easy smile had faltered and what he had yet to name tapped lightly at the inside of his heart. Now, with him in his arms once more, and the resonance of their vows painting red over a lightening horizon, Hannibal was at peace for the first time in years. He was seeing him for the first time again and the older man was at a loss for words, for the very breath in his lungs struggling to give name to a sensation he thought forgotten. The very idea of sharing a life with someone, loving someone, had always belonged to others. An ideal, a fleeting thought in moments of solitude. Thinking of going back to a life of emptiness in a crowded venue or dining room churned sickly grey in his stomach and he held closer. What was the point of it, of any of it, if Will was not part of his life?_

_“Liar.” He felt lips smiling against a lapel. “Shouldn’t we eat some of our own wedding cake? They’ll finish it off or give it to Winston before we even have a single bite.”_

_“I will make you another. As many as you request. Ask and it is yours.” The older man traced soft curls at the nape of a neck, eyes drifting shut once more. “Unless you would rather not wait?”_

_“Can we stay like this…” A soft sigh warmed their clasped hands. “…for a little while longer?”_

_“For as long as you wish, my darling.” He held tighter, crumbling when Will leaned all his weight in and rested against him, scent of ocean air and trails of smoke from burned out candles clinging to his skin._

_Is there any realm …either in this or the next where you will stay?_

_Stay? I’m right here? ......... Forever, Hannibal… I’ll stay forever._

_Will had kept his promise. He had stayed. Eternity suddenly didn’t seem like enough time._

_*_

They entrusted Winston in the care of the priest (and by association the priest into the care of Chiyoh, even if it was begrudgingly agreed upon) and slid into the car side by side, an arm around the younger man, as Hannibal guided them north to the _Ferring So._ He had driven slowly, fingertips dipping over waist and hipbone, catching every sigh and murmur Will made in his sleep. The home he had rented for the week was a stony marble statue of modern silver windows and reflections of the ocean tossing and heaving beyond. It reminded him of the one he had taken Abigail to many times overlooking the Atlantic. The one he had nearly died in beneath the grace of the piano and a lovely blue stare, a reminder of how powerless he was to the demands of his compassion. It was nearly the same one Will and he had been reborn beside, tossed ashore broken and bloodied after a peaceful fall. He had always loved him. He had never loved him more than in the moment he knew Will chose him, even in death.

_My life is yours, William, do with it what you will._

A waterfall of rain cascaded down a marble roof jutting out over the front entrance. Will was grinning, white pearled teeth a soft glimmer and dark curls dripping over fading scars on his face. The black tuxedo jacket was slung carelessly over a shoulder, drenched white fabric of a shirt clinging to a gently heaving chest, each outline more of a temptation than the last. Hannibal stepped through cold water with a low growl, shaking the umbrella free of water for all the good it had done him and set it with a tap to balance in the archway.

_I was a respectable man once. And now, I am a besotted fool running after you in the pouring rain to throw my coat over puddles at your feet to keep you dry as you walk._

The younger man slicked back curls, commenting lightly, “You look like a drowned Persian cat.”

He looked and sounded utterly pleased by displacement of hair and suit, unconcerned with the possibility of Hannibal’s discomfort or minuet chance of pneumonia.

Will’s eyes were the color of cerulean grey hope and Hannibal thought he might kiss him there, breathless, in the patter of rain and ocean breeze blowing sideways. He would taste of salt and sweet darkness. Where it was cold and they would be forced to find warmth against one another. He sighed inwardly. Will was his. His to kiss and say he loved beneath a passage of graying years.

“If you are going to insist on being Poseidon’s fallen deity to predict the weather…” Hannibal backed Will against a black wrought iron door, palms flattened near his hips but not against them. Hitched breath answered as he tipped a mouth to an ear, nibbling against a curve. “A bit of forewarning would be most appreciated.”

“What would be the fun in that exactly?”

A set of silver keys appeared from a dripping coat pocket. “The _appropriate_ amount.”

“Hannibal…” Will shifted against him, damp earth sweetened by a scent of need hushed over skin. His voice was a mere whisper. Fingertips curled over his elbow, drifting down the seam of a bent arm, and lingered at a wrist wrapping over the older man’s fluttering pulse. “Will you say it again?”

This time his breath caught, a threading and weak little thing, tapping against Hannibal’s heart. He knew what the sensation was now, learned its every composition over the years. How long had he waited? When was there ever a possibility in his life happiness, true happiness, was a part of his vision? That Will would have him. As he was. For who he was. And ask for brittle bones of a predator to breath hushed tones of love to life against him behind threat of teeth.

The older man turned his mouth against the curve of an ear and hooked a hand around a neck, kissing lightly and murmured, “I _love_ you, Will.”

“Again.” Brows scrunched, lips trembling at his cheek, breathless from the mere touch.

“Inside…” Hannibal admonished softly, slipping a lock free and pushing on the door. “I will tell you then.”

_I will tell you each day. In the quiet of night or under an arch of afternoon sun, when my eyes will find yours and my love will continue to blossom. I will give you all, if you will have me, William._

Fists balled up against his chest. Hannibal listened to the cogs of the younger man’s mind and body tighten, tension threatening to tear him apart from the inside out. Will stayed where he was, staring down at their shoes smattered in blades of grass and mud. The steady drip of their clothes on slate stone was blotted out by a howl of storm clouds. Red colored cheeks brightened the longer he waited. Hannibal observed the huddled figure, chin tucked at an angle before tipping thoughts over the bridge of his nose. He touched the side of a face concerned and Will visibly flinched.

“Are you well, my dearest?”

The younger man shook his head once, blinking back a furious glimmer of tears.

A knife wrenching twinge filled his heart. Will was standing before him, on solid ground, in his arms, and he was drowning. He was gasping lungfuls of water, choking on sentiment of all he had known and felt, but had yet to hear. He saw the younger man’s life stretch out in a vision; a boyhood of skinned knees and oversized disguises of sweaters to the man he was before wrapped in thinly cracking glass and guarded biting remarks. The images remained like sunspots trying to meld with the man covered in fine clothes and scars of vicious promises to fight for all he loved, trembling for what he had known only from Hannibal. True acceptance.

_Has no one uttered their love for you, Will, out loud or in the quiet of their hearts before me? Promising to know you? As I have. As I vow to do for all our days._

Straightening, Hannibal squared his jaw and lifted Will slightly off the stoop with an arm around his waist. He held him suspended for a moment, tightly, until a single tremor sent Will melting against him. A cold nose buried against the crook of his neck. He carried him inside. Where it would be warm and dry. Where the younger man would be safe. Where he would be beside him always. In this house and many others. He nearly kicked the door closed behind him. How could he have been so foolish? To have made him wait for so long? For something many spent their entire lives searching for. As he had. Knowing how much it would mean to Will to hear it, to feel it ingrained in his bones, and fracture in the steadied pressure of Hannibal’s embrace.

Will wouldn’t meet his gaze, lost blankly in the bare surroundings of the foyer, muddling through the possibility of never hearing those three words again. After not knowing how much he needed it. Or even how much he wanted it. Had he too envisioned a life of where he was his sole companion? Trudging through the horror of his mind torn free by work, when he would eventually lie down on the floor with his dogs and hope not to wake?

The older man dragged off both their shoes. Then peeled off socks. He was keenly aware of a trembling hand resting on his shoulder to remain steady. He took the black suit jacket and tossed it beside his own to form a puddle without them. The younger man was visibly shivering now from a chill deep beneath his skin. He lead them carefully up a flight of smooth marbled stares to an expansive bedroom surrounded by mirrored glass and silver metal trimming. Mirrors lined the ceiling, room filled with light reflected from waves, bouncing off corners and crown molding. He pushed Will gently into a high backed white chair to stare at a bouquet of carefully arranged ivory roses and azure blue forget me knot buds. Toes curled anxiously against a plush carpet. The older man’s reflection moving away was caught in frosted etch glass of the vase.

_It once pained you to be touched. Is it more excruciating without my hands upon you?_

Stooping beside a simple glass fireplace, Hannibal fiddled with a knob until a fire lit inside a set of fake logs and caught blue eyes in its surface. He inhaled sharply. They looked far away, from him, from the place beside the sea. Lost and weary. Heat touched his face and he sighed. The older man rose stiffly and rounded the chair to stand behind Will, hands drifting to part buttons on a shirt one by one. Skin shivered with each brush of skin. He eased damp fabric from chilled shoulders, discarded to its rightful place on the floor. He swept a pad of a pinky finger from a shoulder blade up a tensed neck reverently. Nails sank into cushioned armrests, holding on as if to melt against suede upholstery and be forgotten by the steady gaze looking down.  
  
“On your feet.”

Will craned his neck, breath rushing out at the gravely command. Hannibal stared at him expectantly, fingers splaying to point to an outer edge of the carpet where he was to stand. He shook his head weakly. Hannibal followed the bobbing line of a swallowing throat and waited. The younger man stood unsteadily, trails of water following as he stumbled forward. Hannibal caught the lighter body in his arms, nails raking on either side of a spine, gnawing on his lower lip to keep from chasing after a whimper with a nip of teeth. He made quick work of remaining garments. A belt clattered to the floor. Soaked trousers crumpled to feet. Two thumbs hooked over faintly warm silk black boxers, pushing them down legs.

Arms curved around bare skin, a mumble drifting from beneath a curtain of curls. “Cold.”

Hannibal pulled Will forcefully against the front of his chest, crackle of thunder sounding overhead, dripping clothes melded against burning flesh. “Then I will ensure your warmth.”

“…Tired.”

“Then I will provide you shelter and a place to rest your weary head.”

“Uncertain?” A weakened noise rose as the older man nearly suffocated the boy inside his arms, placing a single kiss to a freckle dotting a left shoulder. He sounded devastated by loss. “I never hoped. You are never disappointed if you don’t hope.”

“Are you disappointed in the tarnished elation hope promised you?”

“Only…” Will hunched forward, eyes squeezed shut, softly replying, “I’ve never had something to be let down by. Nothing important. I’ve never had someone to lose. I…” His voice faltered. “I never want to lose you.”

The older man considered this with a deep creased frown, claws flexing inside bones, lip curling slightly as darkness rose and snarled promises to kill for and protect an answering shadow.

“You do not require hope to know this…” His embrace coiled tighter, whispering fiercely, “You are mine and I will care for you. I will only speak truth to your ears and rest my sins at your feet. And…”

Hannibal lifted Will once more, relief rushing out in a caught breath as arms and hands entangled around his shoulders. He laid the younger man gently against a downy dove and white colored duvet draped on a round bed. They might stare up at the light of ocean water drifting on the high ceilings above to protect them in their sleep. The younger man pushed and pulled a dress shirt off, nails lightly scratching to reach the older man. He undressed quietly before leaning in. His hands drifted up ankles as he kissed knees and lay between thighs, chasing shuddering sighs and drawn muscles. Will arched as they met skin to skin, hands gripping shoulders to entwine every bit of them, shaking harder. Fingers wound in a thicket of dark curls, kissing rain from a brow and tasting the sea. Will would always taste of the divine.

Tracing pain etched in the face looking up, Hannibal mouthed words against soft lips, “I will love you until my very last breath, William. I have always loved you. You and only you.” He felt tears staining a chin and trickling between their chests. “And I will speak those words to you every single day until you tire of hearing them. Now, sleep beside me so I might wake you and say them once more.”

Small protests hushed as Hannibal cocooned them in sheets, arms and legs wrapping tight around the half moon of Will’s body until trembling petered and he lay quietly lost to endless sleep. The older man traced protective seals over shoulders then arms. Then smaller hands held his own. An answering promise of protection. He let eyes drift closed, lulled by rise and fall of breathing, and let their bodies drift together until they became the tide spilling from the ceiling, over the bed, and rushing out to sea. As dark blotted out his vision behind eyelids, a terrible pain reverberated through and through him, thought forming like whisper. He too had been drowning.

 

*

When Will woke a second time, night had fallen. His lashes fluttered to focus on moving and swirling shapes beyond, woven to form waves dashing against rocks with a frothy spray. He glanced up to find Hannibal sitting up in bed, staring out at the same ocean, mouth pinched in a pensive line. He was a hundred miles or possibly years away in a set of equations touching his face. Emotions flickered off his face like candlelight. Anger and then pain and then helpless hurt. He was cradling Will in his arms, absently tracing circles on his skin to tether his physical body to the present. The younger man pushed curled toes up an ankle every time a wedding ring drew a cold crescent against an expanding ribcage.

“What are you thinking about?” Will asked quietly, drawing a thumb over a mouth.

Hannibal drew in a sharp breath, startled, a single blink sending glazed eyes away and returning honeyed maroon, even more startled to find Will. “You,” The older man replied, kissing a corner of the upturned mouth gently.

“Seems to be an epidemic where you’re concerned.” He touched the side of his lip, softness fading as the older man returned his gaze to glass windows. “Isn’t there much room for anything else in that exquisite skull of yours?”

“Less and less as the days pass.”

It was so quiet, he almost missed the reply. He sounded utterly lost, as if Will had drawn a blade across his heart and left him wounded, bleeding out in the night as he slept soundly. Where had the light in his eyes retreated from only hours before?

“Do you find yourself thinking of me?”

“No.” Will threw legs over the side of the bed and balanced his elbows on knees, dragging palms over his face. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. “I’m calculating how much it might cost to have all of my business cards and letterhead changed to fit my new name and initials.”

He cracked open a single eye. The joke was entirely lost on the older man.

“New title you mean?”

Legs shifted restlessly, freed from the weight of his body and the duvet. Will winced, turning his face towards a dimming fire and kindling doubts in his mind. Did Hannibal wish to be free him now that he had claimed his prey completely?

“You are after all among the ranks of nobility.”

Blue eyes shot a squinted look of disapproval to a set of thighs draped in white silk pajamas. “Countess?”

Soft knuckles scoured up the side of his face, fingers flexing to touch delicate skin beneath corner of his eyes, and Hannibal turned his face. Darkened eyes gazed steadily into his, into him, seeing every unfathomable depth and burrowing further still. It took his breath, the way red lips parted as if parched for the words lingering on his tongue. No one had ever looked at him as though he existed. Yet, Hannibal was looking at him as if he, Will Graham, was the only thing to exist in the entirety of the universes and all that might exist beyond.

“My Count William Lecter,” The older man breathed out, thumb following the scar on his cheek, eyes sharpening with a raw hunger of starvation.

 _You can’t…_ His nails sank into vulnerable flesh on forearms, forcing Hannibal to continue to touch his face, to stare inside of him and shine light on every ugly shadow. _…let me go now that I’m yours._

“ _Kiss me_ ,” Will growled, inching closer, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

The trail of Hannibal’s fingers stung as he pulled away and rose, disappearing out of view and out of reach, down a darkened corridor. He shuddered. Emptiness filled him like waters of a black raven, seeping through his eyes and his nose, to well in his lungs and throat. Would there always remain space between them? Too scarred to trust the other completely to reveal their truest selves?

“Please…” A croak of pain scraped across his tongue. “Come back.”

Bare feet padded across a marble floor. Fingertips ran over his shoulders and down his chest as silk settled. Will gasped for air, burying his face against a stomach. He obediently pushed arms through sleeves of a silk robe, clinging to hands guiding him. Hannibal placed him in the exact center of a patch of light on the floor. He waited for the press of a mouth to ease his pain. He was carefully released and left to stand. To wait. Patiently and without explanation. 

_Will you throw me back into the ocean now you have caught me?_

Frustration edged into his voice. He tired of waiting. “What are you doing?”

“Searching for the most advantageous vantage point,” The older man noted distantly, dragging the white wing back chair to a corner of the rug and turning it.

Another demand was perched on his lips as Will watched Hannibal settle against the chair, one leg crossed over the other, hands folding neatly in a lap. His shoulder jerked as he began to move and take what he wanted.

A left palm rose, halting him in mid stride, cool voice sending him statue still. “Stay where you are, please.”

He stomped back over to the patch of light and nearly sat with his arms crossed on the floor, back to the voice, and ignore Hannibal entirely. Instead, he clacked his teeth together and scrubbed a hand through damp hair, clenching at strands and trying to ease the ache for touch. Powerless to banish it entirely. 

“Just like that.”

Will looked through the triangle of his elbow, mouth and body softening when he saw how Hannibal was studying him with a patient reverence. Crimson eyes trailed a path over his face and neck. He could feel lips kissing the corner of his eyes, his temples, and lingering on his pulse to taste his intrigue.

“Lift your hair for me,” Hannibal commanded softly, gaze blurred by light.

Swallowing, the younger man pushed curls from his forehead and lifted some clinging to the back of his neck. He tried to repeat mental cues to keep breathing steadily.

“Turn.”

He twisted his body into a pleasing curve, letting some hair fall into his eyes gazing over a shoulder. Eyes traced the divot of his lower back, following the robe hitched high on thighs. What did Hannibal see in the gauzy dust of moonlight? Was the white silk robe pale against his skin? Were his eyes a vivid grey of a storm or bright blue opalescence? Did he see how much Will needed him to look and see?

The chair creaked as weight shifted. “Loosen the belt on your robe…”

Will pulled lapels of silk through forefinger and thumb, embroidered silver cherry blossoms and scrollwork touching back. He felt the older man’s gaze darken as he found the knot of the belt and tugged. Fabric parted to reveal a sliver of his chest, dipping below his navel. He shivered as Hannibal sat forward on the chair, steeple of fingers pressed to his mouth, adam’s apple shifting from a controlled swallow, paying rapt attention.

“Let it fall around your shoulders,” Jagged roughness thickened his accent.

Biting his lip, the younger man stared up at waves of light on the ceiling as silk brushed over nipples, clung to a tensing abdomen, and pooled in the crook of his elbows. Everywhere silk touched sensitive skin left a blush and flesh shivering. A breath hitched. The imagined sensation of fingertips skirting up slits of the robe to knead his thighs and a tongue laving a bud warm was nearly too much. He flicked a tongue across lips. His cock stirred as a chair creaked, followed by a scratch of nails dragging over upholstery.

A whispering wolf of red eyes glowed in the dark room. “Come to me.”

Will turned three quarters towards the sound of the voice, eyes fluttering closed as he pushed a hand up his own throat, head tipping back and lips parting. He flicked knuckles underneath his collarbone gently before leaving red marks down his chest with nails.

“Did you feel a stab of hunger when gazing upon the marbled skin of Patroclus hanging lifelessly in the arms of Menelaus in the galleries of Florence?” He asked, hands tangled in silk as it shifted and pulled against searching hands. “Did you run your hands over bended knee…” He touched his right knee, running a single fingertip up an inner thigh, lifting the hem of the robe to reveal before letting it fall. “…and up smooth carvings of thighs, before touching a chest? A mouth?”

He listened to ragged breath matching his own, burning up from the intensity of eyes watching each place he touched and lingered upon.

“Did you imagine it was me?” Blue eyes met fiery red steadily. “Were you touching me softly or with a fever as I sailed across oceans to find you?” His words stuttered, feeling the sensation of his own hands as Hannibal’s, fever cloaking his skin. “Did you think of me often?”

A shadow blocking the light fell over him, furious growl heating the back of his neck. “I thought of nothing else.”

“No self control to keep your attentions elsewhere?” Blue eyes slid open and up to revel in a gaping hunger.

“Powerless. Paralyzed for having known you,” Hannibal remarked darkly, eyes glinting as corners of lips turned up to smile. “You made quite certain of that.”

“Did I?”

_Are you defenses as weakened as mine are by you?_

Pain flooded in, arms twisted behind his back, moan lost in his throat as a hiss instructed, “Be still.”

He pushed prickling palms against his thighs when they were released. His silk robe fell open, belt whisked away. It rested a moment later over his eyes. He couldn’t see Hannibal. Couldn’t hear him. Never could unless the older man wanted him to know he was near. He knew he was close. Circling him, eyeing his catch with a grim satisfaction, mulling over what to do with him. A thrill chased up his spine. He might be caught for life after all.

“And you, Will?” The older man asked from somewhere to the right. “Tell me, did you consider the possibility of my touch upon you?”

He felt Hannibal tracing the contours of his body without touching, heat radiating from hovering palms. His shoulder blades. His spine. His waist. Heat found the center of his chest, sliding down his stomach. His robe was lifted from thighs. His cock jerked at the sensation of fingertips almost grazing him from shaft to tip.

“Ah…” The younger man worried his bottom lip raw, reaching out and finding nothing but thin air. “I felt the imprints of your hand for months. Cupped against my cheek, pressed to my waist, as my blood spilled out at our feet and considered how they might feel rough or calloused by the blade underneath my shirt. I…” His knees began to weaken as a forefinger ghosted over the lines of his lips. “I _ached_ for your touch.”

“And I yours,” A lost murmur sighed above his shoulder. “You are shaking.”

He wasn’t shaking. He was breaking into a thousands pieces. Every joint, muscle, and bone in his body was threatening to turn to dust. And he needed touch, just Hannibal’s touch, fleeting if it had to be so, but he needed it all the same.

Will turned quickly, sensing Hannibal behind him, and laid a hand against a cheekbone, stroking once to ease trembling. “So are you.”

 _Won’t you say we’re falling apart together, angel?_ He leaned up, balanced on tiptoes, to kiss an old scar on a brow. _Powerless without the other?_

A mouth trembled. “What are you…”

“Saving you.”

Will wrenched silk from his eyes and buried both hands in silver hair, pulling Hannibal into a crushing kiss, until he was half bent at the waist and drinking against him.

Breath and a tongue lapped at his lips. “Who are you saving me from?”

“Yourself.” He insisted gently, slipping a tongue inside heat and silencing further protest.

_When you are unable to reach out and touch me, I will find you._

A growl rumbled from a chest. Hannibal lifted him off his feet. He was almost always cool to the touch. The older man was burning up. He hooked ankles around hips, rolling lightly against damp silk, muffling a needy groan as their lengths brushed. The silk robe was torn off his shoulders and pitched on plush carpet besides a faintly glowing fire. He joined the floor, spread out, as large hands gripped his ribcage and held him down, teeth and lips alternating between tender touches and rough scrapes. Marks dotted from his stomach up his chest then to his throat, a more livid mark left for all to see. He tugged on hair till Hannibal kissed him, bruising and deep, silver strands scattering over a glow of coals, sparks dimming as Will murmured _I’ll never tire of this, of you, angel, never._ A stray flame lit up a rush of tears.

“Hann—“

Breath knocked out of him. Broad shoulders jarred the small table. The vase tipped and spun, cracking, and spilling out in a rush across glass. Will blinked up stunned, watching water flow over the surface, around stems of roses and mangled buds of tiny violet petals. Water streamed over its edge, pinging against a bent spine. He stared at petals and droplets caught in silvery strands, dazed. Hannibal had thrown all his weight on top of him, arms jerked around his waist and shoulders, face pressed to his throat. Fluttering eyelashes were wet. He dug for strength in throbbing ribs, loosing a hand and timidly streaked water over a back to comfort. Floral scents sweet and frail rose over salty skin. Will tipped his face towards a shoulder and breathed in, kissing lightly, and held tighter, rocking the older man in his arms. The tighter he held, the more Hannibal trembled, suffocating one another equally.      

“I waited, Will.” Hannibal’s voice cracked pitifully against his ear, shoulders slumping forward and pinning him to the floor. “For so long. Every day and night. I thought—“

He wondered if the older man meant to trap him there, to keep him from leaving, wings clipped and unable to escape. He still didn’t seem to know Will wanted to be nowhere else but at his side, in his arms, to share his life, even now.

Will kissed a falling tear, whisper rising to a low growl, “You don’t have to wait anymore.” He leveraged a knee beneath a sternum and flipped the older man on to his back. Lines of pain etched the corner of a mouth, a brow, eyes struggling to stay open. He kissed him, drawing blood, breathing over red. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Hannibal fought for his life, clawing and bucking and trying to break free, to keep some part of himself safe from Will. They rolled over carpet, rug burn catching on knees and thighs. Nails snapped against his chest and hands shoved up to protect. The older man cracked his head on an edge of the glass table and went down with a thud. He howled, fight draining out of him and collapsed on the rug breathing just as hard. He cradled the back of his head. Will sighed, biting back a _it’s your own damn fault_ , and prying at the stubborn hand refusing to let him look.

“Just—“ His eyes narrowed as fingers clamped down. “This is _not_ how I imagined this night, Hannibal!”

A lip lifted over a canine and Will drew back, staring down a feral growl. Hannibal let his hand fall, eyes lowering sheepishly. _Old habits._ He prodded at the bump gingerly, checking for blood. His fingertips pulled away clean.

“Hurts.”

Will rolled his eyes at petulance flooding a normally composed voice, kissing it gently, and rocked back, head balanced on an elbow and palm.

Maroon eyes drifted to the side, an even softer voice repeating, “It hurts.”

Hannibal stretched out over the carpet, covered in petals and scattered droplets of water, on his belly with a hand over his head reaching for the fireplace. His face was tucked in the crook of an arm bent under a jaw.

_I hurt you._

Will kissed the tender bump again, knowing it wasn’t the true source of pain creeping into the body beneath. He wasn’t talking about the physical pain. He heard what was said crystal clear in the rain pouring outside.

_It hurts. Being without you. Waiting for years. Never knowing. Hurts. Having you here with me now…_

Estranged guilt flooded in and Will hunched forward, unsure which of them was radiating the emotion. He stretched out on his side, fingers skirting through the outstretched hand to hold it. He stroked raised flesh on the older man’s back, watching every forced measured breath expanding and contracting. He inched closer, deliberately slow and careful, skirting fringes of hair from solemn eyes looking anywhere but his level gaze. He kissed a temple and then a ruddy cheek and touched the corner of a deepening frown. Hannibal lifted his face, observing warily, surprised when Will pried open his lips with a gentle sweep of his tongue. An arm lifted and the younger man took a chance and wriggled in, pressed chest to chest and face to face. The older man sighed into his mouth, curling in and around him, as if he had no choice but to hold him. If he had ever had a choice at all. 

“Promise me…” Hannibal began slowly, twisting silken curls in fingers, shuddering as a mouth moved down his throat and chest. “Promise if you leave, to cut it out of me and show me the grace of your mercy in death.”

Will stilled, head lifted, blinking slow as he tried to comprehend each word. “I promise…”

Then he smiled, gentle lines sloping, as he tipped the older man effortlessly on to his back. He crouched over him on knees and hands. The older man watched him uneasily, tensing with anticipation for a bite or a blade. With a breath, lips sealed tenderly over a bullet wound on his stomach.

“… to heal every scar with the press of my mouth.”

Hannibal let out a weak noise of dying as Will melded with ocean filling the room and flowed over him, body and mouth trailing over skin gilded in firelight.

“I promise you will fall asleep and wake to my arms around you.”

He reached deeper into a soul, hands smoothing over skin, marked and marred by the journey of their lives, following curves and angles until the older man was lifting to meet each touch.

“I promise to spread your ribs and kiss every inch of the demon inside and whisper you will never be alone,” Will murmured, lips drifting against a choke thrumming inside vocal cords. “Never.”

The younger man splayed fingers over a cheek and a waist, grip tightening as Hannibal stared helplessly up, lost and grieved and longing for all he prayed to and for.

“And I will love you, Hannibal.” His teeth flashed, eyes glowing with fire, and he bent his head to kiss both jagged scars running down wrists. “Until I am all you see, all you remember.” His voice was low and dark with promises. “God, I will love you until you _never_ hurt again.”

Hannibal broke apart in his arms, knees curled to his chest, no longer struggling to be held. His throat tightened as the older man shook, crying silently against him. Will slotted his knees around a torso, chin resting on top of a head, and wrapped arms around shoulders. He idly stroked long hair to the rhythm of his voice saying, _it’s all okay, it’s going to be okay, I’m with you now._

Will thought of catching a glimpse of a smile melting from Hannibal from the first moment they met. The mask had slipped. For a moment, brief, there and then gone. But Will had seen him. Falling in love with him? Or seeing him? Losing himself to the possibility of hope? He cupped a head to his chest, blinking at a sting of tears. Hannibal had waited years to touch him, to be held, and longer still to allow himself to speak. Was he afraid if words were weapons Will might use the most fragile, delicate expression of his heart to maim and wound? Or was it…

Fingertips touched the side of his face. Will stilled, searching for a sudden lack of oxygen. Tears stained a face, clinging to open eyes, but there on red lips was the same smile, uncertain and struggling. Stitched inside blossoming star anise eyes was a thread of peace. He touched his cheek and Hannibal leaned in to a palm, turning to kiss its center as if it was holy.

“I want you to know…if I could change it? Any of it? I would do it all over again if meant I could be with you.” The younger man stood, stooping for a soft kiss, and rested his forehead against him, eyes closed. “Come with me?”

“I will follow,” Hannibal replied, rising and nuzzling lightly against a neck, hands entwined in the ones reaching out.

Will stretched out on the bed, palms spread open and waiting to gather the older man in his arms. He shook his head as the other tried to speak. As knees sank into the mattress, his heart quickened, hips and then chest following, crumbling into one another until they were dust. Hannibal found his mouth blindly, eyes closed, palms sliding down his torso. He counted jagged teeth with his tongue, delving in to lure out hot breath and a trapped groan. He parted thighs, lifting hips in invitation, knees pressing in to a stomach. The older man rolled hips, following the way a throat arched as a gasp escaped with a tongue. He grappled for hips, snagging silk around thighs, nails sinking in and dragging a hot thick length springing free over his. Teeth sank into his shoulder, legs kicking pajamas loose.

“I want to see you,” Will pleaded, sparks of red throbbing in his eyes, fever pitching as they began to thrust against one another.

“And I…” A growl vibrated against his jaw. “…wished to make love to you slow, touching all of you, without the added effects of a concussion.”

“Have it your way, Doctor Lecter.” The younger man rolled on top, drawing calloused palms from his collarbone to his stomach, arcing and twisting slow to create friction. "We are never more gentle than when we are tearing the other part."

“God, Will…” Hannibal whispered, fingers digging in to soft clefts, kissing the smiling scar. “You are breath taking.”

He opened his eyes to find an intense red glow reflected in mirrors of the ceiling, admiring his writhing form in a different medium. He watched hands wrap in his hair, pulling him against Hannibal, chests slicked with a sheen of sweat as hips picked up rhythm. A burning mouth found his and Will panted into it, swirling wet tongue stealing off each plea and moan. Release edged white and red in his vision, nails scraping underneath shoulders and sinking in.

“Slower, William, slower,” The older man whispered, steadying hips to a halt gently. “I wish to see you. To hold you close as you fall.”

Fingertips swirled against his thighs as Hannibal rolled him under, palm catching his head on the pillow, and placed the other over a wildly beating heart. Will tilted his mouth up, eyes drifting closed and then opened when the older man rest their foreheads together, staring deep into his eyes. He scored nails lightly over shoulders, holding close as a tender rocking rhythm made his toes curl over the back of calves. When they kissed Hannibal breathed for them, matching their breath, to create a perfect unison of elements changing them both.

He heard a voice from the past slipping in, _You can’t say things like that to me, Hannibal. You can't. You just can't say them._ His voice in the present rose louder, deafening, and drowning in the tenor of his aching heart.

“Tell me,” He murmured against searching lips, scorching heat returning, wave after wave flowing over Hannibal and through him. “Tell me. Please say it to me.”

“Hold me in your arms, allow me to become your home, and I will speak nothing else.” Hannibal curved both hands around Will’s neck, arms and legs shaking as he leaned closer, lips releasing a threading whisper, “Will, I love you.”

“Don’t let go,” Will begged, tears streaking from eyes. “Oh god, I love you, Hannibal. Stay with me. That's all I ask.”

They fell into one another, entwined, fire enveloping them and burning shadowed marks where their bodies once lay. Ash twirled over pools of wilting flowers, down the stairs where crumpled suits melted into marbled tile, and rushed out to greet the night. Flecks of graying blue and silver ash lifted on a light breeze, carried out over a shore, and fluttered. It fell, without a sound, without a single ripple against a sliver of a moon reflected and drifted peacefully out to the open sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :throws arms open to greet you: Hello! Hello! Hello, hi! I have missed you terribly with an ache in my arms and a heavy heart, counting the days when we could see each other once more. 
> 
> Between packing up an entire house, moving, standing in chaos littered with boxes, utter lack of the internet, and a new work schedule~I can honestly say that it is very, very good to be back with you. I have no words to express how much. (Replies to your beautiful comments coming soon! :offers bouquet shyly:)
> 
> I can't thank you enough for being here with me on this journey. Through this textbook of a work as loving readers and being there for me as support and encouragement as blossoming friends. 1K plus pages later and you are still with me. And that means so much to me. What gems you are! I am so lucky to have you. 
> 
> As promised: three CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE endings are coming to a theater near you. (I am going to see what I can do about writing and posting them all at once. Each one will be titled, so you can choose your ending, or read all of them and pick the one you love most.)
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music: Do You x Carina Round
> 
> I walked in circles, walked the line  
> Tripped through tangled heart strings  
> Made an enemy of time  
> Made a mess of all things
> 
> I have thought and think about, what and how to tell you  
> I have lived it seems without learning how to be true
> 
> But I meant every word I said, from deranged to divine  
> And I would do it all again, as if for the first time
> 
> The hurt that the head forgets, the heart will always remember  
> The hold that the hand regrets, the heart remembers forever
> 
> I am sorry, I am so, for the things you don't know  
> And as for the things you do, I am sorry for those too


	151. (Happy Ending, Part One of Three) "The hold that the hand regrets, the heart always remembers."

_Three years later…_

Rolling shoulders against a wing back chair, Hannibal swirled amber sherry in a glass displacing crackling flames on its surface from the fireplace at his back. A rustling rug drew his attention briefly to a speckled grey and white cocker spaniel puppy clambering on top of her throne, precisely on Winston’s folded paws and hind legs. The tiny dog lumbered, tripping over shaggy ears and settled in, wet nose covered by a paw. Grey eyes blinked up beneath wispy lashes. She was a muddied rescue from a snow bank two months ago. Will had insisted it would be a child from their marriage and Hannibal _had_ to name it. With several hundred black paw prints stamped up his Italian wool overcoat then smeared down a burnt umber silk tie, his response had been one of mild frustration and bewilderment stemming from his inability to say ‘no.’

 

_“Fine. If you wish to keep her. And I am charged with naming her... Is it a her?”_

_“Seriously, did you never have any kind of pet as a child? What do you mean ‘is it a her?’ Hannibal, it clearly has no—”_

_“Encephalitis.”_

_“Excuse me.”_

_“Cephie for short.”_

_“You have got to be—“_

_“That’s final. Or the dog stays here.” _

_“…I hate you so much right now.”_

 

At least he had been able to chalk up winning _one_ of their arguments in the last several years. And he had returned home to the offering of a piping hot bath and the lure of a naked husband. And a dog. A wet, muddy, splashing, jumping dog. He was only pretending to be cross by the end of it in favor of his own special attention in the immediate shower that followed. Was there anything he wouldn’t agree to it if it meant Will would show his appreciation with the pressure of calloused hands and delicate _I love you_ ’s and _you’re such a good man_ licked into his mouth?

He lifted lowered eyes, pretending he hadn’t been studying chiaroscuro brushing the corners of a mouth. Two fingers on his left hand moved absently across a suede surface, feeling a soft thick ebony beard running down an angular jaw in its place. Trimmed hair touched the divot of a rosy lip, tracing angles and points before fading over a chin. He felt raised skin beneath the perpetual shadow with a thumb in his mind, pushing a stray curl from lotus blue eyes shining in dim light.

Will sat across from him, tumbler of whiskey cradled at a dangerous angle, lips moving to a rise and fall of a steady baritone. His thick hair was swept high on a forehead, curling long over his ears and nestling inside a charcoal grey sweater, edge rolled up a taut neck. Silver had begun to touch wisps of his hair, _starlight of your soul shining through_ , Hannibal would tell him, lovingly cherishing each one and bringing color to cheeks. Cashmere grey slacks created long pleasing angles over a thigh slung recklessly over an edge of the chaise. Gilding of the sun had faded from roping muscles slung across a knee, sleeves pushed passed elbows.

He sighed inwardly, thoughts playing out quietly behind his eyes. He pressed his mouth to the crook of an arm, skirting a black leather and silver _Cartier_ timepiece latched on a wrist, and mouthed across onyx and silver bands carved into slender fingers. The almost careless ease the younger man had adopted for being adorned in luxury made him even more of an aesthetic temptation, touch of fingers or mouth sure to follow in his wake. There was something about Will allowing Hannibal to take care of him, a kind of trust, that twisted his heart.

They past many of their evenings much as they used to, across from one another, lost and mingling in the others company. Sometimes they spoke and some they sat in silence. In the quiet, he heard Will’s presence like candlelight quivering in the darkness, drawn in and close until he touched hands, cheeks, a mouth, and  found a body molded to the floor beneath his. The only thing more soothing than the heat of touch was the sound of his voice. The older man’s eyes closed for a moment in a lazy blink, lulled by each wave of a voice breaking and washing over him in tones of moonlit grays. A flash of glass made him exhale softly, curved edge indenting an open mouth. Hannibal perched forward, brows furrowing. He thought of pushing the glass away and slipping his tongue there in its stead, to chase after burning heat. His gaze moved to study muscles slowly swallowing an eighth of whiskey and fell further towards restless legs hooking over an edge of the chaise, parting to balance forearms. He imagined tipping across the chaise, running a hand between thighs and dragging a moan from lips still in conversation.

A tumbler tipped his direction. “Hannibal?”

“And how does that make you feel?” The older man murmured automatically, hips tilting up and legs shifting to ease an ache.

“It makes me feel…” Will sat forward, their knees nearly touching, head cocked at a curious angle. “…as though you are cleverly avoiding the answer to my question.” His gaze strayed to hands neatly arranging folds of a jacket over a belt buckle. “Or rather you didn’t hear the question at all and are covering by redirecting me to answer it for you. Does that sound about right, Doctor Lecter?”

A glimmering canine slipped out from underneath a ruddy smirk, title ringing hot in his ears to a velvety low tease of _Oh Doctor Lecter._ Hannibal had to consciously still every muscle in his body to keep from launching forward to scratch nails down a slim back and bite off words from lips.

“I beg your pardon, Will…” The older man took in one breath and then another to force calm into his voice, palm twitching against his thigh. “My mind was elsewhere entirely."

“Oh really? Bored, are you?” A whiskey glass landed with an annoyed tap on a side table. “And what were you thinking about that was more interesting than listening to me?”

“I was considering what a sinful distraction you are sitting across from me.”

“I’m wearing a sweater stained in _sugo_ _all'_ _arrabbiata_ , clam juice, and…” Will tugged this way and that surveying phantom spots, pointing out one on a collar and then another on a hem. Fingertips drifted between thighs, corner of a mouth twitching to keep from smiling, knowing he was being watched with interest. “…oil from the motorcycle.”

Hannibal nearly curled hands underneath a jaw and kissed him then and there, purr lodged in the back of his throat at the perfect execution of Italian. He thought of watching Will linger on their final course, pink tongue darting out to slip clams beneath pointed teeth, shells discarded in a pile of weathered bodies. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the younger man to keep rolling foreign phrases off his tongue or merely delve in to suck each one off.

“Yet…” Maroon eyes drifted over his figure, stroking each part with equally affectionate sweeps. “…you remain quite lovely in spite of it all.”

“You told me just yesterday morning how you were going to throw out my tattered jeans and patched plaid shirts because they, and I quote, ‘grievously offended’ you,” Will answered, mild amusement creasing his brow before taking the abandoned glass of sherry away.

“I may have merely been looking for an excuse to divest you of clothing,” Hannibal replied matter of factly, lips quirking up. “It may have also been where my mind was a moment ago.”

"So the usual?" A crooked grin flashed. “And..." A calculated rove of eyes smoldered to burnt sapphires. "Yeah, I can see that.”

A rumbling laugh crinkled lines of Will’s shadow etched mouth moments before he settled on to Hannibal’s lap. He uncrossed legs and let a chest shift forward, beard grazing the side of his face. Knees squeezed soft tissue below the older man’s ribs, pushing out a softer laugh as the younger man tilted his face up with curled thumbs and smiled down.

“I believe…” Will made a pleased sound, thighs and hips rolling over tailored bulge. “…this is what you in the professional world might call _obsession_ , Doctor.”

“Is it? I hadn’t realized there was a name for it…” He wasn’t sure if the response was out loud or in his own head, fingers skirting beneath a cable knit hem and circling sensitive skin until he found a patch of veeing curls disappearing beneath a waistband.

“How the hell did you manage to get through sessions without waltzing around the office half hard and picturing me bent over every surface exactly?”

“With difficulty.”

It was an honest enough answer. Will sitting across from him flushed and glistening in a fine sheen of sweat, cloaked in fevered heat, was enough to test even the strongest man’s resolution to remain unmoved. Or at least, to appear unmoved. He was, as Will liked to remind him and often, just a man. At the eventual and prudent request of his tailor, a more modest length of double breasted suits had joined the collection of his closet.

“And practice. When my mind began to wander to the image of kneeling between your knees or gazing a bit too long at the turned view before me, I recited full chapters of Dante to remain focused.”

“Not baseball statistics you mean?”

“You know very well I do not consider the pursuit of grown men tossing around a leather ball entertaining or athletic. I believe true heroism and strength died out along with the bloody violence of coliseums. Did you know that—”

“Right.” Lips wobbled and then curved to a crinkling grin of all teeth. “Because you’re ancient.”

Maroon eyes flashed. Hannibal flipped Will on to his back and under him with one measured breath, lower spine creaking protest. Dusting of fresh snow and earthy woods clung to the younger man from his afternoon walk outside. He glanced to find his jacket and waistcoat slinging open, tie hanging loosely over his chest, and dress shirt half unbuttoned and torn from its neat tucks. Bright blue eyes danced, index finger running from an exposed clavicle to the juncture of his ribcage.

_Nimble lovely fingers even still._

The older man brought the hand close, kissing just below a thin white gold circlet on a wrist carved with delicate equations. He had given it to him in a lined velvet box after dinner. Will had kissed him softly at the edges of his mouth, tasting of dry pinot wine, and allowed him to slip it on his wrist.  A sepia toned eight by five photograph from their wedding day outlined by a tarnished gold baroque frame was placed on the desk, ribbon hanging loosely around it. A commissioned oil painting of burnished flesh tones and crimson velvet cloth draped over Will's bare frame in the likeness of _Patroclus_ _by Jacques Louis David_ was wrapped delicately in parchment on the coffee table. After a flare of jealousy subsided and an overture of threats about eating the painter alive were made, Hannibal nearly had the gift taken away moments later when suggesting hanging it prominently over the fireplace.

 

_I believe it would be most appreciated by our guests above the mantle. It's where all valued paintings are placed after all._

_No-Hannibal, I swear to God, I will I throw that fucking thing in the fire._

_Surely Elias would find it particularly enchanting to gaze upon. Peter might join him._

_For the love of Christ, had I known, I would have just burned the thousand dollars myself. What...why are you looking at me like that?_

_May I paint you, Will?_

_You do. And you sketch me. And you watercolor me. And you see me every day? Aren't you going to tire of doing series with me as your only subject?_

_Never, darling. I wish to be able to map out the braille of your figure with my eyes closed and know I will discover you more every day._

_Alright, you sap, stop it. You can do whatever you want. I was going to say yes anyway. You didn't need to..._

_Thank you, Will, it's very lovely. Though not as beautiful as what is before me now._

He had kissed Will open mouthed until angry arms uncrossed and they swayed unsteadily, tangled and breathing warm tones of content.

 

Hannibal dragged the tip of his tongue up a finger before sucking lightly on it. “I am refined and civilized.”

“Is that…” Eyes fluttered closed, teeth nipping at a bottom lip. “…what this is? A lesson in etiquette?”

“You are terribly impudent. I am beginning to suspect the effects of my affection are having adverse results.”

“You mean giving me everything I want, whenever I ask?” The younger man’s eyes eased open to slits, molten liquid beneath a fan of lashes, voice rough with desire. “All the gifts. The clothes. The dogs.”

As if called by name, a sleek midnight black greyhound moseyed into the room, staring everything down the point of her nose. The dog’s toenails were cut and filed to precise tips. A slender necklace of gold hung at the hollow of a throat, charm engraved, _Persephone_. A gift from Will the Christmas before. Hannibal's personal charge.

Teeth grazed the lobe of his ear and nibbled at his neck. “Are you going to educate me on how to become more to your liking, angel?”

Hannibal’s jacket and vest had been removed, lying in some forgotten corner, study now strewn with dog toys like a nursery. If he was willing to be honest (and he wasn’t yet, mild disillusion and ignorance being a comforting place) the entirety of their home, the one he had built for them by the sea, the one he had vowed not to be overrun by a wild pack of Will’s strays…

...Was, for a fact, going to be overrun. And he really would have to build an entirely new house for either the dogs or them to live in. In the back of his mind, he suspected it would all be futile in the end.

A tongue swept over his collarbone as nails marked shoulder blades, Hannibal rushing back to the present, growling, “I am going to carry you to our dining room table, spread you out, and show you a proper education, Will.”

Hannibal gathered Will against his chest, dragging smooth woolen legs around his frame, and avoided tripping on his own leather belt by catching himself on the mantled fireplace by a millisecond. All three dogs scattered, a thunderstorm of nails clattering down the hall and to the kitchen. Repressed laughter shook against him. With a grind of teeth, the older man kicked garments in the opposite direction he was headed and carried on resolutely, all the while glaring at a rosy face down the bridge of his nose and thought of Persephone. Exactly who looked like whom would never be spoken aloud.

Will had managed to choke down most of his laughter when Hannibal placed him on the table. A voluminous bouquet of blood red roses arranged in a hammered gold vase framed his figure, a gift to greet the older man upon his return home. He took a seat at the head of a table, palms sliding up thighs. Blue eyes narrowed slightly, sensing a threat. The younger man yelped, dragged across gleaming oak as his legs were pulled forcefully apart. Hannibal buried his face underneath a sweater, gripping an ankle of the foot jammed against his shoulder. The other balanced on a slope of the tall carved chair.

“Happy anniversary to me?” Will managed breathlessly, eyelids drooping as he tunneled a hand in short hair, scraping a scalp lightly.

Hannibal dragged teeth then tongue over one nipple and the other, response a roiling heat over skin. “You have no idea.”

“You didn’t…answer my question.”

“And what was the initial inquiry?” He murmured with complete and utter disinterest, struggling to unclasp a belt buckle and drift further.

“Are you…” Feet squirmed against him, one hitched breath rising before Will dislodged Hannibal from prying open buttons and a fly zipper with teeth. His face was flushed bright red, breathing hard. “…going to do the dishes tonight or should I just stack them in the dishwasher?”

Hannibal wiped a bit of saliva from his mouth with the edge of a wrist. He nipped a tongue on every single sharp corner of his teeth until he had made it all around, as if actually considering the question. This was their normal banter now. It hardly ever consisted of _why is there a one armed grocer in our pantry? Don’t you remember we don’t hunt on Sundays._ Or even, _why must you insist on leaving your fishing lures and supplies in the bed we share?_ after a mishap of seductive fellatio ended up with stitches in his lower thigh and the necessity for new sheets, from blood and several hours of well formed apologies.

He liked the comfort of their lives together. It was gentle, domesticated, and peaceful. What he wasn’t understanding was why, on the precipice of beginning and eventually bringing Will to his first toe curling orgasm of the evening, was he looking at Hannibal with such a stern mouth and making a scolding question about their dishes left scattered in the kitchen?

“I will let you know after dessert.”

Just as he settled back into his chair, goddamn Dior leather belt finally undone without the necessity of being cut off like the last one, Will rolled off the table and landed like a cat on the balls of his feet, scampering off to the foyer. Pings of mischievous laughter were echoed by dogs scrambling and yipping. Hannibal gripped the edge of the table where long legs had been a moment ago and glowered at a thick erection pushing against an inseam.

“Will…” A chair scratched over the floor slowly. “Where is it you think you are going?”

Hannibal pressed his back to the door frame and glanced out into the hall. Will had his back to him, tugging on a short camel colored wool double breasted jacket, collar folded up to protect against the chill. He slipped noiselessly into the kitchen beyond as a woolen cap snugged over small ears. A gold tipped blade whispered from its sheath. The older man moved silently, chin tucked low, eyes narrowed as he rounded the corner, hand outstretched. A floor board creaked. Will started but not before fingers curled around the front of his throat and Hannibal had him locked against his chest.

“You are my current and only guest of honor, my dear boy,” The older man whispered warm against the shell of an ear, blade scraping gently up stubble of a lifting throat. "I must insist you stay."

Will licked his bottom lip, head tipping back into a shoulder, drawing the other hand down his stomach and cupping it around hard cock. “Gonna have to arrange to eat me later, love.” He exhaled as fingers lifted and squeezed. “You’re coming with me.”

“That was the general idea.”

“If that’s still in the cards for tonight.” Blue eyes slanted upwards to corners. “You’ll have to behave. And be very good for me.”

“ _If?_ ” Hannibal hissed, mouth watering as his palm tightened on the blade, cold and ringing in the stillness, drawing out a soft moan.

“When.”

Lips opened, tongue slipping inside his mouth, hot and wet. Will turned and slid against him, cable knit rough and cashmere wool jacket smooth against bare chest. Oversized shell inlay buttons pushed sharp points against flesh. A wrist twisted and the younger man snatched the blade away. Hannibal tried to counter turn, but Will was faster. A point pricked beneath a jaw. Hannibal shuddered, chasing after a tongue as it slipped free, watching a blade trace his sternum. The knife twirled over buttons of his trousers playfully, blue eyes trained on the twitch of muscle beneath.

“Am I to be taken captive then?”

“Are you saying you won’t come willingly?” Will glanced at him from the profile of his face, left corner of his mouth flirtatiously curling up with a _pretty please_.

“Unfortunately…” Hannibal drew his tongue over parched lips. “I believe I gave up that particular right long ago.”

The blade was placed on a counter inside the kitchen. “Regrets?”

The younger man half turned from the door, waiting for an answer, mouth struggling to maintain a tremble of certainty. It was a quivering thing that crept into their faces and eyes from time to time. Even after all their years. It made his heart thrum with a steady ache. It hurt worse to see it in the eyes of his beloved. There was only one cure for what ailed them.

Hannibal crossed the space between them in a single step, hands wound in thick curls, and kissed Will gently, whispering, “Not a single one.”

One reclaimed dress shirt, jacket, and black wool trench coat and ten minutes later, Hannibal stepped out into a brisk night of winter chill easing in on the curve of autumn’s withering spine. Will was straddling a chrome motorcycle, arms draped over the bars, running a red thread bare scarf through hands. He stared at the bunching muscles of thighs, the strength of his shoulders, and the distant memories lingering in downcast eyes.

“Don’t look so terrified, Hannibal,” The younger man called to him, patting the back of the bike invitingly. “We only spun out one time. Promise not to let it happen again.” Underneath breath, a mutter followed, “Probably.”

He considered protesting, pinching the bridge of his nose, and remaining with feet planted safely on the side stoop. He took the offered scarf and climbed on, grumbling, “Says the man who ended up on strict bed rest to recover from injuries while being waited on hand and foot.”

“And I really appreciated it…”

Will drew the scarf around his neck, tightening it slightly with both hands until cloth cut into skin and breath stuttered. Hannibal closed eyes, heat rising in his blood as a mouth kissed the indentation it made before releasing. He had always been bound to Will, then and now, and until they ceased to exist.

“The sponge baths were some of the best I’ve ever had." A wink scattered his musings. "Humor me and hold on this time, baby.”

The motorcycle was a loud roar compared to the light sheets of rain blowing sideways. Hannibal held closer, arms wrapping tighter with every tip of the bike leaning in to a curve. He let his forehead fall against a dewy shoulder, splayed fingers digging in to a waist and chest. Eyes fluttering shut, he listened to a beating heart quicken each time his grip tightened, softening when the older man edged his mouth along an upturned collar. A boot clicked the engine to a higher gear as the younger man navigated them quickly across country roads of France, two figures a stream of red taillights and spitting stones.

They arrived at Will’s favorite spot. Their place. The one they came to every year. The year before it had been sleeting, roads covered in ice, and Hannibal braved them all the same. They had stayed in the Aston Martin, hands linked over the center console, looking out together through fogged glass. Into the unknown, their future, their past, glazed over in tides of a tossing green grey sea miles below a jagged cliff side. A different place, another time, a compass etched in jagged lines of the earth wherever they stood together.

Dimly lit rubies flitted down to gloved fingers running over his, threading through, and pulling lightly. “I would not wish to tempt Fate...”

“Afraid I’ll take you over?” Will stopped where he was, glancing over his shoulder, gentle smile touching hesitation caught in the other’s eyes.

“Fearful…” Hannibal took a deep breath and a step forward, following Will to the end. “I would do so once more willingly.”

Hands curled in his collar, turning it up, before curving around his neck and Will stared up into Hannibal’s eyes, smile slipping as trembling arms wrapped around him. The idea of losing the younger man to death always rattled ash to wake in his bones.

“When I look out to the sea I am reminded of all our beginnings.”

“And our endings?” Will laid his cheek over a heart, holding loosely as if to whisper, _see?_ and waited to see if they fell together once more, for the last time. “'If everything can happen happens?'”

“Our paths are not distinguished by a single thread of time throughout existence, but an intricate web of possibilities, Will.” The older man tipped the crook of his nose against a temple, watching as dark lashes rested peacefully on cheekbones, snow dotting faint maps over the face below. “There was never an incorrect choice. No winding path we might have taken to lead us astray. They were all connected to a single moment of becoming what we were meant to be.”

_They all lead me to you, on the cliff of front porch stoops under burnt sky mornings and shadowed dining tables, asking, “How does that make you feel?” And waiting, forever patiently waiting, for you to say…_

A gentle murmur sighed white in a puff of wintry air. “Beautiful…”

Palms drifted up shivering shoulders. Hannibal rested his head against a pillow of tangled black matted fur and feathered silver wisps of wings, and held close to his greatest torment writ across scarred flesh and his most cherished imago sinking deep within the still rooms of his mind.

“Yes…” Gaze falling on Will resting against him and in his arms, unmoving and trusting in whatever fall might await them, Hannibal smiled with all he loved reflected in the mirrors of his eyes and whispered, “Beautiful.”

 

* * *

An absolutely gorgeous bit of design for this chapter gifted to us by [jigoku-no-son](http://jigoku-no-son.deviantart.com/art/Death-and-Persephone-674624880)! It is every bit as beautiful as I had imagined. See it [here](http://hallofmybeginnings.tumblr.com/post/159532274674/death-and-persephone-by-jigoku-no-son-high) and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10615776) too!

Thank you SO much!

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :weeping softly: Can this be counted for the #it'sstillbeautiful event? So many feelings. 
> 
> Wanted to tie in the very beginning of the fall, as well as the beginning of well, our beginning, to this one. 
> 
> (Title courtesy of: Do You x Carina Round)
> 
> Two more endings on the way!


	152. (Utterly Devastating Ending, Part Two of Three) "Let Me Dream of Silver Currents"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :cue necessity of years of psychiatric treatment upon reading: Ye have been warned!
> 
> (No, seriously, my dear readers, if you want the happy ending...this is not the one for you! My poor darling loves.)

Brushing fingers down the side of a tilted face, forlorn blue eyes rose as Will leaned in to a cradling palm and nuzzled with a small smile. Hannibal touched x stitches looping flesh together on a cheek, mouth trembling when he pulled his fingertips away. They were stained with blood. With Will’s blood. The younger man clasped his hands between a steeple of fingers, drawing them near to kiss the tips and pads nicked by splinters from each swing of the axe. Bloodied fingerprints remained on cracked lines of lips and smeared down a chin as the older man drew away.

Muffled booming drummed on like a war beat in the distance.

“You know…” Will’s eyes flicked over a right shoulder to somewhere beyond in the room before crowding close, foreheads touching, hands clasped on their knees. “If you don’t answer him soon, he’s going to escalate from bellowing to screaming, don’t you? Jack doesn’t like to be ignored.”

Chains rattled, knuckles blanching white as Hannibal gripped smaller hands inside his, crushing as he began to shake, low voice shaking loose from a raw throat, “We were happy, were we not?”

“Yeah…” Brows scrunched, confusion and then pain mirroring the emotions gazing back. “We were.”

Hannibal hooked a tattered dress shoe underneath the leg of a chair and pulled Will closer. It screeched across the cement floor. He kissed the a collar of a shirt stained brown in drying blood, following a line of a strap holding a broken arm against a chest. He mouthed apologies until he reached swollen edges of fingers purple and bruising. In reply, the younger man gingerly covered a patch of gauze taped to his stomach, a hundred stitches to close the bullet wound. Gentle lips touched the corner of an open gash held together by bandages above his eye and Hannibal murmured a broken sigh as Will drifted away.

“He’s getting red in the face,” The younger man noted in the direction of shouts, leaning back, good arm slung over the arch of a cold metal chair and scrubbed a thumb around a black ringed eye socket. He sounded infinitely weary. “He’ll have an aneurism at any moment if you don’t say something. If you say literally anything, I suspect he might shut up and give us a moment in peace. I need more pain medication if I am going to have to listen to this shit for much longer.”

A fist banged on the table, grainy photographs spilling across the surface and on to the floor and around their feet. Hannibal wouldn’t look at them. He wouldn’t look anywhere but Will.

“I would ignore him forever…” Tang of copper filled his mouth from a laceration on his tongue, biting in to reopen it and feel the sting. “If it meant spending a moment with you longer.”

“Go on.” Will nodded, lashes fluttering, struggling to stay awake and slumped down in the chair, chin resting on his chest. “I’ll be here when he’s done throwing a tantrum.”

“No, Will…”

Hannibal turned his eyes towards the gunmetal surface of the interrogation room mirror. His own reflection, eyes sunken and dried blood streaming down a gaunt grey face, stared back.

“…you won’t.”

There was no one else there. Emptiness and horror slammed through him, a knife ripping him open from sternum to navel, guts spilling out pink and red over the floor. His stomach lurched.

“Answer me, goddammit!”

Shifting towards thunder crackling to his right, Hannibal drew his eyes away and stared through the fog of a clear mask muzzled over his face at photographs beyond. He held the elbow of a broken arm, wrist neatly fractured, both broken by slamming into jagged rocks. The waves were cruel and icy. The current a snarling and vicious thing dashing them to shore or dragging them out to sea. He had tried to protect Will’s body with a hand out, wrist snapping on impact. His forearm followed after curving around a head sinking below black waves, cracking on stone and spilling plumes of red to invite silent predators. He looked down at puffy fingers, bloated from water and swelling, and tried to move even one. None of them did. He knew he would never illustrate the banks of Florence or the softness of Will’s face ever again.

A bulky shadow fell over him, meaty hand lashing out and hauling him from the chair. Hannibal felt a pull and then the push. He allowed it. His head smacked against concrete. He collided with a blank corner of the room, directly out of view of the camera above. A fist buried in open tissue of the bullet wound. A thousand nerves knotted, tangled, and ripped from inside the older man, sending him down on one knee and gasping for air. His vision hazed. His skin burned. His stomach lurched again and he choked down vomit.

“Why did you try to kill Will Graham!”

“I have never _tried_ to kill anyone, Agent Crawford…” Hannibal sucked bile and blood through teeth, spitting venom near gleaming black dress shoes. “Would you be so kind as to lower your voice? I have a splintering headache stemming from a mild concussion.”

Jack grabbed him by the collar again, dragging him towards a closed fist, black eyes burning as he shouted, “If you even think about saying you didn’t try, _you succeeded_ , I am going to put my fist through your fucking teeth!”

A fist hammered on the other side of the one way mirror furiously. Jack snarled and threw Hannibal back into the chair bolted to the floor, mouthing a _fuck off_ to whoever was on the other side.

_You succeeded…_

All the air evaporated from the room and Hannibal felt the axis of the entire world tilt. Fever rushed over his skin again. His ears rang. When he woke, Jack was waving off shiny polyester emblazoned with paramedic symbols and bellowing for everyone to get out. He didn’t notice the throbbing dull ache of his bones or the bullet wound catching fire underneath his ribs. He only felt the hideous hammering of his heart being torn to pieces. He struggled to sit up, clawing at his chest, red marks appearing. He struggled for air, choking and clawed deeper until he drew blood. He stared at spaces between blood stained fingers and saw Will in the photographs beyond. Side of his face swollen and bruised nearly beyond recognition, bleeding out on the sandy shore, hand outstretched where the impression of Hannibal’s body had been.

“Is he…” Strangled snarls rose, far away, buried beneath a head banging against a wall to regain sense. “Is he gone, Jack? Is he gone? Is Will—”

A door shuddered open on the interior wall. Modest black pumps clicked in, squared heels wobbling with each unsteady step. Alana cast one look at Hannibal, skin below a clavicle torn and blood trickling from his head down the seam of his neck. She looked through him, eyes red rimmed and puffy.

She looked directly at Jack, fierce whisper saying, “I need to speak with you.”

Fury twitched the corners of a hardened mouth. “Doctor Bloom, not now I’m in the middle—“

“Now!” Alana screamed, pale fists slamming down to her side, crimson bleeding beneath fiery blue eyes.

Jack gaped at her, mouth slightly ajar, following her out into the hall. The door closed and buzzed a lock in place behind them. Hushed whispers rose and fell in sharp staccatos and rumbling tenors. They must have been standing a few feet away.

Shaking hands reached out for the chair as Hannibal dragged himself into it, he began to frantically search through photographs on the table, shoving ones of the crime scene and evidence to the floor. He heard cracking sobs leeching quietly from his lungs. His breath quickened. He was going to black out again.

“…I see. Yes, I understand but—”

Chimes jangled louder.

“No. _No_! Absolutely not, Doctor Bloom!”

Agitated whispers rose to terse hisses.

“Are you outta your mind?”

A black and white photograph of Will’s face surfaced beneath the pool of laminate images. Hannibal jammed swollen fingers into his mouth, tears rushing forward, and bit down to keep quiet. He focused on blistering pain. The bureau photograph quivered in his hand. He stroked a thumb over thick plastic rim glasses trying to hide empty eyes staring out. A sullen mouth was drawn in a frown of displeasure.

“I said no!”

A palm smacked across a face from the hall. Voices went quiet. Only one remained.

Red lipped teeth shouted, hoarse and crying, “Haven’t you made him suffer enough for one life time, Jack! You owe him this!”

Fury of heels slamming over tile faded.

Hannibal lifted his eyes from the photograph, hope tearing a deeper, gaping wound inside his soul. He gripped the photograph. Crinkles formed through the edges, spiraling cracks creeping over a grainy plaid button up.

The door swung slowly behind Jack. The agent leaned with a heavy thud against it. He pulled a palm from his face. A ruddy print remained on a cheek.

“Jack, please,” Hannibal croaked, trying to filter distance coolness into his voice, to cover over the sound of his soul splintering. “Is Will—“

“He’s asking for you.” Jack cut him off gruffly, flame returning to dark eyes. “And they want me to take you to him.”

The older man placed the photograph delicately on the metal table, smoothing palms over it, face tipped up towards incandescent smog of yellow lighting and blinked back tears.

“But you know what I think, Doctor Lecter? I think I’ve got circumstantial physical evidence at best, one blurry homemade tape, and not enough to convict you of Dolarhyde’s murder, let alone Will’s, if it comes to that. I’ll leave you here and you can decide what you want.”

His head jerked over at the sound of the door opening, lips moving on his own accord. “I will provide you a written confession.”

“Excuse me?” Jack lumbered to a halt, nearly out in the hall, turning slowly and regarded him with a gleam of mistrust and glint of lust.

There was nothing more the agent desired than to see Hannibal Lecter put down. He would give him what he wanted.

“If you agree to let me see Will, I will write it all out,” Hannibal announced evenly, calm and composure falling over a straightening posture and smoothing the offer in edges of gold. “Everything you need for a conviction. Sent straight to the electric chair, Jack, making all your dreams come true with a pen to paper.”

The agent approached him, warily edging around the table and tossed down a ball point pen. It rolled to a stop above photographs.

“Write it down.”

“As a sign of good faith, I will give you part of it now…” Ink scrawled looping letters over the back of a crime scene photo as Hannibal described how the Dragon came upon them in the night. How the knife jammed into Will’s cheek as he reached for the gun slipped into his waistband. “And the other part I will deliver after I have returned from the hospital.” Hannibal set down the pen with a resolute tap, stopping mid-sentence, glowing red eyes lifting. “I never break my promises. Surely Alana can attest to that?”

Fingernails tapped on the glass twice. An approval.

“One wrong move…” A wide, toothy smile pulled at Jack’s mouth as he lifted the jacket to reveal firearms strapped over his shoulders with a leather holster. “And I put a bullet in your brain, Doctor Lecter.”

The older man let his head fall to an angle, mask cloudy with a solemn reply. “Understood.”

 

Six armed guards and Jack flanked Hannibal in the small white van barreling towards John Hopkins’ hospital. Two police cars and two unmarked black vans of S.W.A.T. followed on either side. In his cage, he focused on keeping hands relaxed and eyes down. The broken one was clipped to a metal ring on the front of his straight jacket. It was hotter than he remembered. Straps and hooks chaffed his chest even through the prison uniform, cutting off his air. It was too tight. His mask was cutting into his skin. He thought of Will lying broken and bloodied and still, so still, on the shore when he came to. A rush of emotion piqued and Hannibal snatched it, burying it deep in the pit of his stomach.

He barely noticed being jostled by bruising grips down white sterile halls of the hospital. A procession marching on to the intensive care unit. He remembered the air on his face when they stepped out of the vehicle. How it felt cloying and stale. It wasn’t enough. He listened to the drum of his heartbeat drowning out the clash and jangle of chains strapped from wrists to his ankles. He felt suffocated by his own hot breath condensing on the inside of the mask as they drew closer. He felt Will nearby. He simply knew. Sensed it with a quiver of bones.

Yet nothing prepared him for the sight.

A halo of black curls was drenched in sweat, spiraling above and over a side of face, knife palette painting swathed in blotches of fevered pomegranate, blue of an icy lake, and shadowed purples fading to black. Plastic tubes of various lengths and sizes, and hanging bags filled with liquids, were strewn over the hospital bed to create a canopy of vital fluids and medication. Tape mottled almost every inch of skin not covered in bruising, needles buried in veins. A robin blue ventilating tube and mask was coiled on top of a rolling table. Machines screeched and beeped to the rhythm of lungs drawing in feeble breath and causing a heart to beat. Wrapped in a sling was a leg hanging in a thick white cast. Scent of bleach burned up the back of his throat, eyes stinging, as he gazed at Will twitching violently in a medically induced sleep beneath a shabby beige blanket and slurring half murmurs.

“Sit down!” Jack barked, muscling the older man into a chair, hand trained near his firearms.

Hannibal listened to leather vaguely crinkling, breath seeping out from his teeth. He might never breath again. And if he could, only to sustain Will. He stared at the younger man, left side of his face nearly untouched by the fall and rocks below, peaceful in its shroud of graying skin the color of a clouded sky. He was almost translucent. As if the ocean had drained the pallor of his soul and stolen it away to its depths. He looked sickly, weak, and fighting still against the pull of sirens. Had they truly escaped its lurching embrace? Or were they being dragged under? He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. What god, what deity, would allow this?

Lashes lifted in a flutter of a cicada rhythm. Stark pools of water gazed back, still, without a single ripple except for a slivered moon of tears.

Hannibal sat forward, limbs jerking and mechanical, nails digging in to his suit. A firm hand clamped on to his shoulder, growl causing him to still. The thought of ripping out Jack’s throat, spraying red across windows and walls, to have a single moment of peace at Will’s side tasted hot.

Cracked lips opened, weak whisper greeting, “H…hey…”

“Hello, Will,” The older man replied softly, slicing open the inside of his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Confusion layered creases on a forehead as Will’s gaze moved from a thick hand to fingernails sinking into a shoulder, and up. The glassy stare dazed further still, squinting. “Jack?”

“Yeah, buddy,” The agent growled out a tremor of fear from a closing throat. “I’m here. Right here.”

Grating glass scraped up a dry throat, blood seeping through teeth. “…Get…out, Jack.”

“Will?”

A choked cry of pain sent Hannibal to his feet. Jack slammed him back into the chair. Another sob sounded as Will struggled to sit, pointing to the door, paler still and disappearing by the minute. The older man watched in horror as blood trickled out of the corner of a mouth, heart slamming in his chest, glancing towards Jack and then the door. They would ask him to leave. No, they would drag Hannibal screaming from his room, begging to stay with Will.

“O-o-out.”

“Will, I am here for your protec—“

“Get _the fuck_ out of here!” Smatters of blood sprayed across lifted fingers and blankets.

Another cry doubled Will over. Machines screeched wildly. He began coughing, an uncontrollable fit wracking his body, plastic bed frame shaking.

“Oh god, Will…” Hannibal breathed out, nearly falling to his knees.

_Please, let me say goodbye._

Two nurses barreled in, clad in white uniforms.

“Mister Graham!” A stout woman with wiry brown hair exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

“I want him out.” Will’s weak sputtering turned to begging, tears streaming down his face. “Please. I want him gone.”

Jack grabbed Hannibal by chains, hauling him forward, bellowing orders.

“Here, sir, lie back…” A tall male nurse with blonde hair eased him to cushions, pressing a mask over his face. Red dotted the inside as a mouth gasped for air. “Breathe. That’s it. Try to relax.”

Will wailed louder, fisting sheets and struggling, wild eyes watching Hannibal led away. “No, Hann…Hannibal…I want…” His voice trailed off. “Please.”

The nurse tipped his head to a moving mouth, straightening and looked Jack Crawford cold in the eyes, mouth pinching to a tense line. “Sir, you are going to have to come with us.” Muscles rippled beneath short sleeves, gesturing towards the door. “You’re upsetting him.”

“Are you kidding me? I am with the F.B.I. Do you not under—I’ll have your jobs!”

“Doctor’s orders,” The female nurse tutted, prying hands from Hannibal and moving him to an edge of the room near a window.

“ _Please_ sir, don’t make us escort you by force,” Someone else warned, clipboard and stethoscope flashing.

“I am from the Bureau!” The agent roared, three pairs of hands pushing and pulling him from the room. “The Federal—“

The door clacked softly, almost muffling the next reply. “It’s not like he has a lot of time, sir…”

Hannibal stayed with his back pinned to the wall, staring helplessly, hands bound to his frame and teeth sealed off to aid him. His heart. His heart was too loud. It wouldn’t stop. It was a thundering freight train pounding in his ears. He clenched his jaw, scream silently battering inside his ribs. When Will didn’t move, didn’t even stir, he nearly sank to the floor.

“Here…” A hollow whisper called.

The older man stumbled blindly forward, teeth biting a whimper of pain in two as he collided with a plastic rail. Velcro and snaps unlatched. Straps eased. The mask fell around his throat and Hannibal hushed a sob as fingers found welts on his brow, his nose, his mouth, to brush away the violence that caused them. A faint snarl flickered on Will's mouth, a flash of anger at seeing what he had set free bound in chains once more. The younger man pitched the mask away. It collided with a half empty cup of ginger ale, both clattering to the floor. Bronze liquid pooled, seeping beneath the bed. Neither of them moved to clean up the mess.

They stared at one another. Hannibal in his chains and Will bound to his bed by needles and vials. Both prisoners by their own right. Both soon to meet their Maker.

Will spoke first, locking their gazes, forcing each strained word free. “Look good…for a man…that leapt to his death.”

Wavering maroon lifted before squeezing shut. “…Will.”

“Pushed?” Will grabbed Hannibal by chains and reeled him in. Fingers threaded inside pulls and fastenings, turning and tugging Hannibal in a neat circle. “Pulled.” Belts snapped loose, rattling to the floor. The straight jacket joined the mask. “Semantics? Conjecture really.”

Hannibal turned, weak kneed, shaking and gripped the bed rail to keep from collapsing. “ _Will_.”

He begged. For Will to touch him again. To hold him. To not let go. To let him drown. Let them both drown and be at peace. He didn’t want to survive this.

“Closer.” Will beckoned, swollen eye flinching as he struggled to lower the rail, falling back with a rattling breath.

The older man nearly broke the rail trying to dislodge it, letting it bang loose and sank against vinyl covered cushions. A palm settled over his hand. His entire arm jerked, scalded. Hannibal couldn’t look at him this time, not when it was real, not when this would take Will away from him.

“Did you mean what you said?” The younger man asked softly, touching just as quietly, a whisper of skin.

A lump rose, lodging thick and suffocating, and the older man flinched. This time from cheek to lips to neck. He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t.

“I was half conscious. Not deaf. I’m surprised half the state of Maryland didn’t hear. Especially the way you were screaming.” Will touched the side of his face, forcing Hannibal to stare at the space between craters of the moon and pinprick of a blue star burning out. “Hannibal.”

He had never heard anyone whisper his name like lilies wilting and floating across the stream of currents.

“I’m sorry,” Will offered hoarsely, hand falling, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

The older man’s head jerked unsteadily, shoulders bowing forward and quivering. A single snap would break him. Chest cracked open and bleeding over the boy dying in the hospital bed. All he loved was leaving him. And he had no words to speak. No comfort to provide. He remained silent.

A small cry rose repeating, “I’m sorry. God, Hannibal, _please_ talk to me. Say…something…anything. Tell me you’re fucking angry, but—”

Hannibal collapsed forward on the bed, palm clenching the back of his neck until marks rose and bled over skin. Terrifying sobs crested through lungs and clawed out of his mouth, each one muffled against scent of detergent and bleach. Ugly cries wrenched free, each one louder, a hollow scream of resentment. He felt a trembling hand settle over his, thumb brushing circles at the nape of his neck. He could feel Will shaking, weeping silently and staring up at nothing as to afford Hannibal the privacy to grieve.

“Please stay with me, Will,” The older man begged, tears scalding, salt burning his mouth.

“Hey…come on…” A cracking voice replied, stifling a cough. “Not like I have much say in the matter.”

“How long?”

A pause drew out and he sat up in bed, hands clawing to shoulders, to shake Will awake from death, near scream rising flames in eyes.

_“How long, William!”_

Blood shot eyes fell to the bed, whisper broken and muted by a mask, inhaling oxygen. “Not long.”

“Your wife? Your child?”

The thought of them sent a searing pang of jealousy through Hannibal. He didn’t want to share him. He wanted to be with Will. He wanted to be the only one to hold him, touch him, and lay beside him in darkness.

“Saw them when I woke up from surgery. Sent them home. I asked for you.” Muscles in a jaw twitched. “I needed to see you, Hannibal.” It was even quieter than before. A moment passed and then, “Tell me a story.”

Hannibal glanced up to find Will eyes closed and resting, palm open and lifted for him to take if he wanted it. His fingers skirted edges gently, wrist ticking when the younger man took it by force and squeezed.

“What kind of a tale shall I weave for you?”

“Tell me one where all of our beginnings and our endings would have met if we had left together tonight.” A restless sigh filled the room as a hand moved to lay across a chest rising and falling. “Where we would have gone. What we would have done? Tell me everything. Tell me about our life.”

_Our life…_

“Very well.” Currents of despair filled Hannibal, blotting out his vision as he thought of where they would be, lost to one another and sailing towards a new life, their life. “Our story begins on a small vessel smuggling weapons across the Atlantic.”

An undignified snort huffed. “And did we sneak on board to become pirates?”

“No, we were granted passage by an old friend,” The older man corrected softly, thumb outlining knuckles, before bringing a straw and cup to lips.

Will drank, deeply at first and then weakly, eventually pushing the cup away. “You don’t have any friends.”

“I ought to be mildly offended.”

The ease of their barbs lifted an unharmed corner of Will’s mouth up. “And who are pretending to be?”

“A married couple…” Hannibal grit teeth, willing tears to fade. Their passports, a clean slate, had been waiting for them on the other side. “Doctor and Liam Bergstrom.”

“Ah.” Confusion rippled to amusement. “Couldn’t think of a good name for me, huh?”

“Would _you_ like to tell this story or shall I?”

“Depends.” A shoulder shrugged, wince filtering through a smile. “Does it get better? Action? Adventure? _Dogs_?”

He wanted to reach out and banish the pain he knew lurked beneath resting eyelids. Will was never more scared than when he tried to cover it up with humor. 

“You and I are stashed below decks with the cargo, and you…my dear Will…” Hannibal sighed, running his hand through thickets of curls and froze when the younger man kept it there, pressed to his cheek. “…are trying convince me of the nutritional value of icy canned soup and slivers of stewed peaches…”

The story continued with minimal interjections and smirking commentary. Sunlight dragged from the far corner of the blind covered windows to the other side of the room, sinking slowly, melting across the floor and then disappearing. The occasional laughter turned to shuddering coughs and etched lines of agony reappearing. Hannibal would pause, covering pale lips with the mask, waiting for Will to breathe and held water until he drank.

“…Were we…” Will struggled to speak, speech slurred, the only sign he wasn’t sleeping. “…happy?”

Hannibal sucked in a burning breath, dabbing a fevered forehead with a dry cloth, each turn and pressure of Will seeking his touch, shredding his heart. He thought of their life together as it would have been, as he had imagined it, flashing through his mind and playing out years up until they had hit the water. When he had lost unconsciousness on the shore he had seen it clearer still.

In time, he replied quietly, “I believe we would have been.”

Jack appeared in the doorway, thick arms crossed. “Time to go, Doctor Lecter.”

He rose to his feet with a single nod. The agent’s eyes were red. He too had been crying.

A hand caught his wrist in a crushing grip. Will stared up at Hannibal then Jack, pleading, tears welling. The older man reached for the hand, prepared to pull away, even if the idea was enough to kill him. He didn’t want to let go. Never had.

“Let him…stay…Jack.” The younger man arched his throat, eyes fluttering, searching for enough air to form words. “Not like…I’m going to be asking…any more favors.”

“Will…” Jack gestured a holy symbol over his brow and lips, loss filling his gaze.

“What’s he gonna do?” Will barked out a single laugh, mouth drawn to a deeply pained frown. “Put me out of my misery?”

Muscles in a temple ticked, shoes scuffing. “I’ll be outside.”

“Jack?”

Jack turned slightly, one foot out the door and another in an overcoat pocket, prayers to ferry a retreating soul on a thin line of lips and rid a heart of guilt.

Will shook his head, wince wobbling to a comforting smile. “It wasn’t…all…bad.”

The door closed for a second time. Hannibal touched a glowing panel and lights dimmed before flicking off one by one. He let the darkness touch his damp cheeks, grief flooding his eyes and features, fists balled up. No one would see him now. Not even Will.

“C’mere.”

He went. He had no choice. He never did.

Will ran a hand up the side of his throat, settling around the nape of his neck, and pulled.

“Are you certain?” The question rattled unsteadily.

Muddy silver appeared as an eye creaked open. “Sure as I’ll ever be,” Will quipped. “Lay down. You’re tired. And…there’s room.”

Hannibal was certain Will could hear his breaking heart, bittersweet in its slowing rhythm as he crawled into bed and tugged covers over the both of them. He lay on his side, staring at the buzzing light slotting through blinds over the window, watching shadows of arms and automatic rifles shifting.

Sheets and vinyl rustled. “Cold.”

His gaze fell to his arm, useless and wrapped in a cast. He undid the clasp with his teeth, grimacing, and slipped it under a pillow and behind a head. The agony he would endure from Will shifting closer, forehead burrowing against his chest would be etched into his bones. The physical manifestation of pain would fade.

“Meant… what I said… before the fall.”

“Please, Will…” An arching cheekbone flinched as if struck. ”You are in need of rest.”

“You could go… if you wanted.” Radiating heat from skin was fading. “I would understand.”

“I made a promise.”

_I was unable to keep it, Will, to keep you safe._

“Did you?”

_I failed you. I failed Mischa. Why can I not protect those I love, Will?_

A sensation of a whisper drew Hannibal’s eyes down to find Will looking up, stars rolling from a blue eye and dripping from a swollen corner of the other.

“I _don’t_ want you to kiss me when I’m gone, Hannibal.” Anger glowed and singed to smoke.

The older man let out a shaky exhale, clutching a thrumming bullet wound, nails embedding, reply a hollow whisper. “Would you deny me even in parting?”

Curls fell over a face, head shaking. “…No.”

Will gripped split edges of silvery hair and held on till hurt tingled over a scalp, mouth lifting and meeting Hannibal’s, a timid flutter of tenderness, warm and effervescent. Then Will was cradling the older man’s face, flicking away tears, and kissing him softer still. As his strength waned and exhaustion took him, his mouth and hands fell away.

Hannibal touched his mouth, pain radiating from the source and cutting deep. “I…”

“I know. Please don’t.” Will turned his face to hide a rush of tears, voice weak and trailing off. “You know I do, don’t you? You know? You…know.”

Cradling Will delicately to his chest, Hannibal tried to catch up to the splintering and healing and breaking of his heart, each fracture deeper than the last. They huddled close in damp dark. He imagined they were falling asleep together, to the sound of a foghorn and steady constant clamor of the sea. He pictured them in bed, their own bed, in a small villa nestled in the countryside of France and clasped close well into the morning. He would have been good to him. Given him the world. Given him his life. 

He would give it to him still if meant Will lived. If only he lived. 

_It should have been me. Will the gods allow me to take your place?_

He listened to shallow breathing hitch and struggle for the next, a hand twitching over his heart. Acid tears streamed down his face as fevered murmurs returned. He held Will tight, trembling and shaking as nails sank into skin where his had been hours before, in search of his heart. The one that had always belonged to Will and no other.

_Take it, take it from me, I cannot bear to keep it now._

A loud gasp choked for air and Will opened both eyes, fine slits releasing the last light of stars fading, both hands clutched tight to arms lifting his body to a wooden raft pyre floating on the banks of Louisiana and holding near as smoke filled balmy breezes.

Hannibal thought of his equations, unfinished, gathering dust inside an evidence box. His throat closed up. If he could get to them, if he could just—

“I think…I…I’m…gonna…go?” Breath rattled free, soft and airy ocean air retreating.

Maroon eyes gazed deeply, watching blue fade to grey and a glassy surface of the moon rim edges. “As you wish, dear one.”

Too late. It was always too late for them.

“C...co…me…with m…e?”

“I will see you soon.” The older man kissed blood seeping from corners of a fair mouth, brushing curls gently and forced his hands to remain perfectly steady, still and comforting and tender at last. “I will always find you.”

“P…p…” Lashes fluttered. “…p…promise?”

“I promise you, Will.”

Hannibal kissed Will as he drew one last breath, sinking beneath waves, faint sun warming his cheeks from a solar flare of his soul. The younger man was smiling, exhaling the birth of a thousand red stars across the sky one last time.

 

*

_Hannibal woke as terror seized his heart, rolling to his side on the beach and began spitting up water in lungs and blood alike. His palms reached out, sand slipping through fingers. Nothing. Was he alone?_

_“W-w-will?” He choked out, shadowy red sparks going in and out of focus._

_A swollen hand lifted to his right. “H-here.”_

_The older man crawled up the beach, broken arm trailing after his body towards the sound of a bare whisper. He fought the pull of his body to lie down, to sleep, not to wake. Red flooded from a gaping wound in his side. His elbow and busted knee gave out. He fell face first a foot away from where Will was lying, rolled on his side, wet and cold and shivering from more than the frigid ocean tide. His back was to him, blood trickling from an unseen gash in his leg. Lifting his head, he surveyed a bone sticking out from a thigh, stark white against blood and black soaked clothes. He sucked in a breath, sunlight falling over a stone scraped side of a face. Red was clinging to a mouth, a face, everywhere he looked. His own kind of cold seeped in and he lay down, dread weighing heavy on his eyelids. He hadn’t seen the mangled piece of driftwood slotted between a second and third rib._

_Hannibal hooked an arm around a waist and curled against Will, nosing at a spine, growling, “For warmth.”_

_For comfort. I will not die without holding you once more._

_A single grunt replied, lying still as broken seashells lost to drifting sand. He thought of their bodies disappearing underneath golden dust, buried, and huddled underneath the earth._

_Time passed. He wasn’t sure how long. Or if it was even the same night or day._

_“Can I say it?”_

_The older man’s entire body went rigid, throbbing from the strain, as he snapped. “No.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Will snapped in return, shoulder jerking then trembling. “I’m so sorry,” He repeated, fight draining and replaced with weariness. “I’m so fucking sorry.”_

_With a few choice curses, Hannibal managed to roll Will on to his back. He tried to keep the horror of seeing a rock pummeled face from registering in his eyes. He grabbed hands fighting against him in a single fist. He knew the younger man couldn’t feel the tears leaking from blue eyes. He wanted to kiss the one swollen shut.  
_

_“Hush now.” His admonishment was gentle. “You are going to be perfectly fine, Will.”_

_“And you?”_

_Hannibal looked at the pool of blood beneath him, gouts seeping red then black, side torn open from bullets and rocks alike. He would last another hour. He forced himself to smile and blink slowly, relaxing muscles in his face._

_“So will I.”_

_Will wouldn’t make it another twenty minutes. Not without help. And Hannibal was useless to him now.  
_

_“This time next year we will be lying on a beach somewhere arguing about the health concerns of ordering skeptical take out and your affinity for cheap draft beers.”_

_“Sounds…” Laughter twisted to a wet hacking cough. “…right.”_

_He wiped spit blood from cheeks quickly when eyes closed. He had hid many things from Will. He could shield him from this._

_“Hannibal.”_

_“Yes, Will?”_

_Will rolled near, forehead touching a red soaked bicep, curling into a ball. “I think I’m going to close my eyes for a minute.”_

_“We can climb the summit when you are ready,” Hannibal responded calmly, settling a hand near the one close to him but not touching. He searched for the words, fragile and waning, as eternal sleep called. “Will, I…I…lo—”_

_“Yeah, I know.”_

_A burn of bruises squeezing his hand hard was the last thing Hannibal remembered._

_The last thing Will remembered were the three words he had never been able to speak._

_“I… love you… too, Hannibal.”_

 

*

Hannibal felt the impression of a lifeless body wrapped in his embrace like gauzy outlines of a veil falling from his grasp. A flat line screeched, faraway, a mournful wail. He had laid Will to rest on the hospital bed and risen, blank and as distance as muddled sounds. His heart was the only sound, lingering in time to the one in his memory, an endless _tick tick tick_ fading.

His fingers snarled around cords. A heart monitor flung across the room and busted apart against charts lining a wall. It chirped one last cry of the deceased. Plastic cups and trays spun across the floor. Wood splintered as a chair collided with a window. Glass cracked. From somewhere nearby someone was screaming, raw and hollow across time. Charts and papers took flight, scattering and floating over tubes and snaking electrical tape.

There were other voices too but they were dimmed, a hummed static of overhead lights.

Broken glass crunched as Hannibal strode forward and sealed a kiss over each of Will’s cold eyelids, deathly quiet stillness reigning. His fingers slipped over his form one last time. He rose, unseeing, combing strands of hair neatly into place with torn and cut fingers. Something jostled him as he bent to straighten white cuffs, twirling rose gold links to a thirty degree angle. He smoothed crumpled lines of his tie, shrugging deeper into a black mourning coat. His dress shoes echoed down an empty hall.

Someone was shouting, another dull roar, telling him to stop.

Firelight filled eyes drifted towards an opening door. Will was standing on the other side, scrubbing a sleepy smile from his face and gesturing for him to come inside. To come home. 

A gunshot rang out, pain tearing through a shoulder.

Hannibal continued walking, palm outstretched, mouthing, “Hello, Will.”

Another bullet cracked off.

A shaking pistol steadied, aiming squarely for the heart, ghosts shifting in rooms beyond. “Send him our love, Doctor.”

The older man’s body began to fade from the wrist up as Will took his hand, light shining through skin growing cold, glimmering rubies falling and scattering over a waxed tile floor.

Will cupped his cheek, shimmering and fading too, murmuring with a gentle smile, “Hello, Hannibal.”

They became nothing but light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO. No no no no. Nope. Nope. I am not fucking okay. With any of this. None of it. (I neither confirm nor deny slamming the lid of my computer shut and walking away so angry with myself after having finished.)
> 
> The inception ending, a story, of all they longed for but never had. 
> 
> (Title Courtesy of: Silver Currents x To The Wedding)
> 
> let me dream of silver currents  
> to send me out across the sea  
> when all I wanted was some courage  
> or a lover who could carry me
> 
>  
> 
> One ending remaining!


	153. The End: "Call Love Something Warm"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final ending (in my mind a continuation from Part 1 Ending.)
> 
> Bless your hearts for patiently waiting, you beautiful souls. My increasingly poor circumstance and depression hit me hard over these last few months, hence my absence. (To those of you checking in on me and commenting, you are a rare gift. Thank you.)

 

_3 years, four months, and two weeks later…_

Cool breezes scattered snow on mountaintops and wafted lazily down to the small town of _Castellucio_. Currents of conversation buzzed over weathered sand cobblestone and embraced skin on distance beams of heated light. An afternoon sun blazing bright hung in the sky and sent drowsy travelers scurrying for shadowed awnings and locals to a content moseying pace of molasses. A sea of lush green gave way to the valley below. Rubies of poppies and flashing gold rappi caught light, a wildfire spreading to sacrifice all except the small figures living at its summit and giving worship to its flames.

A crowd flowed around two men emerging, continuing up a steep side street then thinning in the distance. Winding between a maze of legs, a gold dog trotted after. Thick ropey hands adjusted a beige panama hat at an askew angle. Cascades of silver white hair fluttered beneath a round brim and clung to lips parting to smile. Knuckles of swinging hands brushed affectionately as the men wandered towards the edge of a bustling market. Outlines of eyes slid to the side underneath a mirror of sunglasses, corners crinkling pleasantly as a palm ran through short brown hair and down a shadow of a beard. They navigated narrow streets, synced in their movements, counting time with every step even when they broke apart to weave through brightly colored stalls. Silver light flashed across the market from a roof above before disappearing.

Hands hanging loosely in khaki pockets, Will let his eyes lift from a moss covered cart arranged neatly with exotic fruits to gaze at Hannibal beyond. The older man stooped over a stall covered in azalea to examine shell and pearl knives. The sun beat down on thin white linen clinging to broad shoulders, cutting neatly above biceps, each muscle exaggerated by shadow. Fabric gaped to reveal a thicket of curls on a chest. He had never looked more relaxed, either in posture or state of dress.

The younger man appreciated both immensely with a light hum, keeping his eyes fixed as he rounded a stall of fresh cut flowers. He plucked a single white lily from a vase. Its petals were slender and white, blood red pooling in its center. He handed the vendor three gold _centesimi_ and flourished _‘grazie_.’ Hannibal turned the profile of his sharp face over a right shoulder, sherry colored eyes shimmering as he tipped a hat in Will’s direction, mouth twitching up. Winston lashed his tail against the older man’s calves, panting with a smile to encourage the playful gesture.

 _Ever the gentleman…_ The younger man felt his cheeks warm, pretending to adjust rolled sleeves of a powder blue button up.

They had been together, side by side, for years and it still felt like only the two of them existed when Hannibal looked at him. He jumped when his pocket began to vibrate. He fished out a sleek rose gold phone and glanced at the screen to see a text icon blinking. He avoided tripping over a cart of coconuts and clicked.

**_From: Your Love Eternal  
Do you long for me?_ **

Will snorted out loud, glancing over to find Hannibal wandering lazily after, swiping a reply in route. **_Not long necessarily._**

Another buzz. _**Require my undivided attention and company then?**_

**_Require is a strong word._ **

The younger man fought a smirk as Hannibal paused next to a stack of honey dew melons, frowning and tucking hair behind a left ear. An unconscious gesture of insecurity Will found hopelessly charming. He wanted to tug his husband into an alcove and kiss him breathless simply to express how much.

 ** _Grown used to the idea of you near._** He typed after moments of a flitting daydream. _**I might even say fond.**_

The older man squinted at the screen, smile spreading slow and even on his face, glancing his direction. _**Does this mean we are ‘going steady,’ William?**_

“Does this mean—“ Will laughed and realized Hannibal wouldn’t be able to hear him over streams of tourists and vendors flourishing their wares.

They grinned at one another through frames of wood stalls. He wanted to run his thumbs over golden cheekbones painted with creases and murmur, _my hopeless love sick fool_. His gaze must have softened, or perhaps his face changed in a way only the older man knew how to read, but a hint of tulip pink bloomed beneath the brim of Hannibal’s hat. It was exquisite.

Will continued walking, head shaking and sensed the older man followed faithfully as he drifted through scents of dried thyme and oregano tied to slotted wood beams. His phone buzzed again, more insistently than before. He whirled around to drag Hannibal in to his arms and kiss him. And then throw his phone into the nearest fountain. But he wasn’t there. The older man was gesturing to a stout woman with wiry black hair talking several stalls over. He frowned. A circular photo of Elias looked up from the screen. With a swipe of a thumb, the black screen wavered and the young man appeared on a grainy video call.

“Hello, Will!” Elias chirped, beaming with a wave of a hand.

It was either early in the morning or late at night, or the priest was wearing a plush terry robe in their living room for the hell of it. It was stitched with initials _E.N._ after Hannibal had mildly suggested Elias have one of his own after too many mornings of finding Will’s missing and on another’s shoulders.

“How is everyone back home?” Will asked casually, trying to keep the ache flooding his heart from dampening his spirit.

They were on an impromptu kind of honeymoon after all and he hated to seem ungrateful. But he already missed the familiarity of their home and company of their canine counterparts. He would privately admit he missed the little imp of a priest and even his newly returned companion, no matter how frustrating. He was happy to have a home to miss. One to return to.

“Oh, they all miss you terribly.” The young man panned the camera towards a crackling fire where a pile of dogs lay sleeping, curled around and on top of one another. “But they’re adjusting to being without you.”

The smallest mutt whined in her sleep and Will wanted to immediately gather her to his chest and kiss the top of her head.

“I think they find comfort in one another.”

“They’re fond of you,” Will admitted half heartedly, catching a glimpse of marshmallow white as the camera swung away in a blur. His lips twitched as the picture came in to focus again on a pair of blue yellow eyes peering over a mop of damp hair. “I see the cat is settling in quite nicely.” Paws began to knead the arch of a leather chair to mock him. “Don’t tell Hannibal, he’ll have a fit.”

Elias covered a chuckle with a hand, lilac eyes drooping as he toyed with a pointed ear. The Persian glowered at him, bushy tail flicking before turning in a precise circle, back towards them both. Will would never understand why Elias picked her up on the streets of Belarus, insisting the entire train ride he was not going to keep her, only to make the blustering argument of ‘she followed me home’ when Hannibal greeted them at the door with crossed arms and stern frown. The older man had caved in the face of wavering tears and liked to remind them both daily he ‘lived to regret it.’

“Well, it wouldn’t be an outright lie then if—“ The priest began, pausing mid sentence. A faint jingle sounded. “Hold on.” A small nose scrunched as he squinted at the screen. “Speaking of…Hannibal tells me to tell you, that he was promised to have you all to himself this weekend and if you don’t start paying him mind, you’ll face consequences.”

“Oh will I?”

Turning slightly, Will found Hannibal simultaneously glowering from the phone and then at him beside a cart of baguettes and fruit. As if to punctuate his annoyance, the older man tipped his nose up to the sky. The hat perched high on a deep sun tanned brow, tangling long hair in eyes and ruining a scolding expression.

_You are far too good looking when you pretend to be angry._

“You can tell Hannibal…” With an excessively slow roll of eyes, Will returned to the video chat. “He’s two aisles over texting furiously over a stall of papayas and I can see him looking right at me.”

Both of their phones chimed and buzzed. Once. Twice. A third time. Both sighed deeply.

Will swiped right to ignore the incoming texts. “ _Why_ did you have to teach him how to use his new phone again, Elias?”

“How was I to know he would use it for…”

“Evil?”

"Pragmatic annoyance. And passive aggression apparently."

Another clang. Elias tapped on the screen, fingertip obscuring his face except for a bemused frown. “Another message. This one is more… _threatening_ than the last.”

“Ignore it.”

“Doesn’t he know that hardly ever works on me anymore?” The young man pursed lips, gathering a puddle of a cat into his lap and held on to it for dear life, as if Hannibal might reach through the phone at any moment.

Will tried to control laughter, struggling not to grin. An incident from the week prior involved a large knife lodged in the chopping block. When Elias scrambled from their kitchen screeching after trying to ‘help’ at dinner time. He had dropped an entire carton of eggs and spilled a quarter bottle of Mont Blanc ’69. The other eighty percent he had 'accidentally' consumed. A chase ensued. According to a later bashful Hannibal, he ‘may have overreacted.’

“Don’t take away the fun of him trying, Elias,” He chided sweetly, admiring ruddy cheeks trying to cower behind a ball of fluff. “It’s all he has. And quit suffocating Miss Penelope. It’s not like he can hear you.”

Fur muffled a response. “How is Italy?”

He took in the scenery from beneath shade of a hunter green painted doorway. Dust cyclones kicked up, rattling cable wires crossing between buildings airing freshly pinned laundry. Sand and gold colored brick houses and shops seemed to glow in the day. At night, a chill brought a haze of bluish gray over the town from low burning lamps and stained glass tavern windows. Even at its busiest hours, it was quiet and nearly still in its blur of faces, a sea to get lost in and discover only one other. His mind and gaze drifted over to Hannibal sulking beneath an umbrella.

“Peaceful…” Will murmured, pushing sunglasses from the bridge of his nose. He hooked them over an open collar. “Blue skies. Cloaked in a kind of gentle heat. As beautiful as Hannibal promised it would be.”

A short beep was followed by a high pitched squeal. “O-o-oh!”

The dozing cat started with a yowl, clawing to escape, as the priest bolted upright from the leather chair.

“What this time?” Will cocked an eyebrow Hannibal’s direction.

Hannibal flashed teeth in return. It was never a good sign.

_Oh hell._

“N-nothing!” Elias fumbled for the phone in his hands, bouncing it from palm to palm like a proverbial hot potato, face growing redder by the second. “ _Nothing_ at all.”

A palm print melded against the camera, video going dark. Voices on the other end crackled, one a high flute and the other a mellow cello. Sharp grey eyes reappeared beneath a ripple of long blonde waves escaping a neat knot pulled taunt at the nape of a neck.

“The painting displayed in the walk in closet doesn’t do you justice, Graham.” A thick French accent poured over each word from dusky rose lips emitting through the speaker.

“Oh Christ, please tell me—“ Will straightened suddenly in the doorway, head almost banging against the arch, brows lifting higher. “Wait, what the hell were you doing in _our_ bedroom, Peter!”

The man towered over both Will and Hannibal by a good foot. Standing next to Elias he was a goliath. And Peter was now holding the cell phone just out of reach. Elias frantically jumped and hopped in the background, hopelessly trying to swipe it back. He had never looked more like a fledgling bird fluttering around the insurmountable trunk of an oak tree.

“Peter! Peter, this is not fair or sporting!”

One beep followed another.

"Or a manner befitting a gentleman," Will added disapprovingly.

And then another and another.

Deep laughter boomed. “You will have to try harder, _mon petit_. If you give me a kiss, I might return it to you.”

Then another jingle followed.

Will caught a glimpse of Hannibal, one arm folded over his chest, as the other hand tapped on his phone. He felt his cheeks growing warm and then hot.

_He wouldn’t._

“Give it back, Peter! _Peter!”_ Elias cried, wide eyes growing to the size of small moons as his fiancé twisted the phone this way and that to see, tongue clucking approval. “We shouldn’t be looking at—“

“My oh my…” Peter raised the phone higher, peering up at its surface, grin widening as small hands scrambled in and out of frame. “These are all very artistic angles. Of you, Will.”

_He would. There’s nothing he loves more than a stark reminder of who I belong to._

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Will muttered under his breath, sending a scathing glare the older man’s direction before hiding blazing cheeks beneath a palm.

They were _those_ kinds of photos. How in the hell had he let Hannibal talk him in to taking them? It was an absolute injustice. An outrage. How was he supposed to have lucid thought when the man was naked and leaning over him?

A frustrated sigh filled his mouth. _What does ‘I’m going to kill him’ mean any more? I can’t even…_

Hannibal looked like a cat with a canary between teeth. A lounging cat sipping a miniature cup of espresso with a pet dog crunching a biscuit at its feet.

_What exactly is a suitable punishment these days? Bad cannibal, I’m taking away your knives? Your drawing supplies? My dignity when I cave in, perhaps?_

“As a man well studied in this particular art form…” He heard smug teasing rising from the low voice on the phone. “I would say if these photos are any indication, you’re getting plenty of just that.”

“Peter!” Another voice wailed, either to scold or beg.

“You’re old man treating you to a pleasurable vacation then?”

Slotting fingers open, Will peered at the video beyond, growling, “Fucker.”

His face was burning up beneath his shielding palm.

Satisfaction glimmered on pearl teeth. “I usually am.”

“Christ. Spare me.”

“P-pet—“

A hand snaked out, dragging Elias close before lifting him six inches off the ground, palm cradling the base of his head. Peter kissed him hard, tongue slipping inside a pliant pink mouth. The youngest man went limp, blush spreading from cheeks to nose, bleeding underneath a robe, and out to fingertips burrowed in blonde tresses. Will tipped his head against stone, bemusement filtering beneath eyelids. He was certain every time they kissed Elias stopped breathing.

Will had grown accustom to sporadic claims of displayed affection from Peter months ago. Ironically around the same time Hannibal found it necessary to almost forcefully follow suit. A strange rivalry usually ending up with him stuffed in a stairwell closet or coat check with boxers pushed down his thighs and a skilled tongue drifting up his cock. He was about eighty percent certain Elias probably suffered the same fate. Not that either of them were complaining. Per se. Even if they were a bit sore and more tired than most average days.

On the whole, he liked Peter. Well, liked was perhaps a strong word. Grown accustom to? It had taken several months before they were truly on a first name or speaking basis. Both stand offish and wary of the other. He had taken the offensive, keeping close watch on the relationship, but he had never seen the priest more blissful. The etched sadness in his face dwindled more with each passing day.

They formed a bond after Peter had unwittingly gotten Elias black out drunk on New Year’s Eve at their home. Elias had crawled into Will’s lap to sleep it off. But not before a chaste albeit fumbling, drunken kiss good night. For some reason, it was determined to be entirely his fault. One broken glass coffee table and hunting knife at the Frenchman’s throat later, they made peace with the other’s existence. Now they shared everything, from bickering over politics to cheap beers and quiet talks of dark pasts. Almost everything. With the exception of their partners.

Colors on the screen swirled as the phone took flight before landing safely in smaller hands, purr following. “Here you are, _mon cher_. As promised.”

He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or more self conscious about the former priest holding a phone full of nude photos, artistic or otherwise, of him. Fine lashes fluttered over glazed eyes, pink mouth agape and swollen. A wink and smug grin was sent to Will from the background.

“Are you sure you want to marry this ill mannered fop?” Will grumbled good naturedly, frowning. “You could do far better. ”

“You were already taken, Will,” Peter interjected, dramatically flopping on the couch and covering his face with a forearm. “I was merely runner up. The one to be settled for if you will. Alas, I shall never be the infamous, _Mister Graham_.”

“Cry me a river, Peter.” He replied with a blank stare. “And you know damn well its Lecter by now.”

“I-I-I—how—how do you delete these!” Elias blustered, ten fingers tangling and banging on the phone's surface in search of any button to save him.

Either from damnation or his visibly blushing interest.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t going to keep them, Elias, it would be dishonest. And you hate to be dishonest, don’t you? God does frown upon it so.” A hand curved around a waist, wrapping the belt of the robe around knuckles to reel the young man in. “I’ll let you look at them before bed tonight. Would you like that? I am much more tolerant than _some_ men.”

The priest’s face blanched white before turning beet red. “I’m _so_ sorry, Will!”

“I’m not!” A voice in the background chimed in merrily. “It shortens our immediate time of foreplay immensely when you are the topic of conversation.”  

Will made a crude gesture, hoping he wasn’t a perfect color match to the priest’s exquisite shade of red. He made a mental note to deck Peter in the face and then offer him a cold brew in the way of an apology. And then drink both beers just to spite him.

“H-h-he’s joking! Eep! I swear—“

“It’s fine,” The younger man replied flatly, hissing out a breath before taking another, deep and slow. “Now I’ll have to set aside my plans for a relaxing day for a night in jail. After I choke the life out of my dear husband.”

As if on cue, Hannibal swaggered through the alley, hands pushed deep in trouser pockets, lids dropping low over garnet eyes. My god, he was beautiful. Will took another breath. He would have to stay strong and break that perfectly peaked nose.

“Isn’t that your form of foreplay?” Peter began howling with laughter.

Will slapped a hand over his eyes, groaning. “ _Elias_ , you promised.”

“Will! Oh Will, no! It was an accident. Peter, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Wretched sinner that I am, won’t you find a way to help me repent, Father Elias?”

“Good god! IF there's nothing else, I’ll need both hands to jam that phone down his throat.” He bared teeth, pretending not to be blinded by the love in eyes or the halo of sun above a head. “Right after I pour bleach in my ears to keep from hearing that _ever_ again.”

He returned to the screen to find a robe half way pushed down a lean chest, yelping and giggling muffled by rumbling French pressed to skin. He sighed.

_We’ll have to either move out or build them their own house by the time they’re done taking over ours._

“Send my love to the dogs, Elias,” He muttered to a gust of wind, adding, “And for God sake, stay out of our room, Peter!”

Neither of the younger men replied. He had a feeling even the dogs didn’t bother to stir. He clicked the video off before it was too late and dropped it in a pocket.

Gleaming leather shoes slowed over cobblestone.

Will lunged forward. “You—“

He saw the glint of hunger a second too late.

“—son of a bitch!”

Hannibal caught his forearm, twisting it behind his back, and pushed him into the doorframe with the weight of his body. The single lily dropped to the ground. Every shifting muscle was a heavy heat pinning him without a fight. A fevered mouth caught his mid snarl, inhaling all his indignation with a single glide of a tongue. Fingers scoured up the back of a neck, twisting in silvery hair and pulled, hat tumbling to the ground. Fists yanked and pulled at clothes. Will opened his lips to the brimming assault, wriggling against the sensation of a cool palm burrowing beneath the folds of his shirt to rest above the scar on his stomach. This small gesture pulled an entirely different note free from his lungs. A low growl returned the sentiment fondly. Maroon eyes opened to slits as tension eased from their grips and Hannibal kissed him deep and slow. The taste of honeyed almond and vanilla flooded his senses, melting as palms slid down his arms and their hands entwined.

The younger man nipped lightly at a lower lip before air returned in a hoarse whisper, “Jesus…”

“We have been parted a mere five minutes, Will.” Hannibal dragged wild hair from his eyes, smoothing it on the sides, before plucking his hat from the ground. He dusted it off before placing it on. The older man picked the lily off the stoop and handed it back to him, smirking. “Have you forgotten my name already?”

Will bristled. He tried to snatch the lily away. His shoulders jerked to a straight line, stoking a shout in his lungs to release. It fizzled out almost immediately. A circlet of violets laced inside dried twigs pushed gently up his wrist. Hannibal was looking at him again, just looking, searching the expression storming across his face and retreating with the dipping sun.

A gruff bark came out a weak jab. “I hope you paid for that.”

His husband looked positively amused by the attempt.

In reply, Hannibal stroked the side of his face, toying with the circlet playfully at his wrist before bringing the hand to his mouth to kiss. The lily caressed the faint scar on his forehead, across his eyelids, and over his mouth. Will tried to appear cross as he side eyed the dainty flowers and delicate thorns bumping against his white gold bracelet. Both gentle reminders of the older man’s thoughtful affection.

 _Goddammit…_ His knees were going weak again. _It’s hardly fair. How am I supposed to be angry with you?_

Mischief rested in turned down eyes beyond knuckles. _I would rather put your anger to more productive uses…_

He assembled a runner up best scowl. “Was _that_ really necessary?”

“Did it get your attention?” The older man asked slowly, shadow of a smile lingering.

The scowl deepened.

“I see. Then _yes,_ my dearest one.” The golden glow brightened. “After all, I must learn new ways to keep your interest.”

Ducking out from beneath arms, Will retreated to the market of blinding light and listened to a crunch of soles trotting after behind him. He left Hannibal standing with the lily to stare after him.The older man pursued.

“I don’t really think my newly engaged best friend needs you _sexting_ him photos of me, do you?” He threw back, marching down a tiny side street.

Mild irritation crept into his voice. How was it still so easy for Hannibal to keep up with him? He was practically running.

“They are all exquisitely tasteful, Will…” Lips brushed the corner of his ear, palm steering him lovingly around the corner at the small of his back. “And it’s nothing he hasn’t seen at one time or another.”

He tried not to think about how nice it felt to be guided. How comforting it was to know those hands were near. To hold. To be held.

“Peter was less than pleased.”

“Such a bold faced lie for you.” Fingers tracked expertly from his belt to his backside.

Will stopped dead in his tracks, whirling.

Hannibal swerved to avoid near collision, lightly turning on a heel, to admire the view of Will, arms crossed, feet spread defensively, and struggling to maintain an acceptable level of fury.

“I want a divorce,” Will stated flatly.

A chin quirked to the side, another easy smile returning. “An impossibility.”

“You’re so fucking certain, aren’t you?”

“As I have always been.”

With another swear, Will thumped a fist on the older man’s chest, a last ditch effort at maintaining his dignity. He was easily swept up inside another embrace that left him swaying and dizzy for oxygen.

Head dropping against a shoulder, he resolutely sighed defeat and tapped the floral circlet gingerly. “What’s this?”

“It was often customary for a man to slip through a crowded marketplace unnoticed and place a bracelet of dried thistle and wildflowers around the wrist of his clandestine lover.” Lips pressed a kiss against short hair mussed on his forehead. “A symbol of his undying devotion living on in moments of their separation, until they could be together again. Exchanged only upon the eve of their tryst.”

“For the _last_ time, Hannibal, I am not playing out this fantasy of yours.”

Fingertips stopped swirling over his shoulder and hip. “But—“

Will’s chin jutted up to rest in the hollow of a clavicle to stare down a stubble frown. “I am not wearing a leather skirt and armor in a stable.”

A mouth opened to protest. "You would not have to wear all of it. Or... at least not for very long."

“Nor am I fooling around in a mausoleum.”

Hannibal slouched forward and mumbled, crestfallen, “The little bird would have made an exquisite Friar Laurence.”

“I would have more readily accepted a half decent bottle of whiskey with a tiny paper umbrella in it. What?” Will ducked this way and that, peering expectantly at pockets and then larger hands, feigning disbelief. “There’s not one hidden away for me as a surprise? I’m disappointed, Hannibal, that you could be _so_ utterly thoughtless.”

“Have you…” A slow morse code blinked reply. “…come to expect your every whim and want to be cared for?”

“Oh yes.” Dark brows furrowed. “And if this is any indication, I would say you are slipping, angel.”

He couldn’t maintain a frown any longer before it was curling on its edges to reveal a twinkle of blue eyes.

Creases rippled from cheeks to corners of eyes as the older man leaned in, nuzzling lightly against a neck, voice soft, “I love you, Will…”

A gold inlay and pearl knife pressed into his palm, sliding out of view as Will’s eyes closed, lips dragged into another kiss.

“Thank you for the lily, I will keep it close to my heart.”

His traitorous heart freed a deep sigh of content.

“This doesn’t…” He struggled to get out words between breaths. “Doesn’t… doesn’t excuse your… _I’m still angry_.”

Will groaned inwardly. He sounded utterly smitten. Why did he even bother? He couldn't remember how to sound even remotely upset.

“Yes…” Hannibal cupped his face, tilting it up, mouth tipping to find a better fit. “I know.”

“I am.”

“Yes, darling.”

“You don’t—“ He surfaced for air before being dragged back down and giving in.

“Whatever you say, my dearest.”

“Quit stealing my lines and come up with something aloof and obscure, you pretentious fool. And if it doesn't have facts only you would know, I'm not accepting it.”

A ruddy mouth murmured against his. “Very well.”

“Watch out!” A tiny boy on a neon green bicycle zipped passed, basket bouncing as scrawny legs peddled by.

They startled from their reverie. Will blushed as Hannibal led them from the middle of the street to safety of a sun faded blue canopy. He gazed at the sinewy hand clasping his own protectively. The palm roughened by a kitchen knife. He admired the square set of his shoulders. The gathering number of smile lines reappearing on his face. The way he looked back as if he needed to know Will was following. How his eyes would light up, as if discovering him for the first time.

A glint of light from a corner road made Will slow, neck prickling before searching the road behind them. He pulled Hannibal to a stop.

“Where…” He scanned the horizon of the quiet street. “…is Winston?”

Subtle tension rippled from tips of fingers, ran up arms, and flinched inside a square jaw as Hannibal’s eyes darted to the road. “He was with me only a moment ago.”

The younger man felt his throat tighten. He jerked his hand away. He began walking before he knew what he was doing, aimlessly, in any direction.

“Winston!”

“Will, I—“ A hand reached for his.

Fear filtered guilt a sickly green.

Will kept walking, picking up the pace to a trot. “ _It’s fine_. He probably just followed a food truck again.”

His heart quickened with each suffocating breath.

“Let’s just split up.”

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to.

“William—“

He knew Hannibal was crumbling against the scenery, hat in his hands, paralyzed by the sight of him walking away. But he didn’t have time to tell him, _it will all be okay, we’re okay, just stay with me._

_Winston… Where are you? Please let it be like last time._

He choked on the heart lodging in his throat. What was the point of home if it could be broken?

“Will, wait—“

Tension frayed and snapped around the bend of an intersection. “Just find him!”

 

*

Biting pain flowed up wrists. Hannibal looked down to find himself crushing his hat, knuckles blanched and veins stretched stark blue over shaking muscles. When he looked up, Will was gone. The lily in his other hand was crushed, petals smashed and stem drooping pitifully. He tried to smooth the petals to rearrange them as they had been before, snowy and pristine and pure.

_What have I done?_

The thud of his normally steady heart began to pound louder. He looked at the gift he had destroyed. He had dealt the younger man many vicious blows over the years, but he had never lost the one thing Will cared about most in the world. Particularly not with such brazen carelessness. He had accepted he would be second to a first love always.

A low growl and a jerk of his chin in a northwest direction set him in motion. He jammed what remained of the lily into a breast pocket. He stalked down a dirt path, fists clenched and swinging at his side. He trampled the hat beneath his feet. His mind hurtled faster than his body could move. He thought of the market. Of sitting beneath the canopy and feeding organic biscuits to Winston underneath it’s comforting shade. And then…

_And then what?_

He had been foolishly toying with Will. Only half paying attention to the small dog scurrying around his feet and whining. Why had he not been more attentive? More observant? The moment played over and over in his mind.

He didn’t see tourists scrabbling up sidewalks to make a path for him. He never blinked when a shoulder collided with his.

“Ey! Watch it, man!”

He blindly shoved and kept moving. There was no consideration for seeing a face to document the discourtesy. Being distracted had gotten him in to this mess. And now Will…

Cupping hands over his mouth, Hannibal began to call out. “Winston!”

His Will.

“Winston, where are you?”

His light.

“ _Caro cucciolo_?”

His life.

“Winston!” His voice began to crack, winding to the left and right through the market. “Where are you, Winston?”

His first and only love. Was nowhere to be seen. And he was to blame. He thought of how the blood had drained from Will’s face the moment he realized the dog was missing. How he still felt the impression of a soft mouth against him before it distorted to a sharp razor. His stomach turned. He hadn’t seen a true flash of rage or fear on the younger man’s face in several years.

“Winston?”

He came to a spot beneath the umbrella where he had sat with Winston only ten minutes prior. He stared at its rippling shadow blankly. Big brown sad eyes flickered through his memory. He scoured a hand over his mouth, stubble roughly scraping back. His eyes lifted to dart through rows of mismatched stalls. Every golden shimmer of light made his heart jump before dropping to the pit of his stomach. He drew the phone from his pocket, staring at its glossy surface. He would have to call Will. His hand began to shake. He would have to tell him his dog, their dog, their child, wasn’t where he had left him. He was missing.

_And it is entirely my fault._

Clenching the phone, Hannibal hammered on icons until a photo of Will and Winston appeared. He barreled through a set of folding chairs and straight towards the first faceless vendor appearing in his line of sight. Green eyes widened as he approached.

A phone thrust forward, glinting in the light. “Pardon me, but have you…”

 

*

_This is my fault._

Will barreled up a crooked road, puffing by the time he reached its summit. He looked left. He looked right. The closer he came to the market the more people appeared. How was he going to find their dog in a crowd like this? What if someone had taken him? Would someone even do that?

A scratchy voice shook out, “Winston! Winston, here, boy!”

_He’s alone. And afraid. And it’s my fault._

How many times had Hannibal advised him to bring a leash? And how many times had he refused. Winston was properly trained and had always heeded his commands. It wasn’t necessary. It was always his argument. And he always won. And now…

“Godda—“

The younger man threw his phone without thinking. It splintered against a curb, bouncing three feet, before spinning beneath an aluminum table. He clenched teeth, grinding them together to keep quiet. His head tipped up to a cloudless sky.

An old woman with a cane tapped by, huddling close to the wall to keep away and scurried into a pastry shop. She cast one furtive glance behind her before the door closed.

Exhaling forcefully, Will trudged on and began to shout Winston’s name over and over. His whistles were shrill and desperate. He pushed through an endless downward stream of a crowd. The noise grew as he neared the market. His own shouts were drowned out. Was Winston sitting where they had left him? Hunched to the ground and wondering why Will had abandoned him? He tried to keep his shaky breaths steady. His palms prickled with sweat. He felt sick. From the heat. The crowds pressing close. The nausea churning his stomach.

He dragged shaking fingers through his hair, jostled on all sides. He saw the tops of tiny white folding chairs in the center of the square above the crowd. He swallowed a curse and shouldered his way forward. He snarled at protests and indignant huffs hurled his direction, eyes fixed on the spot where he had last seen Winston. He stumbled into the circle of chairs, catching himself on an edge of a table. A weak noise fell from his mouth, knees wobbling as strength drained from his body. Winston wasn’t there. He looked around with wild eyes. Wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Or heard. How could he hear him over this noise? How would he know if the dog was barking for help? What if he was gone? What if—

His hands began shaking. He wanted Hannibal. He needed him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He frantically searched pockets for his phone. His phone. Will slumped on a rickety chair, mouth going dry. A different kind of fear seeped through his pores and coiled around his heart. How would he find Hannibal?

“Oh god…” Will muffled a moan with the bony edge of his wrist, searching a sea of bodies for the familiar shadow of a man.

_I didn’t say it back._

_“I love you, Will.”_

_I didn’t tell them I loved them._

He was going to be sick. He stared at cracks in the cobblestone beneath his feet. They began to fracture, pools of black rising to swallow him whole.

“Are you well, sir?” A tiny voice asked.

Will looked up. A child was crouched next to him, arms folded over skinned knees. A scrawny boy with pin straight black hair and black eyes to match. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Laces were mangled and untied on a left shoe. A smiling dragon was printed on the front of a faded yellow t-shirt.

He struggled to form words as another rush of tears came and he looked away. “N-no…”

He had lost Winston. He didn’t know where Hannibal was. Or how he was even going to find him. Either of them. Should he wait where he was? Should he go back to their apartment? What if Winston came back? Or Hannibal?

“Shall I bring my mother? You look ill.”

“No.” The rebuff came out sharp and bitter.

What kind of a father would he make?

He closed his eyes again, amending the statement, blunting each syllable with softer edges. “No thank you. I…I can’t find my dog. He was right here a minute ago. He might be lost, you see?”

“A dog?” The black eyed boy repeated slowly.

“Yes. I…I don’t have a photo.” Will cursed inwardly. “He’s a small dog. Long gold fur with brown splotches. He has a bright red collar on his neck with a gold tag. His name is Winston.”

“Oh!” The child jumped up, hands flying in the air, chattering a mile a minute. “I saw this dog! He is at my mother’s restaurant begging for food.”

Will stood up entirely too fast. For a moment the world tilted and hot poured over him. He sucked in a deep breath until the feeling subsided. He let it out.

“You saw Winston? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I can take you to him!” A small hand tugged on his wrist. “Come on!”

He nearly fell back in to the chair, relief flooding oxygen to his brain in another dizzying wave. “T-thank you,” He managed weakly, taking the hand.

As they walked through the endless rows of stalls, Will tried to focus on the tiny blue and white converse sneakers shuffling in front of him. He looked at the tiny hand. It was barely able to wrap around his four fingers. Something dim stirred in his chest. A memory. A feeling of anticipation. Of attachment. He rubbed the back of a warm neck, feeling smiles cast their direction from passerbys. With his hair cropped short, he supposed the two of them might bear some kind of resemblance. Something else pattered against his heart. In the chaos of it all, his mind grew still underneath the imagined sound of a gurgling stream. Was he ready for something more? A family of their own?

“Come, come.” The boy pointed down a shaded narrow path, smiling. “It’s just this way.”

 

*

Hannibal slumped underneath an awning and let his head fall back, eyes closing. He had asked nearly every vendor in the market and not a single person remembered seeing Winston. He was on the outskirts of it now, above the fray of bodies and blaring noise, where the streets narrowed and cross hatched across the city. His heart thudded dimly with a growing weight. His blind anger was turning to a gnawing ache. He touched the phone in his pocket, chin dropping to his chest. What was he going to tell Will? It was a mistake? An accident? That he would buy him a hundred more dogs? Replace his child? ...Again. 

_Foolish man. You cannot buy his forgiveness._

He cringed at the thought of Will, not in a rage but tears, when he delivered the news. His true companion. The one he had rescued and cared for only to be forced to leave behind to be with Hannibal. The same one Hannibal had spent months scheming to return to him. Will would blame himself. He would blame Hannibal to be certain. And with just cause. But he would blame himself more. Would Will pretend all was well between them even as the resentment grew? His heartbeat faltered. The thought was too much to bear.

When he closed his eyes all he saw were images of Will slipping farther and farther away from him. As he once had. And as he would do once again. For what Hannibal was sure would be the final time. He had too many chances already. Stinging water welled beneath his eyelids.

“Forgive me…” A choked breath eased from lips.

Somewhere close by a dog yipped.

Red eyes flew open. Hannibal jerked free of the wall and listened. He scanned the three dirt roads forking in front of him. He looked at the one on the left. The one in the middle. And then finally the one on the right. Another bark echoed. The sound vibrated against his ear and sank in. His gaze darted back to the road covered in ivy. He ducked underneath a line of drying patterned dresses and strode down the path, gripping the phone in his pocket. He tried not to calculate the odds or compare the ratio of strays roaming Italy to his chances of finding the exact one he searched for. He tried to push tearful blue eyes from his mind. He forced himself to inhale and exhale to a melody of classical music. He focused instead on the clatter of his dress shoes and navigating the obstacle course of laundry as light dimmed.

Two more barks rang in his ears and bounced off walls rising up to the sky. He slipped underneath billowing flowery sheets. In the corner of the alley, lying between a myriad of wooden crates lined up along a chain link fence, was Winston. Who at that very moment was ignoring him entirely in favor of a rotund link of sausages. There were only three left. He had a feeling there were more when the dog dragged it off from whomever he had stolen them from.

“Winston!” Hannibal scolded, marching forward. “You have worried your father sick! Have you so easily traded his love for a fleeting moment of pleasure?”

A pink tongue fell out of a grin as brown eyes danced. The half chewed sausage squelched on the ground. Winston bounded over, tail wagging fiercely, nipping and nudging at the older man’s legs with a wet nose.

“Sit!”

The dog lapped at the palm signaling the command before running around him in circles.

“Mind your manners. And sit.”

Winston flopped on the ground, hind leg sticking out and panted.

With a grieved sigh, Hannibal roughed floppy ears before kneeling next to the dog. “Tell me, little one, how am I supposed to be cross with you?”

A golden head quirked.

“Your father will hold me responsible for this.” He shot a glare towards the discarded sausages. “I hope your poorly planned misadventure was worth the vacation my husband and I are about to spend in utter silence.”

He thought of the small studio flat they had rented. Specifically of its cherry oak wood and single king sized bed.

“Or the excruciating pain my spine will endure from sleeping on the floor.”

A wet nose nudged at his hands to be petted. He acquiesced with a drained sigh of his own. The champagne he had put on ice before they left would surely be wasted now. Or rather Will would down the entire bottle on his own while drunkenly ranting to Elias about the woes of married life while taking a midnight soak in the tub.

He straightened with a groan. The older man clicked the on button on his phone. The screen’s glow was blinding in the shadowy alley. Not a single text message from Will. He worried his lower lip with a sharp tooth. He knew the boy well enough by now that he was either frantic to the point of hysteria or crushing the windpipe of an unsuspecting victim in hopes of gaining information.

He looked at Winston smiling up, gesturing the way he had come. “Shall we?”

“Don’t move a muscle.” A cold muzzle of a gun jammed against his temple.

Cool red eyes slid to the side. “If this is about money…”

“We aren’t here for your money.” Suede docker boots shuffled into view from a doorway.

“Oh?”

Hannibal forced his body to relax, turning slightly to keep both shadowy individuals within view. It was too dark to make out their faces clearly. The first man gripped a six chamber pistol. The second had a set of glimmering silver teeth, cracking a stout neck with a twist of knuckles emblazoned with gaudy rings. His gaze brushed over the chain link fence. It was far too high to scale. And even if he could make it… Winston shrank behind his legs, sinking low to the ground, and began to growl. He looked towards a dim light. How many steps had he taken down the alley?

“We assure you money isn’t the issue…” Another voice ebbed from the dead end.

Sparks spit off metal dragging over dirt and stone.

“Perhaps…” A metal baseball bat came clearer in to view. “The three of you gentleman might require therapy to deal with your obvious need to overcompensate? My services would be free of charge.”

Hannibal disliked multitasking. He always felt it appropriate to give each action, each choice, his fully devoted thought and attention. He hated being brash, it left no room for flourish or aesthetic. Yet, he found himself doing several things at once. The first was the most immediate necessity, to keep distance between himself and the three men inching closer. A close second was navigating the alley behind him littered with obstacles without looking, relying solely on memory. And lastly, he considered the contents of his pockets. Without the addition of a waistcoat or jacket, he was at least grateful to have less to think about. Unfortunately, that also meant he had less weapons or less options for things to turn in to weapons.

Ringed knuckles cracked, the heavier man lumbering forward. “Whaddid he just say?”

“Think it was an insult.” A thin man wearing boots trailed near, one eye squinting, gun trained for a headshot. “Was it an insult?”

A bat swung up lightly to rest on a shoulder, the man in a burgundy leather jacket stopped to consider the question. Piercings dotting his face glinted. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Marcus. We have a job to do.”

“And what profession might employ three upstanding citizens like yourself?” Hannibal asked with a charming smile, drawing the phone behind his back, feeling for its buttons. “It must not have a clause for dress code or maintaining hygiene. Or does not a single one of you possess a means of bathing?”

“He is as high and might as they say.” The bat twirled before clanging against the ground, trailing after three pairs of feet advancing as one.

“Ain’t so threatening now, are ya?” The other added with a sneer grin.

Winston backed away with Hannibal, both nearly pressed to the side of a towering building. He slipped his other hand into another pocket, fingertips trailing over a silver money clip. An etched butter knife heated and bent to a folded U shape. He slipped the bills and cards free. It would have to do.

A finger drew back a hammer. “Can’t we just shoot him in the head?”

“Patience…” The man with the bat warned, eyes narrowing. “There’s no money if we don’t bring him in alive, remember?”

“Fine. Just the mutt then.”

His gaze drew across the three men, realization washing cold over him and to fingertips tracing over the unseen phone. His spine hit the wall. Winston crouched lower, saliva dripping from snapping teeth and gums. Low laughter began to echo eerily.

He thought of Will. Thought of nothing else. Felt the press of the younger man’s body, his shape and form, outlines blending with his own. He heard their heart beats. The scent of snow and pine filtered through him. He felt ridges of calloused fingers on his skin and silken lips tenderly smiling beneath his own. He saw him veiled in silvery light of the moon, held against his heart, asking for a moment longer of borrowed time. The solemn band of promise on his finger grew heavy and cold. He thought of what he might say, if he and Will were reunited, for one final second to say goodbye. And then he thought of the younger man in their home by the sea, surrounded by family and he smiled, a gentle glimmer, as a sense of peace washed through him.

_What a gift you have given me, William. Your life._

He hunched forward to center his gravity, crushing the wallet clip in a fist before sliding it out.

_Your love._

Hepatic feedback buzzed against his thumb, icon of a speaker lighting up on screen for a voice text message reply to Will.

_If you could give me but one more gift, my darling, and then I'll ask no more…_

He quickly slid the phone around his ribs and up his chest and pressed it to his mouth, a single growl emitting.

“Run.”

The phone shattered against the ground, cracking beneath pounding feet.

_Just promise to live._

_  
_

*

“Quicker.” Tiny tugs propelled Will forward. “We’re almost there.”

The younger man felt a cool breeze settling in as the sun lid low beneath the skyline. Buildings stretched out everywhere he could see. The cobblestone roads had changed to brick colored dust. Creeping green ivy and laundry seemed to fill up the spaces as the populated streets had begun to thin. His skin prickled. He felt as though people were still watching them. His gaze darted to a reflection in a window. A woman bent over a carriage followed his path, murmuring something quietly.

They skirted edges of hanging laundry. Will startled when a man appeared on the other side, pinning a set of towels to a line. He mumbled an apology. Sea grey eyes watched him go. The pace began to slow. The boy, who had been talking almost non-stop grew quiet.

Something…didn’t feel right.

A swirling red and white sign came in to view hanging in the window of a barber shop. A thin man wearing an apron and smoking a cigarette stood in the open doorway. The barber fiddled with the clasp of a watch on his wrist, smoke trailing up and heating his nose orange. They passed him and headed down an ever narrowing street.

Something was wrong.

Very slowly, Will set the edges of his teeth together and clenched his jaw. He purposefully stared in the reflection of a tavern window. The boy was leading him, eyes to the ground. He followed, eyes sharp and piercing. And then he saw it. Another flash of light from a rooftop. And beyond that, the barber stepping out into the street, wrist raised to his mouth and speaking into the watch.

“ _Shit_!”

Will wrenched his hand from the tiny grasp. He swore again as the boy dove for cover behind a row of potted plants. He whirled around. Three figures rushed towards him. The barber had traded the cigarette for a semi-automatic pistol. A twelve gauge shotgun appeared from the carriage pushed to the side. And the final man had traded his laundry basket for a sparking taser and a handful of zip ties.

“Stop!” The woman shouted in English.

The man with the taser repeated the command in Italian and French.

The third man took aim. “Hold it right there!”

Will hurtled behind a building, landing face first. A bullet fractured glass of the tavern window. He scrambled up, dress shoes skidding up a cloud of dust as he raced forward.

“Fuck, fuck!” He gasped for air, leaping over a wooden bench and dodging as a bullet pinged a stone water well instead.

He scrabbled over a wood crate, dropping to the ground. He looked up and froze. Buildings boxed him in on three sides. Their shadows loomed and dropped across the landscape with a shuddering sun. He was trapped. Will sank slowly to the ground and stared blankly into the purple trappings of dusk. He thought of his phone for a final time. And how he would have been able to hear Hannibal’s voice.

The shouting behind him seemed to grow louder, deafening, world drained of sound. Until all he heard was the scream of his heart and slam of his pulse. His lungs burned. He saw Hannibal. Saw him standing on the cliff drenched in blood. Saw him barely breathing on the ship beside him. He felt the kiss of his blade and the threat of his mouth. Glimpses of strong arms carrying him to safety then hands washing him clean with the barest of gentle touch flickered. He saw opal eyes of a man in mourning and the candlelight of one shining with utter devotion.

“Put your hands up where we can see them!”

Will looked down at the tangled rings on his finger and then over to the set of equations etched into the bracelet. What had Hannibal said? If time could reverse? The flower circlet was tattered, crumbling, mere dust floating from his form and to a burgundy hue sky. He guessed he would never be able to give it back to him now. Their tryst forever postponed. 

“Now, do it now! On your feet!”

Footsteps crunched closer and closer. He let his head fall forward, roughing palms across his face. The sunglasses hanging on his shirt had fractured, left eye completely missing. They were Hannibal’s. He sighed.

 _What do you think, baby?_   He pitched them away, rocking forward on knees. _Will you forgive me? For the glasses? For this? For leaving you behind?_ A wince rippled over his mouth and embedded in his heart. _Will you think I left you?_

“We will shoot! You have sixty seconds to comply.”

Locking hands at the back of his head, Will rose slowly from the ground, blankly staring down barrels of loaded guns. _Don’t look for me. Don’t try to find me._

“Get down on the ground!” A shotgun jerked up.

The man with the gun screamed. “Down on the ground _now_!”

“If that’s what you wanted…” Will sneered, lip lifting over a sharp tooth. “I could have just stayed where I was.”

“Down!”

He dropped to his knees. The ground was as cold as his voice shaking out. “Only you guys, huh? I’m insulted. Where’s my entourage of bullets and crow bars and torture? If this is how you welcome one of the F.B.I.'s most wanted, I wanna file a complaint.”

Three mute figures approached cautiously in triangle formation.

Hannibal standing in the street with a single white lily as devastation etched his face blurred behind stormy blue eyes.

“You got him?”

“Yeah, I got the son of a bitch. Get the ties ready.”

_Anger is a funny thing, isn’t it?_

Will drew one knee forward. Impression of a folded blade grated against his hipbone.

_Sometimes it’s as insidious as glowing embers rekindling inside ashy dead logs. Slow, methodical, and growing in strength. But sometimes…_

Fingers snaked into a pocket and touched a familiar comforting vow.

_…Sometimes it’s a mere spark. A spark catching against dry brush and igniting._

Glittering eyes slowly lifted from feet, up legs, and locked on to three sets of eyes hiding behind guns.

_Until it becomes a raging blaze consuming all in its path. Leaving nothing but black in its wake. Destructive. Unhealthy. A nightmare. Some might call that fury._

“Hey, hey! I’m warning you!”

Bullets slid in to chambers one after the next.

“Put down the knife.”

_As for me…well…_

Toes of leather shoes creased and braced digging in earth.

_It only has one name._

Nails scratched four jagged lines through red sand.

“Put. It. Down. Last warning!”

_And that name…_

Fingers flexed around a pearl handle, counting off each second one by one.

_…is Hannibal Lecter._

A cruel corner twisted up in a smirk, gravely challenge hissed between glinting teeth of a monster transforming, “ _Come and get it_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Set Fire" x To The Wedding  
> set fire to my home and call love something warm. I could live with nothing at all but your fire burning loud
> 
> * * *  
> WELL THAT WAS A WILD RIDE, WASN'T IT?! THE END.  
> (Or is it?)  
> I hope this last chapter captured the embodiment of this monolith of a journey we have shared together, my dear readers. (Where I continually gut you open and you still sail over seas to find me again and again to forgive me. I love you all the more for it.) Where would I be without you? Honestly, I have never been so honored. My friends, my confidants, my hope when the world seems a little too dark and difficult to bear. 
> 
> I don't have enough language to express how much this means to me. Insufficient and simple will have to suffice: Thank you. With all of my heart. 
> 
> * * *  
> TO BE CONTINUED: (Sequel: Echoes Beneath)
> 
> Will both Hannibal & Will make it out alive? Will their lives be irrevocably changed? Will our murder husbands be on the run once more? And from whom? Or does a much darker Fate await them at last?

**Author's Note:**

> *POST ENDING: Prologue Edit*
> 
> 1,161 pages and 153 chapters later, and somehow, I am blessed to find you still with me. This has been a truly rich and amazing journey, and I cannot express enough to thanks to all of you who are still with me. (And the ones just beginning and joining us in the fray.) Even though this adventure has ended, I promise to reply to any comments or questions, or as most of us know, offer blanket forts and years of paid therapy. 
> 
> This work has given me hope on days when I didn't have any. I hope it will do the same for you. And thank you for giving me your kindness and support. There aren't words to say how much it means to me. 
> 
> As always, I am here for you! So please message, comment, or send letter via carrier pigeon. Nothing brings me greater joy. (http://hallofmybeginnings.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you ever want to send some love my way (or ensure I'm simply so well caffeinated I stay up all night writing!) here's my link (though your comments are worth far more than glittering gold!) (http://ko-fi.com/A002F08)
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> A deep thanks to lovelylaceandlilac for continuing to be both an endless well of encouragement and my muse, ensuring that neither one of us gets any sleep, and survives only on pure wit and piping hot cups of coffee. 
> 
> Welcome to the Hannibal Support Group! 
> 
> Where a simple writing warm up exercise morphs into what may, or may not be, many pages and counting (The first chapter was the warm up, so please do excuse the ridiculous time jump for the next chapter.) The life we lead. It's terrific!
> 
> And many thanks to all reading!
> 
> (Update: If you beauties see any grammatical errors, I would actually be most obliged if you let me know! :) I do my best chapter by chapter, but it has grown to a monstrous scale of loveliness!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lovestrife (Poems by me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6721990) by [Hannigrammatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannigrammatic/pseuds/Hannigrammatic)
  * [Death and Persephone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615776) by [Jigoku_no_Son](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jigoku_no_Son/pseuds/Jigoku_no_Son)




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